XXX.

I've fit in a battle, an' heerd the guns Blasphemin' God with their devils' yell; Heerd the stuns of a fort like thunder crash In front of the scream of a red-hot shell; But thet thar poundin' of iron hoofs, The clatter of horns, the peltin' sweep Of three thousand head of a runnin' herd, Made all of them noises kind of cheap.