And words are few and brief. It seemeth waste
Of breath in idle converse to dilate,
When hundreds momently to Judgment haste;—
And sight usurps all functions! Mouths of Fate
Prophetic line the wall, where batteries wait
The onset, slowly turned the breach to flank,
And bayonets bristle ’neath the parapet,
For them prepared! The heart’s of interest blank,
That hath not waited thus in Battle’s foremost rank.
XIX.