Xi monologue — Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems

Here Mars, terrific, wheel’d his iron car, And stirr’d the fight, and gloried in the war; No modern field could ever yet behold A fight so slaught’rous, and a war so bold. The steel-clad Gaul derides the gath’ring storm, Which pours in torrents o’er his warlike form; 150 Yet, though his _breast_ the pond’rous cuirass shield, His slaughter’d _limbs_ bestrew the bloody field. Each seem’d resolv’d the victor’s prize to claim, Each seem’d resolv’d to live, or die, in fame. But nought could stop the firm, determin’d course Of Scotia’s strength, of Scotia’s matchless force: Then, in that hour to Caledon so dear, Proud Gallia learnt her mighty name to fear: She turns--she rallies--then again we view Her numbers fly;--the gallant Scots pursue! 160 Yet was that victory bought by many a tear, O’er Cameron’s, Mitchell’s, and o’er Holmes’s bier; And long th’ historian and the muse shall tell, How bright they triumph’d, and how great they fell.