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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 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
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
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 !
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.
War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, And inextinguishable rage. All heaven
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,
That underground they fought in dismal shade;
Infernal noise ! war seemed a civil game The archangel trumpet; through the vast of To this uproar ; horrid confusion heaped heaven
Upon confusion rose,
So spake the Son, and into terror changed
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,
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.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
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 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,
Nor more esteem me,
Loss to redeem me.
Better the quick release of glorious wounds,
(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
Poitiers and Cressy tell,
No less our skill is
Lopped the French lilies.
The Duke of York so dread
Amongst his henchmen,
On the false Frenchmen !
THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT.
Longer will tarry ;
Landed King Harry,
In happy hour, –
With all his power,
They now to fight are gone;
To hear was wonder;
Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became,
To our hid forces;
Struck the French horses
Which in his height of pride,
To the king sending ;
Their fall portending.
With Spanish yew so strong,
Piercing the weather ;
Stuck close together.
And turning to his men,
Be not amazed ;
By fame been raised.
When down their bows they threw,
Not one was tardy ;