And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered—
The weary to sleep and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle-field’s dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track;
’Twas autumn—and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.