To have seen our fellows ride!"
But what avails the sabre sweep?
There rolls the awful sound,
Telling through heart, and limb, and brain,
That the cannon mows its ghastly lane,
And corses strew the ground.
Ha! Nolan flings his arms apart,
And a death-cry rings in air;
And see, may Heaven its mercy yield!
His charger from a hopeless field