 | Letters of Laura D'Auverne |  |
155
PEACE.
Slowly the early mists of dawn arise,
A change, a movement, trembles o'er the skies;
Valley and forest, mead and mountain height,
Seem with faint breath to wait the morning light:
And lo! a foot of beauty from its sphere,
Beaming with jewels, climbs the mountain near.
Whate'er it touches, by some magic bold,
Blushes to ruby, or transmutes to gold!
Laced by a thousand tissues, rich and fair,
Woven by rainbow looms from threads of air:
Auroras of a moment glad the sight,
The poetry of clouds, and dews, and light!
Turn where ye will, on every side behold,
Ethereal pictures, framed in Nature's gold!
See, the dark beech leaf, like an Indian's ear,
Glitters with crystal-gold, and gem-drops clear:
And every reed on which the south hath blown
Seems dancing to a music of its own!
Come, let us mount the cliff, the crested height,
Where Dover rears her fortress to the sight;—
Like beings of the deep the vessels glide,
Proud of their own reflection in the tide;
Proud of their mission,—which is War no more,
But Commerce, Christian-love, from shore to shore
The cannon,—sentenced ne'er again to float,—
Still'd the red thunder in its murderous throat,—
Lies, by the majesty of Truth o'erthrown,
Rusted, dismounted, weed and moss o'ergrown.
The cautious lamb hath dared to make its way
Unto the very mouth which spoke—to slay!
Whilst e'en the butterfly within it dips,
And grass and flowers spring from its iron lips!
A change, a movement, trembles o'er the skies;
Valley and forest, mead and mountain height,
Seem with faint breath to wait the morning light:
And lo! a foot of beauty from its sphere,
Beaming with jewels, climbs the mountain near.
Whate'er it touches, by some magic bold,
Blushes to ruby, or transmutes to gold!
Laced by a thousand tissues, rich and fair,
Woven by rainbow looms from threads of air:
Auroras of a moment glad the sight,
The poetry of clouds, and dews, and light!
Turn where ye will, on every side behold,
Ethereal pictures, framed in Nature's gold!
See, the dark beech leaf, like an Indian's ear,
Glitters with crystal-gold, and gem-drops clear:
And every reed on which the south hath blown
Seems dancing to a music of its own!
158
Where Dover rears her fortress to the sight;—
Like beings of the deep the vessels glide,
Proud of their own reflection in the tide;
Proud of their mission,—which is War no more,
But Commerce, Christian-love, from shore to shore
The cannon,—sentenced ne'er again to float,—
Still'd the red thunder in its murderous throat,—
Lies, by the majesty of Truth o'erthrown,
Rusted, dismounted, weed and moss o'ergrown.
The cautious lamb hath dared to make its way
Unto the very mouth which spoke—to slay!
Whilst e'en the butterfly within it dips,
And grass and flowers spring from its iron lips!
Oh! might of Peace, that in the throat of death
Can scatter bloom with thine immortal breath,
And bid the timid lamb no longer heed
The cannon's mouth, but there in safety feed!—
Crop the wild flowers that live within its breast,
And taste the sweets of nature and of rest!
When will men learn, who still to battle haste,
That peace is property,—and war is waste?
That Education makes a Nation great,
And Knowledge is the safeguard of the State?
False is the triumph of the battle-hour,—
The noblest triumph is in moral power.
Time laughs at battles, and the fruits they earn;
The conquering sword lies conquered in its turn.
But there's a power which even Time can bind;
E'en Time itself is vanquished by the Mind!
It grasps beyond the victor's blood-won name,
And marshals cent'ries on the path of fame,
Can scatter bloom with thine immortal breath,
And bid the timid lamb no longer heed
The cannon's mouth, but there in safety feed!—
Crop the wild flowers that live within its breast,
And taste the sweets of nature and of rest!
When will men learn, who still to battle haste,
That peace is property,—and war is waste?
That Education makes a Nation great,
And Knowledge is the safeguard of the State?
159
The noblest triumph is in moral power.
Time laughs at battles, and the fruits they earn;
The conquering sword lies conquered in its turn.
But there's a power which even Time can bind;
E'en Time itself is vanquished by the Mind!
It grasps beyond the victor's blood-won name,
And marshals cent'ries on the path of fame,
Then welcome, Peace!—may Nations build thy shrine,
Profess thy creed, and own thy breath divine;
May Science, Literature, and Genius, spring,
Like rays of glory from thine angel wing!
Strike down Deception,—let no wrong endure,—
Take to thy heart the interests of the poor;
And prove, O Peace, that war usurps thy right,—
Not his, but thine, the victory and the might!
Strength, with simplicity; with grandeur, rest;
And majesty, with meekness; guard thy breast:
Till War, and Misery, and Crime, be gone,
And all the people of the earth are one.
Profess thy creed, and own thy breath divine;
May Science, Literature, and Genius, spring,
Like rays of glory from thine angel wing!
Strike down Deception,—let no wrong endure,—
Take to thy heart the interests of the poor;
And prove, O Peace, that war usurps thy right,—
Not his, but thine, the victory and the might!
Strength, with simplicity; with grandeur, rest;
And majesty, with meekness; guard thy breast:
Till War, and Misery, and Crime, be gone,
And all the people of the earth are one.
| Letters of Laura D'Auverne | |