From this sad Spectacle my Eyes I turn'd;
Where Sons their Fathers, Maids their Lovers mourn'd;
Friends for their Friends, Sisters for Brothers wept;
Pris'ners of War in Chains, for Slaughter kept.
Each ev'ry Hour did the black Message dread,
Which should declare, the Person lov'd was dead.
Then I beheld, with brutal Shouts of Mirth,
A comely Youth, and of no common Birth,
To Execution led, who hardly bore
The Wounds in Battle, he receiv'd before;
And as he pass'd, I heard him bravely cry,
I neither wish to live, nor fear to die.