From Leigh Hunt - The Field Of Battle

How solemn slow that distant Groan!—
O, could AMBITION, wild with fear,
The deep prophetic Warning hear,
And, looking, listning vain around
For one soul-soothing, softer sound,
While near, unseen, the Fiends of Hell
Toll round the wretch his fancied Knell,
Rave all alone!
But, hark, soft Plaints arise!—
Friendship, adieu; farewel, soft Love!
I go to smiling Peace above:—
The Friend, the Lover dies!
Yet, happy Soul to Freedom giv'n,
Go where no proud tyrannic Lord
Drives Man upon his Brother's sword;
Where Angels from thine arms shall tear
The Chains AMBITION bade thee wear;
Where, on the once pale Cheek of Woe,
In Smiles immortal, Roses blow—
The Bloom of Heav'n!