wish

For Life, and Peace.... Alas! it cannot be:

To advance is to encounter dreadful danger;

But to recede, inevitable death;

His own associates would deal the blow:

Thus led by Fate, behold upon the plain,

The adverse bands in view, and in advance.

Now Fear, Self-pity, and affected Courage,

Speak in their hideous shouts with voice scarce human;

Like that which issues from his hollow throat

Who sleeping bellows in a frightful dream.

More near their glaring eye-balls flashing meet;

Terror and Rage distorting every face,

Inflame each-other into trembling fury.

Soft-ey'd Humanity, oh! veil thy sight!

Tis not in Rationality to view

(Even in thought) the dire ensuing scene;

For Madness, Madness reigns, and urges men

To deeds that Rationality disowns.

Now here and there about the horrid Field,

Striding across the dying and the dead,

Stalks up a man by strength superior,

Or skill and prowess in the arduous fight,

Preserv'd alive: ... fainting he looks around;

Fearing pursuit, nor caring to pursue.

The supplicating voice of bitterest moans,

Contortions of excruciating pain,

The shriek of torture and the groan of death,

Surround him; and as Night her mantle spreads,

To veil the horrors of the mourning Field,

With cautious step shaping his devious way,

He seeks a covert where to hide and rest:

At every leaf that rustles in the breeze

Starting, he grasps his sword; and every nerve

Is ready strain'd, for combat or for flight.

Thus list'ning to ward off approaching foes,

A distant whispering, fighting, murmuring sound

Salutes his ear, and to his throbbing heart

Soft tidings tells of tenderness and love.

For on that fatal day of vengeful ire.

At fearful distance following the host,

From either country came a female throng;

And now beneath the covert of the night

Advancing, guided by the voice of woe,

Where on the earth the wounded mourners lay,

With trembling steps and fearful whispering voice,

Each seeks, and calls him whom she came to seek:

And many a fugitive, whom force or fear

Had driven from the Field, steals softly back,

Anxious to know the fate of some lov'd friend.

Mutual fears appal the mingled group,

Starting alternate at the unknown tongue:

They fear a foe in each uncertain form

That through the gloom imperfectly appears.

The mournful horrors of the doleful night

Melt every heart: ... and when the morning's beam

Shews the sad scene, and gives an interview,

Resentment, that worst torment of the mind,

Resentment ceases, satiate wrath subsides.

Woman is present: and so strong the charm

Of weeping Woman's fascinating tears,

That though surviving Heroes' unwash'd hands

Still grasp the falchion of horrid hue,

And though their fallen brethren from the ground

May seem to call for Vengeance from their hands,

The impulse of Revenge is felt no more;

No more the strange attire, the foreign tongue

Creates alarm: for Nature's-self has writ

In every face; where every eye can read

Repentant Sorrow, and forgiving Love.

Their mingled tears wash the lamented dead:

On every wound they pour soft Pity's balm:

Ere Sorrow's tears are dried, they feel the spring

Of new-born joys, and each expanding heart

Contemplates future scenes of Peace and Love.

Long, even as long as room and food abound,

They interchange their friendly offices

For mutual good; reciprocally kind:

And much they wonder that they e'er were foes.

Still War's terrific name is kept alive:

Tradition, pointing to the rusty arms

That hang on high, informs each list'ning youth

How erst in fatal fields their Grandsires fell;

Childhood attentive hears the tragic tale;

And learns to shudder at the name of War.

GUNPOWDER! let the Soldier's Pean rise,

Where e'er thy name or thundering voice is heard:

Let him who, fated to the needful trade,

Deals out the adventitious shafts of Death,

Rejoice in thee; and hail with loudest shouts

The auspicious era when deep-searching Art

From out the hidden things in Nature's store

Cull'd thy tremendous powers, and tutor'd Man

To chain the unruly element of Fire

At his controul, to wait his potent touch:

To urge his missile bolts of sudden Death,

And thunder terribly his vengeful wrath.

Thy mighty engines and gigantic towers

With frowning aspect awe the trembling World.

Destruction, bursting from thy sudden blaze

Hath taught the Birds to tremble at the sound;

And Man himself, thy terror's boasted lord,

Within the blacken'd hollow of thy tube,

Affrighted sees the darksome shades of Death.

Not only mourning groves, but human tears,

The weeping Widow's tears, the Orphan's cries,

Sadly deplore that e'er thy powers were known.

Yet let thy Advent be the Soldier's song,

No longer doom'd to grapple with the Foe

With Teeth and Nails—When close in view, and in

Each-other's grasp, to grin, and hack, and stab;

Then tug his horrid weapon from one breast

To hide it in another:—with clear hands

He now expertly poizing thy bright tube,

At distance kills, unknowing and unknown;

Sees not the wound he gives, nor hears the shriek

Of him whose breast he pierces.... GUNPOWDER!

(O! let Humanity rejoice) how much

The Soldier's fearful work is humaniz'd,

Since thy momentous birth—stupendous power.

In Britain, where the hills and fertile plains,

Like her historic page, are overspread

With vestiges of War, the Shepherd Boy

Climbs the green hillock to survey his flock;

Then sweetly sleeps upon his favourite hill,

Not conscious that his bed's a Warrior's Tomb.

The ancient Mansions, deeply moated round,

Where, in the iron Age of Chivalry,

Redoubted Barons wag'd their little Wars;

The strong Entrenchments and enormous Mounds,

Rais'd to oppose the fierce, perfidious Danes;

And still more ancient traces that remain

Of Dykes and Camps, from the far distant date

When minstrel Druids wak'd the soul of War,

And rous'd to arms old Albion's hardy sons,

To stem the tide of Roman Tyranny: ...

War's footsteps, thus imprinted on the ground,

Shew that in Britain he, from age to age,

Has rear'd his horrid head, and raging reign'd.

Long on the margins of the silver Tweed

Opposing Ensigns wav'd; War's clarion

Dreadfully echo'd down the winding stream,

Where now sweet Peace and Unity reside:

The happy peasant of Tweed's smiling dale,

Whene'er his spade disturbs a Soldier's bones,

With shudd'ring horror ruminates on War;

Then deeper hides the awful spectacle,

Blessing the peaceful days in which he lives

Since Peace has bless'd the villages on Tweed,

And War has ceas'd to drive his iron car

On Britain's shore, what myriads of men

Over the Eastern and the Western Seas

Have follow'd War, and found untimely graves.

Where'er the jarring interests of States

Excite the brave to' advance their native land

By deeds of arms, Britons are foremost found.

The sprightly bands, hast'ning from place to place,

Gayly carousing in their gay attire,

Invite, not force the train of heedless youths,

Who croud to share their jollity and joy:

To martial music dancing into death,

They fell their Freedom for a holiday;

And