George Gordon Byron

“ Of living valour, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay;
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife;
The morn the marshalling in arms; the day
Battle's magnificiently-stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'cr it, which when rent,
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover,—heaped and pent,
Rider and horse,—friend, foe,— in one red burial blent! ”

“ And there was sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess
If evermore should meet those mutual eyes
Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn should rise! ”

“ A thousand hearts beat happily: and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;—
But hush! hark; a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! ”