And, crashing, broke, like burst of thunder’s roar—
Oh, what a groan! as Nature’s self expired,
Or all this habitable mansion fired—
Awaked by dying shrieks the warriors rose,
And all in vain their spacious shields oppose:
Some swear, some pray, but both alike in vain,
And heaps of myriads lie on myriads slain.
Averse at length, and slow the morning rose,
But what a scene its sickly beams disclose!
’Twas horror, horror all—the plague was kind—