And round him in a curving row a dozen Hessians slain.
How well his sword had mown was shown in gazing at the heap—
Strown like a swathe of grass before some lusty mower’s sweep—
Of those whose souls had fled their forms through bloody wounds and deep.
I placed his corse upon his horse, and gently homeward led
The wearied steed that ne’er before was ridden by the dead;
And we buried the corse in the meadow with a white stone at its head.
THE BATTLE-GROUND OF BENNINGTON.