And the fire was heap’d, and the bright wine pour’d,
For those, now needing nor hearth nor board;
Only a requiem, a shroud, a knell,
And oh! ye beloved of women, farewell!
Silently, with lips compress’d,
Pale hands clasp’d above her breast,
Stately brow of anguish high,
Deathlike cheek, but dauntless eye;
Silently, o’er that red plain,
Moved the lady midst the slain.