Of trumpet’s thrilling note; nor wildly rang
The war-steed’s tramp; nor burst the warrior’s song
Forth in stern gladness from that ghastly throng.
Silence unbroken, deep as of the dead,
Brooded around; for Pestilence had spread
Her withering wings, and quenched the soldier’s pride,
And poisoned in each breast its bounding tide.
Helpless in life’s last throb the champion lay,
In his full manhood—he who in the day
Of strength and youth had buckled on his heel