Page:The-knickerbocker-gallery-(knickerbockergal00clarrich).djvu/375

If once, amid that iron rain,
Yon broken bridge their steeds can gain,
They 're safe—yet no! They strive in vain,
    'T is their last battle-field.

But look! hurrah! new shouts resound!
Their foes give way, and bite the ground,
And like some strong uprooted oak,
    Contending with the blast,
Slow yielding to the tempest stroke,
Now wavering 'mid the billowy smoke,
That torn and flaunting Crescent look!
    Stoops to the dust at last.

There, 'mid the battle's wildest storm,
Erect, Zerrini's glorious form
    Uptowers like a god.
"With shout, resounding wild and far
Above the mad discordant war,
He cheers his men, "On! on! hurrah!"
But, now, St. Steven! to the ground,
Borne, like the stag, by fierce blood-hound,
O'erwhelmed with many a mortal wound
He falls, our eyes no more to greet,
Crushed 'mid wild horses' iron feet,
    A trampled, broken clod.

On! on! 'mid shout and dying groan,
Now Ulric and the boy are down!
But no! they rise; o'er heaps of slain
Forward their snorting chargers strain;
The masses break apart again.
    Their foes, they reel; they fly!
With their sharp swords they cut their way,
Uninjured, through the reckless fray.
The bridge! the bridge! they gain the day!
    "On! death or victory!"

Oh, gallant Fritz! not yet, not yet!
Beware that furious, hot onset,
With flaming eyes, together four
Against thee rush. One struggle more!