Gave way in dismay, as Najira
Plunged on in his passion for fame.
As, pursuing, he wheeled round the mountain
And swept like a storm through the gorge,
From an ambuscade, deep in the forest,
Their guns flushed like sparks from a forge.
Their cannon swept o’er us and through us;
Their rifles rained death on the field:
We had sworn by the Mother of Jesus
To conquer, but never to yield: