Than his, whose ardent soul indignant swells,
Warmed by the fight, or cheer’d through high debate:
The soldier dies surrounded;—could he live
Alone to suffer, and alone to strive?
Answer, ye graves, whose suicidal gloom
Shows deeper honor than a common tomb!
Who sleep within?
Aye! who? Not woman, we can answer for it. God bless her who has written thus. The wretches who would rob the sex of their purity of heart, and their uncomplaining endurance of suffering, deserve to die, uncheered by woman’s nurture, unwept by woman’s tenderness. Such beings are not men: they are scarcely even brutes: they are aliquid monstri, monsters in part. But again:
“In many a village churchyard’s simple grave,
Where all unmarked the cypress branches wave;