Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/47

 Now death is sick, and riven men
 * Labour and toil for life;

Steed rolls on steed, and shield on shield,
 * Sunk in this sea of strife!

The god of war is drunk with blood,
 * The earth doth faint and fail;

The stench of blood makes sick the heavens,
 * Ghosts glut the throat of hell!

O what have kings to answer for
 * Before that awful throne!

When thousand deaths for vengeance cry,
 * And ghosts accusing groan!

Like blazing comets in the sky
 * That shake the stars of light,

Which drop like fruit unto the earth
 * Thro' the fierce burning night;

Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet,
 * And the first blow decides;

Down from the brow unto the breast
 * Gordred his head divides!

Gwin fell: the Sons of Norway fled,
 * All that remain'd alive;

The rest did fill the vale of death,
 * For them the eagles strive.