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If the stroke of war Fell certain on the guilty head, none else— If they that make the cause might taste th' effect, And drink themselves the bitter cup they mix; Then might the Bard (the child of peace) delight To twine fresh wreaths around the conqueror's brow; Or haply strike his high-toned harp, to swell The trumpet's martial sound, and bid them on When Justice arms for vengeance; but, alas! That undistinguishing and deathful storm Beats heaviest on the exposed and innocent; And they that stir its fury, while it raves, Safe and at distance send their mandates forth Unto the mortal ministers that wait To do their bidding!Crowe.