The solemn hour of nature’s parting pangs
Had then been past. It meets us darkly now,
And we must drain its draught of bitterness
Together, drop by drop. O ye wide fields,
Ye plains of fight, and thrilling sounds of arms!
O proud delights of danger! Battle-cries,
And thou, my war-steed! and ye trumpet-notes
Kindling the soul! Midst your tumultuous joys
Death seem’d all beautiful.—And must I then,
With shrinking cold reluctance, to my fate