As from the glittering expanse of skies,
The stars look down with cold, impassive eyes.
I see brigades, magnificent and large,
With bristling bayonets prepare to charge;
I see their banners in the distance gleam,
Reflecting back the sun's resplendent beam;
Within the shelter of the rifle pits,
Another army with composure sits,
While ever and anon a rifle's crack
Seems to invite the spirited attack.