And the soaring, and the roaring, and the crackling of the flames.
Fell the shining hatchets quickly ’mid the thickly crowded women,
Growing dim in crimson currents from the pulses of the brain;
Rained the balls from firelocks deadly, till the melted snow ran redly
With the glowing torrent flowing from the bodies of the slain.
I, from pleasant dreams awaking at the breaking of my casement,
With amazement saw the foemen quickly enter where I lay;
Heard my wife and children’s screaming, as the hatchets woke their dreaming,
Heard their groaning and their moaning as their spirits passed away.
’Twas in vain I struggled madly as the sadly sounding pleading