For the field ran so red with the blood of the dead,
That it blushed like the waves of hell!
Then loudly and wildly and long laughed he:
“Methinks they have here little need of me!”
......
But the softest note that soothed his ear
Was the sound of a widow sighing;
And the sweetest sight was the icy tear,
Which horror froze in the blue eye clear
Of a maid by her lover lying,