Through misty veil that crowns the topmost crags
Doth Nial with his rifles plunge amain;
Nor Morton with his light battalion lags.
Gaul’s chosen grenadiers Clausel with pain
Sees from the mist emerging to the plain.
Sharp rings the rifle;—with sonorous roll
The musketry less keen replies—in vain!
Disordered France retires, and rends the pole
Our shout victorious raised—the peak is Glory’s goal!
XXXIV.