Xxxix

"Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps, And groans that rage of racking famine spoke; The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps, The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke, The shriek that from the distant battle broke, The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid host Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish tossed, Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!