I.

How terrible the march of blood-stained War! Though rank on rank his fiery breath lay low, Still patriots crowd, and many a needless scar And daring profitless derides the foe. Oh, human passion! Is’t but human wo Thou deign’st for food, for drink the crimson tide? Incarnadined Ambition! Here bestow A glance upon thy fruits, and learn to chide Thy self-idolatry, thy more than fiendish pride!