Hans of Iceland, Volume 2 by Victor Hugo — Read

All must perish! / The sword cleaveth the helmet; / The strong armor is pierced by the lance; / Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes; / Engines break down the fences of the battle. / All must perish! / The race of Hengist is gone -- / The name of Horsa is no more! / Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword! / Let your blades drink blood like wine; / Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, / By the light of the blazing halls! / Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, / And spare neither for pity nor fear, / For vengeance hath but an hour; / Strong hate itself shall expire! / I also must perish! / -- WALTER SCOTT: _Ivanhoe_

We will not try to describe the fearful confusion which broke the already straggling ranks of the rebels, when the fatal defile suddenly revealed to them all its steep and bristling peaks, all its caverns peopled with unlooked-for foes. It would be hard to say whether the prolonged shout, made up of a thousand shrieks, which rose from the columns of men thus unexpectedly mowed down, was a yell of despair, of terror, or of rage. The dreadful fire vomited against them from every side by the now unmasked platoons of the royal troops, grew hotter every moment; and before another shot from their lines followed Kennybol's unfortunate volley, they were wrapped in a stifling cloud of burning smoke, through which death flew blindly, where each man, shut off from his friends, could but dimly distinguish the musketeers, lancers, and dragoons, moving vaguely among the cliffs and upon the edge of the thickets, like demons in a red-hot furnace.