Chapter V

The loathsome messenger of wo and death
True to his dark and awful mission wound,
Polluting air with his envenom'd breath,
Huge folds the palisadoed camp around:
Crouched at his master's feet the faithful hound,
And raised a piteous and despairing cry;
No outlet of escape the mother found
For her imploring infants, and on high
Lifted her trembling hands in voiceless agony.