Alas, to think that Heaven above
Should favor man no more!
To north and south we scatter’d far,
We listened o’er and o’er,
But not a sound, from north or south,
The empty breezes bore.
A few there were could cross at last,—
Alas, but all too few!
Night sped, and Allen, by the fort
Could count scarce eighty-two.[10]