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!