XII. · Section 2

XII.

Lo! where Hibernia pours her gen’rous train, 250 Dread of her foes, and foremost of the plain; Bright honour, and the em’rald isle, their cry, To fall is glory--infamy to fly. Mean time, brave Orange, mightiest of his name, Spreads desolation o’er the field of Fame. Great Prince! who, midst the thickest of the strife, Led on by native ardour, risk’d his life. Encompass’d round, amidst the hostile lines, Th’ heroic youth his liberty resigns: A Belgian troop rush timely in, to save 260 The gallant chieftain from an early grave. The brilliant gem, th’ insignia’s regal pride, That matchless hero from his form untied, With grateful ardour, midst the martial crew, The signs of birth and royalty he threw. “Long live our Prince! long live our martial Lord!” Shout Belgia’s hardy sons, with one accord; “Come life, come death, this token we will shield, Through all the dangers of the dreadful field.” 269 Then where their ranks the tow’ring standard grac’d, With pride exulting, the rich ensign plac’d; Along the plain, as driving bail, they pour, And flood the field with many a stream of gore.