Through wooded gorge, up craggy slopes they run,
Then breathless pause—again with lusty will
Burst fresh and sparkling like a mountain rill.
And many and fleet the skirmishers of France,
With fusillade severe but conquering still,
They backward drive along the broad expanse,
And Nial’s gleaming sword was ever in advance.
XXXIV.
Strong was the line of abatís that rose
Full in the path of Longa’s wearied men.