And then with tears, and sighs, and some slight kisses,

They parted for the present—these to await,

According to the artillery's hits or misses,

What sages call Chance, Providence, or Fate—

(Uncertainty is one of many blisses,

A mortgage on Humanity's estate;)[HV]While their belovéd friends began to arm,

To burn a town which never did them harm.