 | My Sonnets |  |
ALEXANDER THE GREAT.
'Twas not the old hereditary hate,That Greeks to the Barbarians ever bore,
That led the hero from his land's green shore
To trample on the Persian. That his fate
Glory might halo,—that renown might wait
Upon his memory,—he victory tore
From battling Asia: for this, victor, o'er
The fertile plains of many a mighty state,
Hid in the depths of the far East, he led
His conquering armies. Eloquent of him
Still are the battle-fields he heaped with dead,
The lands he filled with groans, for that wild whim.
Nor grow the nations wiser: still they crown,
As great, those who earth's happiness hunt down.
November 18th, 1842.
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