WAR
By the Nile,
the sacred river,
I can see the captive hordes
Strain beneath the lash and quiver
At the long papyrus cords,
While in granite rapt and solemn,
5
Rising over roof and column,
Amen-hotep dreams, or Ramses,
Lord
of Lords.
I can hear
the trumpets waken
For a victory old and far—
10
Carchemish or Kadesh taken—
I can see the conqueror’s car
Bearing down some Hittite valley,
Where the bowmen break and sally,
Sargina or Esarhaddon,
15
Grim
with war!
From the
mountain streams that sweeten
Indus, to the Spanish foam,
I can feel the broad earth beaten
By the serried tramp of Rome;
20
Through whatever foes environ
Onward with the might of iron—
Veni, vidi; veni. vici—
Crashing
home!
I can see
the kings grow pallid
25
With astonished fear and hate,
As the hosts of Amr or Khaled
On their cities fall like fate;
Like the heat-wind from its prison
In the desert burst and risen—
30
La ilàha illah ‘llàhu—
God
is great!
I can hear
the iron rattle,
I can see the arrows sting
In some far-off northern battle,
35
Where the long swords sweep and swing;
I can hear the scalds declaiming,
I can see their eyeballs flaming,
Gathered in a frenzied circle
Round
the king.
40
I can hear
the horn of Uri
Roaring in the hills enorm;
Kindled at its brazen fury,
I can see the clansmen form;
In the dawn in misty masses,
45
Pouring from the silent passes
Over Granson or Morgarten
Like
the storm.
On the lurid
anvil ringing
To some slow fantastic plan,
50
I can hear the sword-smith singing
In the heart of old Japan—
Till the cunning blade grows tragic
With his malice and his magic—
Tenka tairan! Tenka tairan!
55
War
to man!
Where a northern
river charges
By a wild and moonlit glade,
From the murky forest marges,
Round a broken palisade,
60
I can see the red men leaping,
See the sword of Dauluc sweeping,
And the ghostly forms of heroes
Fall
and fade.
I can feel
the modern thunder
65
Of the cannon beat and blaze,
When the lines of men go under
On your proudest battle-days;
Through the roar I hear the lifting
Of the bloody chorus drifting
70
Round the burning mill at Valmy—
Marseillaise!
I can see
the ocean rippled
With the driving shot like rain,
While the hulls are crushed and crippled,
75
And the guns are piled with slain;
O’er the blackened broad sea-meadow
Drifts a tall and titan shadow,
And the cannon of Trafalgar
Startle
Spain.
80
Still the
tides of fight are booming,
And the barren blood is spilt;
Still the banners are up-looming,
And the hands are on the hilt;
But the old world waxes wiser,
85
From behind the bolted visor
It descries at last the horror
And
the guilt.
Yet the eyes
are dim, nor wholly
Open to the golden gleam,
90
And the brute surrenders slowly
To the godhead and the dream.
From his cage of bar and girder,
Still at moments mad with murder,
Leaps the tiger, and his demon
95
Rules
supreme.
One more
war with fire and famine
Gathers—I can hear its cries—
And the years of might and Mammon
Perish in a world’s demise;
100
When the strength of man is shattered,
And the powers of earth are scattered,
From beneath the ghastly ruin
Peace
shall rise!
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