Sore doth that storm of fire their valour gall,
And slowly with reluctant pride they sink,
Till stubborn planted on the lower wall
They stand beneath the fiery torrent’s brink,
While ever and anon their chain doth lose a link.
XXXII.
Thrice to the deadly summit of the breach
Did Morton rush, and thrice was backward borne,
Like mariner that, dashed on stormy beach,