Was headlong flung in Echallara’s stream,
And many an ailing man was soon a corse;
From many a musket fires defensive teem,
Held skyward—but in vain their flashes gleam,
For terrible our vantage. Some too rushed
In veteran might o’er Yanzi’s bridge, and deem
Our flank to gall, but soon their fire was hushed.
The wounded quarter sued—’twas given by conquerors flushed.
XXXI.
And prisoners fell by thousands in our hands,