THE ANGEL ON WAR.
Reading edition
An angel spirit winging Through aerial space her flight, O'er peaceful, sleep-bound nature Thus sang one autumn night: What are those hosts advancing In legions o'er the plain, Through orchards heavy laden And fields of full-eared grain?
Eastward and westward come they Shining like gems of light, Beneath soft, silvery moonbeams Of peaceful, silent night. Surely assembled nations Are gathering for a fête Of tournament, sham fight or joist, In pride of strength elate.
Or, may be, some grand meeting On field of cloth of gold, Attracts those swarming legions A peaceful tryst to hold; For see, the steeds caparisoned In trappings rich and bright, With noble, high-bred men astride, In transports of delight!
The flower of German fatherland, In manhood's strength and pride, Press on in measured marching, By grey-haired veterans' side, And westward press the youth of France, Whose ardour none can stay, Thirsting for laurels in the tilts And contests of the day.
Emperors, with marshals, generals, And stalwart men, are there; Flushed with excitement swift they come The splendid sports to share, Doubtless each wears the colours Of some loved lady fair Whom they predict shall one day Their heart and fortunes share.
Now sable night droops kindly Into the arms of morn, Who comes to herald in the day And nature's face adorn? Heaven's soft grey eastern portals For her wide open fly, As the grand sun's golden chariot Wheels proudly through the sky.
Night's gentle Queen and star gems Withdraw their gracious sway, As the sun in rose-hued splendour Kisses to life the day. Waters like polished silver Dotting the plain like shields, Babble their morning greeting From golden, grain-crowned fields.
Then the glad light of morning Trips joyful o'er the plain, As the angel horror stricken Takes up her strain again, Alas! those hosts advancing In hot haste from afar, But yesternight so joyous, Now close in bloody war.
And, as ferocious tigers, On tasting human blood, Revel in greedy madness Amid the crimson flood, So these fierce hostile warriors, Now stained with human gore, Grow unrestrained and reckless, And fiercer than before.
The valley late so peaceful Steams with the rage of strife, Fast down the gloated furrows Flows the red stream of life. Maddened to rage and fury, Th' opposing hosts contend, And murder, ruin, carnage, death, Through the gorged plains extend.
What can be, cried the angel, The meaning of such strife, And how dare man thus rashly Trifle with human life? Can all the so-called glory, That man to man can pay, Outweigh the dire inheritance Of this unhallowed fray?
Are hearts thus drunk with life blood, And hands thus steeped in gore, Not calculated to become More brutal than before? And do not youth and manhood Deserve a better fate, Than to be rashly sacrificed To jealous greed and hate?
Thousands of glittering lances Cut through the startled air, As valiant chiefs and mighty men The blood-red carnage share. Flashes, like sunlight splendour, Gleam forth from brazen shields, And burnished arms dart back the light, O'er the blood-gorged fields.
List! said the angel, sighing, From many a ghastly mound Deep groans of torture mingle With the battle din around. What piteous cries of anguish Are those, who dying moan, That they may never more behold Their dearly loved at home!
Some of earth's best and brightest, 'Mid prospects glad and gay, Others to loved ones plighted Slaughtered and bleeding lay! Some, sons of widowed mothers Who had none else to cheer, Some, guardians of fond sisters, Many to wives most dear!
Ah! who can tell the sorrow Intailed by war's foul breath, Or gauge the dire inheritance Of all this murderous death! The sinew of their country, The hope of years to come, Cut down in prime of manhood, Buried in stranger tomb!
O sages, statesmen, rulers, Bestir yourselves and teach The nation's misled millions A higher goal to reach; Exchange for greed and murder, A reign of peace divine; Thus, elevate earth's children To brotherhood sublime!
Thus spake the gentle angel As, gathering each fond prayer, She wreathed them into garlands, Of flowerets rich and rare For Sardanapolis to plant, Where they shall ever bloom, In the eternal gardens Beyond the silent tomb.