Book,  Verse

1     II,   226|         Blent in a weighty pile of massacre~ ~
2    III,   517|                The nodding pile aloft, and wondered sore~ ~
3    III,   833| wept the mothers! 'Mid the pile confused~ ~
4      V,   115|           Frets 'neath the pile of huge Inarime. 9~ ~ ~ ~
5     VI,   106| Upon the mown expanse, nor pile of straw,~ ~
6     VI,   213|    hideous crackle. As the pile of slain~ ~
7    VII,   939|               Thy kinsman, pile on high from Oeta's slopes~ ~
8   VIII,   859|  Grudge not his misery the pile of wood~ ~
9   VIII,   883|                         No pile above the corpse nor under