But, thundering as their foemen came,
Each rifle flashed its deadly flame.
A moment, then recoil and rout,
With reeling horse and struggling shout,
Confused that onset fair;
But, rallying each dark steed once more,
Like billows borne the low reefs o’er
With foamy crest in air,
Right on and over them they bore,
With gun and bayonet thrust before,