And while the garrison was swift retiring
From that strong ground, their path young Nial crost
With six poor rifles not a shot e’en firing,
When forth the gallant stept, and from his post,
“Lay down your arms!” he shouted to the host—
Three hundred men! His mandate they obeyed,
Scared by that voice of power, and deeming lost
All means of ’scape. Resistance none they made,
And Nial at their head regained his bold brigade.
XLI.