To ship Shades numberless across the flood.
In truth masses rush pell-mell to the bank,
Dead of all sorts, without order, or rank;
Heroes that in their country’s cause had bled,
Aged wives and husbands, boys, girls unwed,
Youths leaving parents to inscribe the stone,
And linger through unwelcome years alone:—
As many as the leaves Autumn’s first frost
Brings down; as winged swarms that have ocean crossed
To escape in warm lands harsh winter’s blasts.