Page:The Emigrants.pdf/62



All is drear silence!­—Guessing but too well The fatal truth, he shudders as he goes Thro' the mute hall; where, by the blunted light That the dim moon thro' painted casements lends, He sees that devastation has been there: Then, while each hideous image to his mind Rises terrific, o'er a bleeding corse Stumbling he falls; another interrupts His staggering feet­—all, all who us'd to rush With joy to meet him­—all his family Lie murder'd in his way!­—And the day dawns On a wild raving Maniac, whom a fate So sudden and calamitous has robb'd Of reason; and who round his vacant walls Screams unregarded, and reproaches Heaven!­— Such are thy dreadful trophies, savage War!