Dumb symbols, telling more than tongues could speak
The awful shadows of the fiend of war.
Look! Look! What gentle form with cautious step
Passes from couch to couch as silently
As yon faint shadows flickering on the walls,
And, bending o’er the gasping sufferer’s head,
Cools his flushed forehead with the icy bath,
From her own tender hand, or pours the cup
Whose cordial powers can quench the inward flame
That burns his heart to ashes, or with voice