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(240) Page 232 - Defeat
232
THE DEFEAT.
From hill to hill the bugles sound
The soul-arousing strain,
The war-bred coursers paw the ground,
And, foaming, champ the rein.
Their steel-clad riders bound on high,
A bold defensive host,
"With valour fir'd, away they fly,
Like light'ning, to the coast.
And now they view the wide-spread lines
Of the invading foe,
Now skill with British brav'ry joins,
To strike one final blow.
Now on they rush with giant stroke-
Ten thousand victims bleed — ■
They trample on the iron yoke
Which France for us decreed.

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