They fell as thick as harvests beneath hail,

Grass before scythes, or corn below the sickle,

Proving that trite old truth, that Life's as frail

As any other boon for which men stickle.

The Turkish batteries thrashed them like a flail,

Or a good boxer, into a sad pickle

Putting the very bravest, who were knocked

Upon the head before their guns were cocked.