Shudder beneath our shattering guns;
Pop-pop!—and Archie's puffs have blurred
Some craft engaged to search the Bosch out—
I hold my breath until the bird
Signals a wash-out.
Scarce I believe the vision real,
That here for life and death they fight;
A "Theatre of War," I feel,
Has set its stage for my delight,
Who occupy, exempt from toll,