Songs of the Seasons :: :: University of Virginia Library

It is the old and self-repeating story;
The generations that are yet to be
Will have their taste of it. Humanity
Is most itself in the desire of glory.

165

II

Peace is an idle word, and only meaneth
A brief cessation from the activities
Of life—a pause that interveneth
During the combat—a pretence of ease.

III

Oh, War! thou hast thy thousand lame excuses!
The jealousies that rouse thee are untold:
Treaties with thee are forecasts of abuses—
Below their shelter Liberty is sold!

IV

Upon thy lying standard Peace is written—
“The message of the cannon ball is Peace;”
Thou would'st persuade the world! Forsake, O Briton!
The weary hope that wars shall ever cease!

V

They never will, so long as Man is Man,
And passions are unchanged, and Kings are Kings,
And Kings have Ministers that plot and plan,
And such have Creatures and vile underlings.

VI

Great wars are ever preludes to still greater;
And this great war that desolates the earth,
And the eidolon mars of our Creator,
Will mother be of many a monstrous birth.

166

VII

For what breed wars, and what the strife of nations,
But stern revenges that look centuries back
On burning wrongs and cruel desolations,
And long to acquit them on a bloodier track?

VIII

Let all alone the fantasy of glory—
Ambition and the lust of sov'reign sway!
A darker passion tells on future story,
Bred from their loins, and watchful of its day.

IX

What with the humbling of an Empire's pride
Compared are those incentives to the fight
Which spring of fame-love? With an under-tide
Of stern revenge conquest is borrowed might.

X

Dictate what terms he may, if they but touch
The nation's honour, He, the conqueror,
Hath sought to humble, and hath humbled much,
Priding himself that he can humble more,

XI

Graves will give forth their dead. The chivalries
Of ancient France will start to life again—
A murmur, like the chafing of the seas,
And lo! they rise to combat—the long-slain!

167

XII

O Patriot Spirit! art thou dead or sleeping?
O sons of Gaul! degenerate in seeming!
See ye no dawning in this night of weeping—
Through its dark curtain no deliverance streaming?

XIII

Be but yourselves! Resolve to be resolved!
With union, and the purpose to excel,
Your strength will come. The year hath not revolved—
Paris may starve—but starve invincible.

XIV

Out with exultant chimes from Notre-Dame!
The heart of France is stirring as of yore,
Their brows illumined with heroic calm—
Her sons are sons of Paladins once more!

XV

Die resolute!—not unavenged ye die:
With Dragons' teeth is sown the battle-field
On which they fall, who fall for Liberty—
Woe to the Slayer and his tainted shield!