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Close his eyes; his work is done!

What to him is friend os forman, Rise of morn on det of sun,

In the clover on the snow! What cares he? he camet kucwe; "Lay hin - low!

Gw. t oken

POEMS OF PEACE AND WAR.

WAR.

WAR FOR THE SAKE OF PEACE.

FROM "BRITANNIA." O FIRST of human blessings, and supreme ! Fair Peace ! how lovely, how delightful thou ! By whose wide tie the kindred sons of men Like brothers live, in amity combined And unsuspicious faith ; while honest toil Gives every joy, and to those joys a right Which idle, barbarous rapine but usurps. Pure is thy reign.

In darkness, and pure and spangling snow Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers

round ! Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening

peals In countless echoes through the mountains ring, Startling pale midnight on her starry throne ! Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar Frequent and frightful of the bursting bomb; The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the

shout, The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men Inebriate with rage ;- loud, and more loud The discord grows; till pale death shuts the

scene,

What would not, Peace ! the patriot bear for

thee? What painful patience? What incessant care ? What mixed anxiety? What sleepless toil ? E'en from the rash protected, what reproach ? For he thy value knows ; thy friendship he To human nature : but the better thou, The richer of delight, sometimes the more Inevitable WAR, — when ruffian force Awakes the fury of an injured state. E'en the good patient man whom reason rules, Roused by bold insult and injurious rage, With sharp and sudden check the astonished sons Of violence confounds ; firm as his cause His bolder heart ; in awful justice clad ; His eyes effulging a peculiar fire : And, as he charges through the prostrate war, His keen arm teaches faithless men no more To dare the sacred vengeance of the just.

And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud. – Of all the men
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there,
In proud and vigorous health ; of all the hearts
That beat with anxious life at sunset there,
How few survive, how few are beating now !
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm
That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause ;
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan
With which some soul bursts from the frame of

clay
Wrapt round its struggling powers.

The gray morn Dawns on the mournful scene ; the sulphurous

smoke Before the icy wind slow rolls away, And the bright beams of frosty morning dance Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms, And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful

Then ardent rise! O, great in vengeance rise !
O'erturn the proud, teach rapine to restore ;
And, as you ride sublimely round the world,
Make every vessel stoop, make every state
At once their welfare and their duty know

JAMES THOMSON.

path

WAR.

of the outsallying victors ; far behind,

| Black ashes note where their proud city stood. Au ! whence yon glare, Within yon forest is a gloomy glen, — That fires the arch of heaven ? - that dark-red Each tree which guards its darkness from the smoke

1 day Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quenched Waves o'er a warrior's tomb.

plain

War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, And inextinguishable rage. All heaven
The lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade, Resounded ; and had earth been then, all earth
And to those royal murderers whose mean thrones Had to her centre shook.
Are bought by crimes of treachery and gore,
The bread they eat, the staff on which they lean.

Deeds of eternal fame Guards, garbed in blood-red livery, surround Were done, but infinite : for wide was spread Their palaces, participate the crimes

That war, and various: sometimes on firm ground That force defends, and from a natiou's rage A standing fight, then, soaring on main wing, Secure the crown, which all the curses reach Tormented all the air ; all air seemed then That famine, frenzy, woe, and penury breathe. Conflicting fire. These are the hired bravos who defend The tyrant's throne.

| Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. Which God hath in his mighty angels placed !)

Their arms away they threw, and to the hills

(For earth hath this variety from heaven, BATTLE OF THE ANGELS.

Of pleasure situate in hill and dale),

Light as the lightning glimpse they ran, they FROM "PARADISE LOST," BOOK VI.

flew, THE ARRAY.

From their foundations loosening to and fro, Now went forth the morn,

They plucked the seated hills, with all their load,

Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold

| Uplifting bore them in their hands : amaze, Empyreal ; from before her vanished night,

Be sure, and terror, seized the rebel host, Shot through with orient beams; when all the

When coming towards them so dread they saw

The bottom of the mountains upward turned, Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright,

. . . . and on their heads Chariots, and Aaming arms, and fiery steeds,

Main promontories flung, which in the air Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view.

Came shadowing, and oppressed whole legions

armed ; The apostate in his sun-bright chariot sat,

Their armor helped their harm, crushed in and Idol of majesty divine, enclosed

bruised With flaming cherubim, and golden shields;

Into their substance pent, which wrought them Then lighted from his gorgeous throne, for now

pain 'Twixt host and host but narrow space was left, Implacable, and many a dolorous groan; A dreadful interval, and front to front

Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind Presented stood in terrible array

Out of such prison, though spirits of purest light, Of hideous length : before the cloudy van,

Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown. On the rough edge of battle ere it joined,

The rest, in imitation, to like arms Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced,

Betook them, and the neighboring hills uptore : Came towering, armed in aulamant and gold.

So hills amid the air encountered hills,

Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire,
THE CONFLICT.

That underground they fought in dismal shade;
Michael bid sound

Infernal noise ! war seemed a civil game The archangel trumpet; through the vast of To this uproar ; horrid confusion heaped heaven

Upon confusion rose,
It sounded, and the faithful armies rung
Hosanna to the Highest : nor stood at gaze

THE VICTOR.
The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined
The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose,

So spake the Son, and into terror changed
And clamor, such as heard in heaven till now | His countenance too severe to be belield,
Was never ; arms on armor clashing brayed And full of wrath bent on his enemies.
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels

At once the four spread out their starry wings Of brazen chariots raged ; dire was the noise With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs Of conflict; overhead the dismal hiss

Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew,

Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. And flying vaulted either host with fire. He on his ini pious foes right onward drove, So under fiery cope together rushed

Gloomy as night : under his burning wheels Both battles main, with ruinous assault | The steadfast empyrean shook throughout,

turf,

All but the throne itself of God. Full soon | For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the Among them he arrived ; in his right hand

blast, Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; Before him, such as in their souls infixed And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and Plagues : they, astonished, all resistance lost,

chill, All courage ; down their idle weapons dropt; And their hearts but once heaved, and forever O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he grew still !

rode of thrones and mighty seraphim prostráte,

And there lay the steed with his nostril all widė, That wished the mountains now might be again | But through it there rolled not the breath of his Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire.

pride :
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell And the foam of his gasping lay white on the
His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged Four
Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes ;

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
One spirit in them ruled ; and every eye
Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his

mail ; Among the accursed, that withered all their

And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, strength,

The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And of their wonted vigor left them drained,
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, Yet half his strength he put not forth, but And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; checked

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the His thunder in mid volley; for he meant

sword, Not to destroy, but root them out of heaven: Hath melted'

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! The overthrown he raised, and as a herd

LORD BYRON. Of goats or timorous flock together thronged, Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued With terrors and with furies, to the bounds

CATILINE TO THE ROMAN ARMY. And crystal wall of heaven ; which, opening wide, Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed

FROM "CATILINE," ACT V. sc. 2. Into the wasteful deep : the monstrous sight SOUND all to arms! (A flourish of trumpets.) Struck them with horror backward, but far worse Call in the captains, - (To an officer.) Urged them behind : headlong themselves they

I would speak with them! threw

(The officer goes.) Down from the verge of heaven ; eternal wrath Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.

Now, Hope! away, — and welcome gallant MILTON.

Death! | Welcome the clanging shield, the trumpet's

yell, — THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. Welcome the fever of the mounting blood, FROM "HEBREW MELODIES."

That makes wounds light, and battle's crimson

toil TAE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the

Seem but a sport, -- and welcome the cold bed, fold,

Where soldiers with their upturned faces lie, -And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and

And welcome wolf's and vulture's hungry throats, gold;

That make their sepulchres ! We fight to-night. And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

(The soldiery enter.) When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Centurions! all is ruined ! I disdain Galilee.

To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown !

| And now, let each that wishes for long life Like the leaves of the forest when summer is Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome. green,

Ye all are free to go. What! no man stirs ! That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Not one! a soldier's spirit in you all ? Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath Give me your hands! (This moisture in my eyes blown,

Is womanish, — 't will pass.) My noble hearts ! That host on the morrow lay withered and Well have you chosen to die! For, in my mind, strown.

| The grave is better than o'erburdened life;

And for myself, quoth he,
This my full rest shall be ;
England ne'er mourn for me,

Nor more esteem me,
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain ;
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

Better the quick release of glorious wounds,
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues ;
Better the spear-head quivering in the heart,
Than daily struggle against fortune's curse ;
Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood,
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge
In poverty, dull pain, and base decay.
Once more, I say, — are ye resolved ?

(The soldiers shout, All! All !") Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms] That he would love to die in, — for, this hour, We storm the Consul's camp. A last farewell !

(He takes their hands.) When next we meet, — we'll have no time to look, How parting clouds a soldier's countenance. Few as we are, we ’ll rouse them with a peal That shall shake Rome ! Now to your cohorts' heads; - the word 's

Revenge!

Poitiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell;

No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat

Lopped the French lilies.

GEORGE CROLY.

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led ;
With the main Henry sped,

Amongst his henchmen,
Excester had the rear, -
A braver man not there:
O Lord ! how hot they were

On the false Frenchmen !

THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT.
Fair stood the wind for France,
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance

Longer will tarry ;
But putting to the main,
At Kause, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,

Landed King Harry,
And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marched towards Agincourt

In happy hour, –
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopped his way,
Where the French general lay

With all his power,

They now to fight are gone;
Armor on armor shone ;
Drum now to drum did groan,-

To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,

Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham!
Which did the signal aim

To our hid forces;
When, from a meadow by,
Like a storm, suddenly,
The English archery

Struck the French horses

Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide

To the king sending ;
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet, with an angry smile,

Their fall portending.

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,

Piercing the weather ;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And, like true English hearts,

Stuck close together.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then :
Though they to one be ten,

Be not amazed ;
Yet have we well begun,
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun

By fame been raised.

When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilboes drew,
And on the French they flew,

Not one was tardy ;

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