Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 7.djvu/55

Rh And so sweet to his eye was its sulphury glare,

And so soft to his ear was the cry of despair,

That he perched on a mountain of slain;

And he gazed with delight from its growing height,

Nor often on earth had he seen such a sight,

Nor his work done half as well:

For the field ran so red with the blood of the dead,

That it blushed like the waves of Hell!

Then loudly, and wildly, and long laughed he:

"Methinks they have little need here of me!"

6.

Long he looked down on the hosts of each clime,

While the warriors hand to hand were—

Gaul—Austrian and Muscovite heroes sublime,

And—(Muse of Fitzgerald arise with a rhyme!)

A quantity of Landwehr!

Gladness was there,

For the men of all might and the monarchs of earth,

There met for the wolf and the worm to make mirth,

And a feast for the fowls of the Air!

7.

But he turned aside and looked from the ridge

Of hills along the river,

And the best thing he saw was a broken bridge,

Which a Corporal chose to shiver;