In the red moat, the dying and the slain,
And o’er that fearful bridge the assailants mount again!
LXXXIV.
Oh! the dread mingling, in that awful hour,
Of all terrific sounds!—the savage tone
Of the wild horn, the cannon’s peal, the shower
Of hissing darts, the crash of walls o’erthrown,
The deep dull tambour’s beat—man’s voice alone
Is there unheard! Ye may not catch the cry
Of trampled thousands—prayer, and shriek, and moan,