 | Poems |  |
Terror strikes my trembling frame—
Woes impend too great to name!
The warrior-hosts upon the plain,
Are moving to their ranks again.
Successive crowds of cavalry
Pour onward like a raging sea
Whose waves with wildly-hollow roar
Chase each other to the shore.
I know it by the thick clouds curling,
Wide their slugglish folds unfurling!
I see them slowly from the tents,
Uprising to the battlements!
Dense and slow—they clearly tell,
And deadly still—they speak too well—
Too well they tell of foemen nearing,
Crimson War and Death appearing!
Woes impend too great to name!
The warrior-hosts upon the plain,
Are moving to their ranks again.
Successive crowds of cavalry
Pour onward like a raging sea
Whose waves with wildly-hollow roar
Chase each other to the shore.
I know it by the thick clouds curling,
Wide their slugglish folds unfurling!
I see them slowly from the tents,
Uprising to the battlements!
Dense and slow—they clearly tell,
And deadly still—they speak too well—
Too well they tell of foemen nearing,
Crimson War and Death appearing!
| Poems | |