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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355413" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fragment</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Descriptive of the miseries of War; from a Poem<br>called 'The Emigrants,' printed in 1793. <br>TO a wild mountain, whose bare summit hides<br>Its broken eminence in clouds; whose steeps</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Are dark with woods: where the receding rocks<br>Are worn with torrents of dissolving snow;<br>A wretched woman, pale and breathless, flies,<br>And, gazing round her, listens to the sound<br>Of hostile footsteps:--No! they die away--<br>Nor noise remains, but of the cataract,<br>Or surly breeze of night, that mutters low<br>Among the thickets, where she trembling seeks<br>A temporary shelter--Clasping close<br>To her quick throbbing heart her sleeping child,<br>All she could rescue of the innocent group<br>That yesterday surrounded her--Escaped<br>Almost by miracle!--Fear, frantic Fear,<br>Wing'd her weak feet; yet, half repenting now<br>Her headlong haste, she wishes she had staid<br>To die with those affrighted Fancy paints<br>The lawless soldiers' victims--Hark! again<br>The driving tempest bears the cry of Death;<br>And with deep, sudden thunder, the dread sound<br>Of cannon vibrates on the tremulous earth;<br>While, bursting in the air, the murderous bomb<br>Glares o'er her mansion--Where the splinters fall<br>Like scatter'd comets, its destructive path<br>Is mark'd by wreaths of flame!--Then, overwhelm'd<br>Beneath accumulated horror, sinks<br>The desolate mourner!<br>The feudal chief, whose gothic battlements<br>Frown on the plain beneath, returning home<br>From distant lands, alone, and in disguise,<br>Gains at the fall of night his castle walls,<br>But, at the silent gate no porter sits<br>To wait his lord's admittance!--In the courts<br>All is drear stillness!--Guessing but too well<br>The fatal truth, he shudders as he goes<br>Through the mute hall; where, by the blunted light<br>That the dim moon through painted casement lends,<br>He sees that devastation has been there;<br>Then, while each hideous image to his mind<br>Rises terrific, o'er a bleeding corse<br>Stumbling he falls; another intercepts</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His staggering feet--All, all who used to<br>With joy to meet him, all his family<br>Lie murder'd in his way!--And the day dawns<br>On a wild raving maniac, whom a fate<br>So sudden and calamitous has robb'd<br>Of reason; and who round his vacant walls<br>Screams unregarded, and reproaches Heaven!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charlotte+Smith">Charlotte Smith</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355413" data-title="Fragment de Charlotte Smith" data-description="Descriptive of the miseries of War; from a Poem
called 'The Emigrants,' printed in 1793. 
TO a wild mountain, whose bare summit hides
Its broken eminence in clouds; whose steeps

Are dark with woods: where the receding rocks
Are worn with torrents..."></div>
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