Round the hard-beset French.
To dash out and flash through,
Like a wind-driven flame, they would dare, though a host
Hot from Hades stood there. But abandon the post?
Nay, they dare not do that; they were soldiers of France,
And dishonor should stain neither sabre nor lance;
They could bravely meet death, though like Hydra it came
Horror-headed and dire, but no shadow of shame
For a trust left to perish when danger drew nigh
Should e'er dim the flag waving free to the sky.