Page:Stanzas on an Ancient Superstition (1864).djvu/9

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And from their midst a voice that pierced the soul,
 * Proclaimed, with startling tone, “No victim slain

Can now the world’s impending fate control!
 * Rise from the dust—your suppliance is in vain;
 * Rise, and march forth—a nation’s funeral train—

To die where erst our fathers stood to die,
 * Nor shrunk to meet the doom the gods ordain.

Let martial songs, and bursts of minstrelsy, And heaven-heard pæan shouts, our own brave death-dirge be!”

Then might the eye behold (if eye there were
 * Could turn to note another’s dire distress)

How sons their aged sires did onward bear,
 * And mothers to their hearts their infants press,
 * And fathers stoop their children to caress,

Or calm their fears—their own lips blanched with fear;
 * And then were heard shrill cries of wretchedness,

(If ear there were in all that throng could hear Aught else but its own heart’s wild throbbings of despair.)

Beyond the city gates a mountain reared,
 * O’er crags and chasms, its lofty peak, whereon,

In ancient times, whene’er the fate they feared
 * Passed harmless by, the first bright signal shone,
 * Proclaiming, far and near, the midnight gone;

Then answering signals blazed, whose gladdening beams
 * Eastward and westward, northward and southward thrown,

Roused the vast empire from its doleful dreams To song, and festive dance, und all that mirth beseems.