’Twas now the middle of the Month of May, When o’er the Hills the Warlike Hosts display-- The Colours waving in the flitting Wind, The lengthened Columns tailing far behind. Now the steep Mountain-cliff their steps assail, Again descending, Wind into the Vale. The undulating Columns o’er the Plain Proclaim a Host in motion once again. Fain would my Muse depict the Warlike scenery, The awful Grandeur of the vast Machinery; Fain make familiar to imagination Th’ effect of moving War by combination; Fain teach unletter’d Minds to understand, The nice cohesion of the Warlike band-- With diffidence, this object to obtain, I’ll try the subject in my humble Strain. Full Eighty thousand Men, in partial Bands, Extending wide in Quarters o’er the Lands; All well equipp’d, by Winter’s preparation, In order most complete to quit each Station. Cheerful, Repose, and Luxury they yield, Following their Mighty Chieftain to the Field; And thus in part the Warlike arts display’d This numerous force, so skilfully array’d. In various Bodies, Marching to one Point, Communication kept, and no disjoint; Parallel move--so uniformly Led, None deviate, no Column shoots a-head. So well preserve the distance from each other, Contiguous Columns flanking one another. Day, after Day, this rigidly maintain O’er the rude Mountain, or extended Plain. Then Glittering Herds of Cavalry appear, Advanced in Front, on Flank, or in the Rear: So form’d, so organiz’d, this Mighty Host, All know their Station, every Man his Post. Can ought be seen more wond’rous, more Sublime, This great Machine in motion at one time; So well dispos’d, and all so closely cling, Receiving impulse from one active Spring? ’Twas thus our Army open’d the Campaign, And Lusitania left, to burst on Spain.