"The ford is deep, the banks are steep,
The island-shore lies wide:
Nor man nor horse could stem its force,
Or reach the further side.
See there! amidst the willow boughs
The serried bayonets gleam;
They've flung their bridge--they've won the isle;
The foe have crossed the stream!
Their volley flashes sharp and strong--
By all the Saints, I trow,
There never yet was soldier born
Could force that passage now!"