Duganne's Poetical Works Autograph edition. Seventy-five Copies |
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| THE ARMIES. |
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 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
316
THE ARMIES.
1. PART I.—ARMIES OF THE PRESENT.
SOUL! behold those marshalled armies,
Threat'ning Heaven with dire alarms!
Gorgeous banners wave above them—
Flash like flame their gleaming arms!
Lo! their steeds the earth are trampling—
Hark! their brazen trumpets clang;
And the sulph'rous clouds of battle
Like a pall above them hang.
Shakes the ground beneath their onset—
Quakes the sky with answering dread;
And the iron waltz of battle
Whirls along, with crashing tread:
Flash the flaming tongues of muskets—
Peals the cannon's angry roar;
And the shell's loud diapason
Swells the awful din of war.
Storm-like rolls the hurtling onset—
Leaden drops of murderous rain;
Thund'rous fall the angry war-bolts—
Crimson rivers cross the plain:
Islands rise where sink the bravest—
Islands formed of steeds and men;
From the earth they sprang to being—
To the earth are trod again.
Iron hoofs are on men's bosoms—
Hearts are crushed by cannon-wheels;
Still the drum-beat gaily soundeth—
Still the cheering bugle peals.
Sheaves of souls like chaff are winnowed—
Swept beneath the whirl of fire;
Still the trumpet merrily clangeth—
Still the flags are mounting higher.
Back—far back behind those armies—Threat'ning Heaven with dire alarms!
Gorgeous banners wave above them—
Flash like flame their gleaming arms!
Lo! their steeds the earth are trampling—
Hark! their brazen trumpets clang;
And the sulph'rous clouds of battle
Like a pall above them hang.
Shakes the ground beneath their onset—
Quakes the sky with answering dread;
And the iron waltz of battle
Whirls along, with crashing tread:
Flash the flaming tongues of muskets—
Peals the cannon's angry roar;
And the shell's loud diapason
Swells the awful din of war.
Storm-like rolls the hurtling onset—
Leaden drops of murderous rain;
Thund'rous fall the angry war-bolts—
Crimson rivers cross the plain:
Islands rise where sink the bravest—
Islands formed of steeds and men;
From the earth they sprang to being—
To the earth are trod again.
317
Hearts are crushed by cannon-wheels;
Still the drum-beat gaily soundeth—
Still the cheering bugle peals.
Sheaves of souls like chaff are winnowed—
Swept beneath the whirl of fire;
Still the trumpet merrily clangeth—
Still the flags are mounting higher.
Move, with feeble steps and slow,
Ranks of pale and faded maidens,
Clad in garbs of sable wo;
Lines of orphaned babes and widows—
Dying mothers, childless sires;—
Merrily still resounds the bugle,
Brightly gleam the battle fires.
2. PART II.—ARMIES OF THE FUTURE.
SOUL! look forth where shines the Future!
Lo! where march in radiant lines,
Glorious hosts with snow-white banners—
Banners bright with holiest signs—
Gleams the Press, in golden glory—
Shines the Plough, in silken pride;
Waves aloft the flashing Anvil—
Floats the ponderous Sledge beside.
Lo! where march in radiant lines,
Glorious hosts with snow-white banners—
Banners bright with holiest signs—
Gleams the Press, in golden glory—
Shines the Plough, in silken pride;
Waves aloft the flashing Anvil—
Floats the ponderous Sledge beside.
318
Stalwart men, with limbs of iron,
Bear those gleaming flags above:
Men with lips and eyes of gladness—
Valiant souls and hearts of love.
Rings o'er earth their loud hosanna—
Soar to heaven those banners fair:
Hark! the eternal concave echoes—
Labor! labor!—work is prayer!
Bear those gleaming flags above:
Men with lips and eyes of gladness—
Valiant souls and hearts of love.
Rings o'er earth their loud hosanna—
Soar to heaven those banners fair:
Hark! the eternal concave echoes—
Labor! labor!—work is prayer!
O'er earth's plains sweep on those armies:
Mountains fall beneath their blows;
Lo! they choke the red volcanoes—
Lo! they grapple Iceland snows!
Rush their ploughs through black morasses—
Roll their cars through deserts' gloom;
Dark Miasma flies before them—
Shrinks in dread the hot Simoom!
Mountains fall beneath their blows;
Lo! they choke the red volcanoes—
Lo! they grapple Iceland snows!
Rush their ploughs through black morasses—
Roll their cars through deserts' gloom;
Dark Miasma flies before them—
Shrinks in dread the hot Simoom!
Gleam with golden grain the deserts—
Shine the swamps with flow'rets bright;
Still march on those glorious armies—
Wave their flags in radiant light.
Ocean's storms to them are playthings—
Chained are Earth, and Fire, and Air;
Merrily rings their loud-voiced anthem—
“Labor! labor!—work is prayer!”
Shine the swamps with flow'rets bright;
Still march on those glorious armies—
Wave their flags in radiant light.
Ocean's storms to them are playthings—
Chained are Earth, and Fire, and Air;
Merrily rings their loud-voiced anthem—
“Labor! labor!—work is prayer!”
319
Following close these conquering armies—
Dancing on with twinkling feet—
White-armed maids and flower-crown'd children
Haste those warrior-men to greet—
Hands are clasped in holiest union;
Joy, like incense, soars above:
Hail! thrice hail! the Industrial Armies!
Hail the immortal Strife of Love!
Dancing on with twinkling feet—
White-armed maids and flower-crown'd children
Haste those warrior-men to greet—
Hands are clasped in holiest union;
Joy, like incense, soars above:
Hail! thrice hail! the Industrial Armies!
Hail the immortal Strife of Love!
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |