Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/311

 THE WAR-SPIRIT.

��WAR-SPIRIT ! war-spirit ! how gorgeous thy path, Pale earth shrinks with fear from thy chariot of wrath : The king at thy beckoning comes down from his throne, To the conflict of fate the armed nations rush on, With the trampling of steeds, and the trumpet's wild cry, While the fold of their banners gleams bright o'er the sky.

Thy glories are sought till the life-throb is o'er, Thy laurels pursued, though they blossom in gore ; 'Mid the ruins of columns and temples sublime, The arch of the hero doth grapple with time, The muse o'er thy form throws her tissue divine, And history her annal emblazons with thine.

War-spirit ! war-spirit ! thy secrets are known,

I have looked on the field when the battle was done

The mangled and slain in their misery lay,

And the vulture was shrieking and watching his prey ;

But the heart's gush of sorrow, how hopeless and sore,

In the homes that those loved ones revisit no more.

�� �