XXV.
For soon so mixed amid the pitchy gloom
Were friend and foe, save when the cannon flashed
To send grim death rimbombing from its womb,
That friend smote friend, and indiscriminate dashed
They on, by that dread peril unabashed.
Hundreds were in the trenches headlong flung,
And bayonets high o’er head and under clashed.
So desperate to their ground the assailants clung,
It seemed as Victory long i’ th’ balance doubtful hung.