And swift swords brandish’d bare.
Then madly was the conflict waged,
Then terribly red Slaughter raged!
“How still is yet yon dense morass
The bloody sun below!
Where’er yon chosen horsemen pass,
There stirs no bough nor blade of grass,
There moves no secret foe!
Yet on, quick eye and cautious tread,
His bold ranks Johnson darkling led.