VII.

Oh! hear you their shout in your quarters, Eugene?

In vain on Prince Vaudemont for succour you lean!

The bridge has been broken, and, mark! how, pell-mell

Come riderless horses, and volley and yell!

He's a veteran soldier—he clenches his hands,

He springs on his horse, disengages his bands—

He rallies, he urges, till, hopeless of aid,

He is chased through the gates by the Irish Brigade.

VIII.