I see the steeds with perspiration wet,
Sink on the well-directed bayonet;
I see them, wounded by the fatal lunge,
Become unmanageable and madly plunge;
Foaming and snorting with the sudden pain,
They trample on the wounded and the slain;
I see their riders in the stirrups stand
And grasp their pistols with the bridle hand;
I see the pistols flash and sabres thrust,
A scene of wild confusion, smoke and dust;