Appalled, an owlet’s ’larum filled with dread,
Now views the column-scattering bayonet jar,
The falchion flash, and o’er the yet warm dead
Stalks with Minerva’s step, where Mars might quake to tread.
Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale,
O! had you known her in the softer hour,—
Marked her black eye, that mocks her coal-black veil,—
Heard her light, lively tones in lady’s bower,—
Seen her long locks, that foil the painter’s power,—
Her fairy form, with more than female grace,—