Where soldiers hailed their former comrades back.
Now Soult by perils prest hath outlet none,
Save by Maria’s pass with omens black;
And swiftly, near Lizasso, Hill hath won
Upon his rear, unchecked by Leo’s burning sun.
XXII.
His cannon opened loud with bellowing sound,
And ’neath its deadly roar the French ascend;
Till near the summit of the pass they found
A wood that stretched its branches to befriend.