Headlong adown the bank, where rider too is riven.
X.
On every side now Britain’s foes repelled
Feel that to stand before her might is vain;
Our strong position is securely held—
Lords of the mountain, masters of the plain
From Vascongada’s frontier to the main.
Our batteries planted on the bloody hill
Before the Virgin’s shrine their death-shot rain
From far Illurdos to Elcano’s rill,