 | Poems |  |
BELLONA.
When the fires of death are glowingO'er the reeking battle-field,
When the crimson stream is flowing,
And the watchword “die or yield,”
By vollied thunders, trumpets' bray,
And clash of brand and shield is rung;
When the scenes of youth are blooming
Round the pallid warrior's brain,
And the frantic soul is stung
To madness, when the fates are dooming
His gory tomb among the slain;
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Breathes forth her vigil orison,
And, of hope, and life bereft,
In frenzy pours her malison
On fell ambition's wanton waste—
When, amid the din of war,
The dreadful shock of death has past,
And moaning murmurs swell afar,
And vict'ry greets her trophied car—
Where the lava floods are dashing,
And the courser's tread, like thunder,
Shakes the red-field, where are flashing
Lightnings caustic, and asunder
Life, and hope, and heart are riven—
Where the crestless morion lies,
And the martial shield is cloven—
Where nothing 'mid the dire scene lives,
Save a dim halo on the wing;—
There in mortal carnage glowing,
I the death-knell love to ring,
And revel where the life-blood's flowing.
| Poems | |