XXXV.

Oh, spectral portent of Calamity! Oh, ghost of violated Beauty smeared With blood and fiery blackness. See it, see Where War’s wild wave hath swept o’er homes endeared-- All, all by Havoc’s burning ploughshare seared! An awful silence reigns, more horrid than The late artillery’s roar--a trophy reared To ruin in each street, that crimson ran. A plague infects the air from piled, putrescent man!