Hark! Hear you it like vomit from the throat
Of Hades hurtling through the sulphurous air,
With cross between the moan of Manes’ wraith,
The torture of Inferno and the note
Of vulture-torn Prometheus’ despair?
Ah! ’Tis the cannon missile’s Singing Death!
It plays no diapason as the roar
It leaves behind where thunders loud intone,
Nor as the mighty swell of organ-reeds;
But all the stops of battle rising o’er,