I cannot tell how long we strove before

Our horses fell beneath us; down we went

Crush’d, hack’d at, trampled underfoot. The night,

As some cold-manner’d friend may strangely do us

The truest service, had a touch of frost

That help’d to check the flowing of the blood.

My last sight ere I swoon’d was one sweet face

Crown’d with the wreath. That seem’d to come and go.

They left us there for dead!

Elisabetta.