With haggard eyes, surcharg’d with blood,
Shatter’d his garments, torn his hair,
His arms wide sprawling to the air,
With hurried voice and accent loud,
Thus bellow’d to the rebel crowd:
“Hark how each private box’s desert cave
Sigh’s to the torrent’s voice beneath—
Our fierce battalions deafening clamours breathe,
And high in air their hundred arms they wave,
Swearing they’ll not an added ducat pay,