University of Virginia Library


10

THE DOVE BRINGS BACK HIS ARROWS, WITH AN OLIVE BRANCH.

So may it serve, if Heaven's high will decree,
To save us from the cost of victory;
From lavish cost of consecrated blood,
Of those who for their Country's good
Brave hardship, peril, death,
That they may leave, with nature's parting breath,
This land of heroes to its rightful heirs,
By rapine undefil'd, unaw'd by slavish fears!
And, as the messenger of Love,
Cythera's snowy dove,
Brings to the youthful arbiter of hearts
An olive chaplet with his myrtle darts,
So may Time's circling wing
The halcyon concord bring
Beneath its wafture—while each peace-clad plain
With grateful plenty teems,
To Ceres yields its tributary grain,
To bright Pomona its nectareous streams.