XXIII.
We rode in silence. And at twilight came
Into the Moated Manse.—Great clouds had grown
Up in the West, on which the sunset's flame
Lay like the hand of slaughter.—Very lone
Its rooms and halls: a splintered door that, lame,
Swung on one hinge; a cabinet o'erthrown;
Or arras torn; or blood-stain turning wan,
Showed us the way the battle once had gone.