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ONE TOUCH OF NATURE
CRUEL and wild the battle: Great horses plunged and reared, And through dust-cloud and smoke-cloud, Blood-red with sunset's angry flush, You heard the gun-shots rattle, And, 'mid hoof-tramp and rush, The shrieks of women speared.
For it was Russ and Turkomen,— No quarter asked or given; A whirl of frenzied hate and death Across the desert driven. Look! the half-naked horde gives way, Fleeing frantic without breath, Or hope, or will; and on behind The troopers storm, in blood-thirst blind, While, like a dreadful fountain-play,