Woe to the victors and the vanquish’d! woe!
The earth is heap’d, is loaded with the slain;
Loud and more loud the cries of fury grow—
A sea of blood is swelling o’er the plain.
But from th’ embattled front, already, lo!
A band recedes—it flies—all hope is vain,
And venal hearts, despairing of the strife,
Wake to the love, the clinging love of life.
As the light grain disperses in the air,
Borne from the winnowing by the gales around,