PYRRHUS. AFTER HIS DEFEAT OF THE ROMAN ARMY. B.C. 280.

"If these were my soldiers," he said, As he glanced o'er the gory field Where mingled the dying and dead Of foemen who knew not to yield. "If these were my soldiers, with standard unfurled, I should gather the reins of a vanquished world. "Seven times did we charge on the foe; As oft did we order retreat; Seven times, till the ebb and the flow Brought the battle-tide under our feet. Yet, unto destruction their courage held fast, Till destiny weighted the balance at last. "A victor! yet mourning the lost! The flower of my army, my pride, Who led in the conquering host Lie mute as the serfs by their side. Oh! mothers of Epirus, what shall atone! Must the victor ride back with his laurels—alone! "Unmatched as to numbers we met; Well mated in ardor we fought; Ah! never was victory yet With bloodier sacrifice bought. Peace be to our dead 'neath Lucanian sods! Let Valour high-niche them in shrine of the gods! "But these! of Rome's valiant who fell; Who flinched not, but met every blow With prowess no language may tell; With face ever set to the foe. If these were my soldiers, with standard unfurled, I should reign, the one king of a whole conquered world." So is it in life's bitter warfare; When hosts of wrong-doing assail, The bravest in spirit, the truest of soul In heat of the battle oft fail. They lack in a leader, they parry each blow, Yet fall in the conflict with face to the foe. Legions of evil confronting Firm-footed, position maintain; Look thou to thine able Commander! The foeman shall muster in vain. In phalanx well marshaled, with standard unfurled, Thou shalt combat and conquer a whole sinning world.