midnight
dearly will we die ! '' One hundred and fifty brave hearts poured out their life-blood by his motionless form , struck down like sheep in the slaughter-pen . But seven remained : in despair they gazed on the ruin around , reeling from exhaustion and slipping in gore . There was borne on the midnight air a faint , feeble cry : `` Quarter ! quarter ! '' Alas ! brave hearts , the appeal was lost , for an incarnate demon led the thirsty band .