Epigraph
What, must I tell it thee?
As o’er my ev’ning fire I musing sat
Some few days since, my mind’s eye backward turn’d
Upon the various changes I have pass’d—
How in my youth with gay attire allur’d,
And all the grand accoutrements of war,
I left my peaceful home: Then my first battles,
When clashing arms, and sights of blood were new:
Then all the after-chances of the war;
Ay, and that field, a well-fought field it was.
COUNT BASIL.