Two already were lying dead
Under the feet of the trampling foe.
But after the evening’s work was done,
And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp,
Over his shoulder he slung his gun,
And stealthily followed the foot-path damp;
Across the clover and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim;
Though the dew was on his hurrying feet
And the blind bat’s flitting startled him.