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,

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 —

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,

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;

Through whatever foes environ

Onward with the might of iron —

Veni, vidi; veni, vici —

Crashing home!

I can see the kings grow pallid

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 —

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,

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.

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,

Pouring from the silent passes

Over Granson or Morgarten

Like the storm.

On the lurid anvil ringing

To some slow fantastic plan,

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!

War to man!

Where a northern river charges

By a wild and moonlit glade,

From the murky forest marges,

Round a broken palisade,

I can see the red men leaping,

See the sword of Daulac sweeping,

And the ghostly forms of heroes

Fall and fade.

I can feel the modern thunder

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

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,

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.

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,

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,

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

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;

When the strength of man is shattered,

And the powers of earth are scattered,

From beneath the ghastly ruin

Peace shall rise!