Chapter XV

Spur on thy way!—since now thine ear
Has brooked thy veterans’ wish to hear,
Who, as thy flight they eyed
Exclaimed,—while tears of anguish came,
Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame,
“O that he had but died!”
But yet, to sum this hour of ill,
Look, ere thou leav’st the fatal hill,
Back on yon broken ranks—
Upon whose wild confusion gleams
The moon, as on the troubled streams
When rivers break their banks,
And, to the ruined peasant’s eye,
Objects half seen roll swiftly by,
Down the dread current hurled—
So mingle banner, wain, and gun,
Where the tumultuous flight rolls on
Of warriors, who, when morn begun,
Defied a banded world.