ARMS AND THE MAN.

Full-burnished through the long-revolving years

The ploughshare of a Century to-day

Runs peaceful furrows where a crop of Spears

Once stood in War's array.

And we, like those who on the Trojan plain

See hoary secrets wrenched from upturned sods;—

Who, in their fancy, hear resound again

The battle-cry of gods;—

We now,— this splendid scene before us spread

Where Freedom's full hexameter began —

Restore our Epic, which the Nations read

As far its thunders ran.

Here visions throng on People and on Bard,

Ranks all a-glitter in battalions massed

And closed around as like a plumèd guard,

They lead us down the Past.

I see great Shapes in vague confusion march

Like giant shadows, moving vast and slow,

Beneath some torch-lit temple's mighty arch

Where long processions go.

I see these Shapes before me, all unfold,

But ne'er can fix them on the lofty wall,

Nor tell them, save as she of Endor told

What she beheld to Saul.