Mine? yes, a mine!  Countermine! down, down! and
  creep through the hole,
Keep the revolver in hand!  You can hear him—­the
  murderous mole. 
Quiet! ah! quiet—­wait till the point of the pickaxe
  be through! 
Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again
  than before—­
Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is
  no more;
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England
  blew.

VI.

Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it
            chanced on a day,
Soon as the blast of that underground thunder-clap
            echoed away,
Dark through the smoke and the sulphur, like so many
            fiends in their hell—­
Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell
            upon yell—­
Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemies fell.

VII.

What have they done? where is it?  Out yonder. 
           Guard the Redan! 
Storm at the Water-gate, storm at the Bailey-gate!
           storm, and it ran
Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every
           side
Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drowned by
           the tide—­
So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who
           shall escape? 
Kill or be killed, live or die, they shall know we are
           soldiers and men.

VIII.

Ready! take aim at their leaders—­their masses are
           gapped with our grape—­
Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave
           flinging forward again,
Flying and foiled at the last by the handful they could
            not subdue;
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England
           blew.

IX.

Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart
          and in limb,
Strong with the strength of the race to command, to
          obey, to endure,
Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but
          on him—­
Still, could we watch at all points?  We were every
          day fewer and fewer.

X.

There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper
          that passed—­
“Children and wives—­if the tigers leap into the folds
          unawares,
Every man die at his post—­and the foe may outlive
          us at last,
Better to fall by the hands that they love, than to fall
         into theirs.”

XI.