The pumpers frenzically scann’d * * *
And some, unnerv’d, betear’d their eyes.
(My muse doth falter to go on,
But on I must, so on I write,—
Though tears are all but trickling down,
As I bewail that mournful night.)
Then mothers, with their infants, cry
And pray, if ne’er before they pray’d;
And those that knew not how, now try:
But in an instant all is said!—