Not long the foe that sweeping charge may bide,
Wildly they fly, or fall on every side.
XV.
And the last blow has fallen—all is still!
Hark to the murmur of the gentle rill—
List to the breezy song the night wind sings—
How the leaves shiver when the long bough swings—
And this is nature—beautiful by night!
Most beautiful, most heavenly in such light
As now sleeps on her. Mighty God! how mean