The night was dark, and the thick mist allow'd
Nought to be seen save the artillery's flame
Which arch'd the horizon like a fier cloud,
And in the Danube's waters shone the same—
A mirror'd hell! the volleying roar, and loud
Long booming of each peal on peal, o'ercame
The ear far more than thunder; for Heaven's flashe
Spare, or smite rarely—man's make millions ashes!