Page:Poetical sketches reprint (1868).djvu/51

Rh And on the verge of this wild sea Famine and death doth cry; The cries of women and of babes Over the field doth fly.

The king is seen raging afar, With all his men of might; Like blazing comets scattering death Thro' the red feverous night.

Beneath his arm like sheep they die, And groan upon the plain; The battle faints, and bloody men Fight upon hills of slain.

Now death is sick, and riven men. Labour and toil for life; Steed rolls on steed, and shield on shield, Sunk in this sea of strife!

The god of war is drunk with blood, The earth doth faint and fail; The stench of blood makes sick the heavens, Ghosts glut the throat of hell!