They found it strictly guarded; Michael rode,
In anger, at the densest, shouting loud,
“Smite, smite them, spare not, each man for his life.”
His Arab Horse, that stood with gathered limbs,
And head reined to his chest, sprang at the cry,
And leaping, like a flame, plunged in the crowd;
The rest was one confusion, without sight,
Or sound—a breathless dream of ecstasy—
Till he, and half a hundred mounted men,
Were pouring o’er the plain, as pour the floods,