And the rush of a thunder-bred storm in its stride!
Now the brink! now the leap! they are over! Hurrah!
Horse and rider are safe, and dash wildly away;
Not a slip, not a flinch, swift and sure as the flight
Of an eagle in mid-air they sweep through the night,
While the baffled foe glare in bewildered amaze
At the fast-flying prey speeding far from their gaze;
And the soft stars grow dim in the dawn's early glow
When MacMahon rides into the camp of Bugeaud.