In groupes collected, nestle round the Fire;
The conflicts of the day by turns relate,—
Count o’er the slaughtered, and lament their fate.
Stretch’d on the ground, they lay in sound repose,
Nor rous’d from slumber, till the Sun arose.
With melancholy zeal John bent his way
To seek the spot where his brave Captain lay—
Fain would I stop, but truth I must impart,
And spread a gloom o’er every British heart;
As slow his searching eye survey’d the ground,