Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/227

226 A dying war-horse neighed, in whose gored breast Life lingered stubbornly, or some pale knight Half-raised his arm, awakened by the call Of his loved steed, even from the dream of death. With stealthy step the prowling plunderer stalked, The dark-winged raven led her clamorous brood To their full feast, and on the shadowy skirts Of that dire field, the fierce hyena rolled A keen, malevolent eye. Time sped his course. Fresh verdure mantled Zama's fatal plain, While Carthage, with a subjugated knee And crownless head, toiled 'mid the slaves of Rome. Once more I sought Hamilcar's awful son— And lo! an exiled, and despised old man, Guest of Bithynian perfidy, did grasp The poison-goblet in his withered hand, And drink and die! Say! is this he who rent The bloody laurel from Saguntum's walls? That Eagle of the Alps, who through the clouds, Which wrapped in murky folds their slippery heights, Forced his unwieldy elephants? who rolled Victory's hoarse thunder o'er Ticinus' tide? And 'mid the field of Cannæ waved his sword Like a destroying angel? This is he! And this is human glory! God of Might! Gird with thy shield our vacillating hearts, That 'mid the illusive and bewildering paths Of this brief pilgrimage, we may not lose Both this world's peace, and the rewards of that Which hath no shadow. From this double loss, This wreck of all probationary hope, Defend us, by thy power.