As through wild waves the vessel hold her course
Straight for the port, so through the serried force
He cleaves his way—as winds and waves will turn
The bark aside, that struggles to her bourne,
So still opposing numbers bar his way,
And rush between the avenger and his prey.
XI.
Borne back—repulsed—defeated—conquered—no!
Not while one wearied arm can strike a blow—
Stand the lorn few, and deeply draw their breath