{ To make the field of battle shine with fires,
{ And the promiscuous blaze to heaven aspires.
Now had the morning thrice renewed the light,
And thrice dispelled the shadows of the night,
When those who round the wasted fires remain,
Perform the last sad office to the slain.
They rake the yet warm ashes from below;
These, and the bones unburned, in earth bestow:
These reliques with their country rites they grace,
And raise a mount of turf to mark the place.