XXVII.

At deepest night the blaze of burning streets With horrid gleam doth light like Hell the town; The lurid glare its fit reflection meets, Where many a stream of blood runs crimson down! Ferocious yell and savage war-whoop crown The pile of dire disaster. Anguished screams Of terror shrill the roaring noises drown. Shrieks turn to groaning where the bayonet gleams, And murdered Sleep wakes wild from sanguinary dreams.