They gain the breach—they mount—they shout—they fire,
Their shouts are drowned in showers of answering lead;
But still unsprung the mines, nor terror fed
A valour calm as sleeps the Ocean near.
Vain is the assault, and stretched full soon lie dead
All who so late upraised that gallant cheer—
All save their leader bold who stalks the trenches near.
XIII.
The hour is come! Breaks heavily the morn
From densest misty shroud. Great Arthur calls