Like that which issues from his hollow throat
Who sleeping bellows in a frightful dream. 
More near their glaring eye-balls flashing meet;
Terror and Rage distorting every face,
Inflame each-other into trembling fury. 
  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,
Where on the earth the wounded mourners lay,
With trembling steps and fearful whispering voice,
Each seeks, and calls him whom she came to seek: 
And many a fugitive, whom force or fear
Had driven from the Field, steals softly back,
Anxious to know the fate of some lov’d friend. 
Mutual fears appal the mingled group,
Starting alternate at the unknown tongue: 
They fear a foe in each uncertain form
That through the gloom imperfectly appears. 
The mournful horrors of the doleful night
Melt every heart:  ... and when the morning’s beam
Shews the sad scene, and gives an interview,
Resentment, that worst torment of the mind,
Resentment ceases, satiate wrath subsides. 
Woman is present:  and so strong the charm
Of weeping Woman’s fascinating tears,
That though surviving Heroes’ unwash’d hands
Still grasp the falchion of horrid hue,
And though their fallen brethren from the ground
May seem to call for Vengeance from their hands,
The impulse of Revenge is felt no more;
No more the strange attire, the foreign tongue
Creates alarm:  for Nature’s-self has writ
In every face; where every eye can read
Repentant Sorrow, and forgiving Love. 
Their mingled tears wash the lamented dead: 
On every wound they pour soft Pity’s balm: 
Ere Sorrow’s tears are dried, they feel the