Is This a Time to Dance?

The breath of evening' sweeps the plain, And sheds its perfume in the dell, But on its wings are sounds of pain, Sad tones that drown the echo's swell; And yet we hear a mirthful call, Fair pleasure smiles with beaming glance, Gay music sounds in the joyous hall: Oh God! is this a time to dance?

Sad notes, as if a spirit sighed, Float from the crimson battle-plain, As if a mighty spirit cried In awful agony and pain: Our friends we know there suffering lay, Our brothers, too, perchance, And in reproachful accents say, Loved ones, is this a time to dance?

Oh, lift your festal robes on high! The human gore that flows around Will stain their hues with crimson dye; And louder let your music sound To drown the dying warrior's cry! Let sparkling wine your joy enhance Forget that blood has tinged its dye, And quicker urge the maniac dance.

But stop! the floor beneath your feet Gives back a coffin's hollow moan, And every strain of music sweet, Wafts forth a dying soldier's groan. Oh, sisters! who have brothers dear Exposed to every battle's chance, Brings dark Remorse no forms of fear, To fright you from the heartless dance?

Go, fling your festal robes away! Go, don the mourner's sable veil! Go, bow before your God, and pray! If yet your prayers may aught avail. Go, face the fearful form of Death! And trembling meet his chilling glance, And then, for once, with truthful breath, Answer, Is this a time to dance?