Vii

The last march opened with the sudden blaze Of howitzers upon the face of night, Waving us onward ere the laggard light Of morning broke down transport-crowded ways. Next to the first was this the bitterest phase Of our humiliation. Yet ’tis right To chronicle some kindness, and requite Our armed custodians with this word of praise. By Fournes, by Haubourdin, the endless reel Of marching men ran out its windings slow, Till near day’s end, nigh broken on the wheel Of hunger, and scarce longer fit to go, Within the moated Citadel of Lille The sharper pang gave place to deeper woe.

RASTATT, 5th May