And loud artillery rends the affrighted sky;

Swords clash with swords, on horses horses rush,

Man tramples man, and nations nations crush,

Death his vast scythe with sweep enormous wields;

And shuddering pity quits the ensanguined fields.

Dr. Darwin.

How like a fiend may man be made,

Plying the foul and monstrous trade

Whose harvest-field is human life,

Whose sickle is the reeking sword!