And shields dismantled and broken,
On the verge of the bloody battle scene,
The field of wrath betoken;
And the vassals are there,
And there fly the steeds of the dying and dead;
And where the mingled strife is spread,
The noblest warriors care
Is to cleave the foeman’s limbs and head,—
The conqueror less of the living than dead.
I tell you that nothing my soul can cheer,