Soft-ey'd Humanity, oh! veil thy sight!
Tis not in Rationality to view
(Even in thought) the dire ensuing scene;
For Madness, Madness reigns, and urges men
To deeds that Rationality disowns.
Now here and there about the horrid Field,
Striding across the dying and the dead,
Stalks up a man by strength superior,
Or skill and prowess in the arduous fight,
Preserv'd alive: ... fainting he looks around;
Fearing pursuit, nor caring to pursue.
The supplicating voice of bitterest moans,
Contortions of excruciating pain,
The shriek of torture and the groan of death,
Surround him; and as Night her mantle spreads,
To veil the horrors of the mourning Field,
With cautious step shaping his devious way,
He seeks a covert where to hide and rest:
At every leaf that rustles in the breeze
Starting, he grasps his sword; and every nerve
Is ready strain'd, for combat or for flight.
Thus list'ning to ward off approaching foes,
A distant whispering, fighting, murmuring sound
Salutes his ear, and to his throbbing heart
Soft tidings tells of tenderness and love.
For on that fatal day of vengeful ire.
At fearful distance following the host,
From either country came a female throng;
And now beneath the covert of the night
Advancing, guided by the voice of woe,