War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, | And inextinguishable rage. All heaven
The lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade, Resounded; and had earth been then, all earth
And to those royal murderers whose mean thrones Had to her centre shook.
Are bought by crimes of treachery and gore,
The bread they eat, the staff on which they lean.
Guards, garbed in blood-red livery, surround
Their palaces, participate the crimes
That force defends, and from a nation's rage
Secure the crown, which all the curses reach
That famine, frenzy, woe, and penury breathe.
These are the hired bravos who defend
The tyrant's throne.
FROM "PARADISE LOST," BOOK VI
Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold
Empyreal; from before her vanished night,
Shot through with orient beans; when all the
plain
Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright,
Chariots, and flaming arms, and fiery steeds,
Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view.
The apostate in his sun-bright chariot sat,
Idol of majesty divine, enclosed
With flaming cherubim, and golden shields;
Then lighted from his gorgeous throne, for now
"Twixt host and host but narrow space was left,
A dreadful interval, and front to front
Presented stood in terrible array
Of hideous length: before the cloudy van,
On the rough edge of battle ere it joined,
Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced,
Came towering, armed in adamant and gold.
Deeds of eternal fame
Were done, but infinite: for wide was spread
That war, and various: sometimes on firm ground
A standing fight, then, soaring on main wing,
Tormented all the air; all air seemed then
Conflicting fire.
Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power
Which God hath in his mighty angels placed !)
Their arms away they threw, and to the hills
(For earth hath this variety from heaven,
Of pleasure situate in hill and dale),
Light as the lightning glimpse they ran, they
From their foundations loosening to and fro,
They plucked the seated hills, with all their load,
Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops
Uplifting bore them in their hands: amaze,
Be sure, and terror, seized the rebel host,
When coming towards them so dread they saw
The bottom of the mountains upward turned,
and on their heads
Main promontories flung, which in the air
Came shadowing, and oppressed whole legions
armed;
Their armor helped their harm, crushed in and bruised
Into their substance pent, which wrought them pain
Implacable, and many a dolorous groan;
Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind
Out of such prison, though spirits of purest light,
Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown.
The rest, in imitation, to like arms
Betook them, and the neighboring hills uptore :
So hills amid the air encountered hills,
Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire,
That underground they fought in dismal shade;
Infernal noise! war seemed a civil game
The archangel trumpet; through the vast of To this uproar; horrid confusion heaped
It sounded, and the faithful armies rung
Hosanna to the Highest nor stood at gaze
The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined
The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose,
And clamor, such as heard in heaven till now
Was never; arms on armor clashing brayed
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels
Of brazen chariots raged; dire was the noise
Of conflict; overhead the dismal hiss
Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew,
And flying vaulted either host with fire.
So under fiery cope together rushed
Both battles main, with ruinous assault
So spake the Son, and into terror changed
His countenance too severe to be beheld,
And full of wrath bent on his enemies.
At once the four spread out their starry wings
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs
Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host.
He on his impious foes right onward drove,
Gloomy as night: under his burning wheels
The steadfast empyrean shook throughout.
All but the throne itself of God. Full soon
Among them he arrived; in his right hand
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent
Before him, such as in their souls infixed
Plagues they, astonished, all resistance lost,
All courage; down their idle weapons dropt;
O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he
rode
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostráte,
That wished the mountains now might be again
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire.
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell
His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged Four
Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes;
One spirit in them ruled; and every eye
Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire
Among the accursed, that withered all their
strength,
And of their wonted vigor left them drained,
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his
mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
Yet half his strength he put not forth, but And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
His thunder in mid volley; for he meant
Not to destroy, but root them out of heaven :
The overthrown he raised, and as a herd
Of goats or timorous flock together thronged,
Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued
With terrors and with furies, to the bounds
And crystal wall of heaven; which, opening wide,
Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed
Into the wasteful deep: the monstrous sight
Struck them with horror backward, but far worse
Urged them behind: headlong themselves they
threw
Down from the verge of heaven; eternal wrath
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
FROM "HEBREW MELodies.'
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on
Welcome the clanging shield, the trumpet's
yell,
Welcome the fever of the mounting blood,
That makes wounds light, and battle's crimson
toil
Seem but a sport, — and welcome the cold bed,
And welcome wolf's and vulture's hungry throats,
Where soldiers with their upturned faces lic,
That make their sepulchres! We fight to-night.
(The soldiery enter.)
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Centurions! all is ruined! I disdain
Galilee.
To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown!
And now, let each that wishes for long life
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome.
That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
Ye all are free to go. What! no man stirs ! Not one! a soldier's spirit in you all? Give me your hands! (This moisture in my eyes Is womanish, 't will pass.) My noble hearts! That host on the morrow lay withered and Well have you chosen to die! For, in my mind, The grave is better than o'erburdened life;
Better the quick release of glorious wounds,
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues;
Better the spear-head quivering in the heart,
Than daily struggle against fortune's curse;
Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood,
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge
In poverty, dull pain, and base decay.
Once more, I say, - are ye resolved?
(The soldiers shout, "
All! All!")
Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms
That he would love to die in,- for, this hour,
We storm the Consul's camp. A last farewell!
And for myself, quoth he,
This my full rest shall be ;
England ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me,
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.
Poitiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell;
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopped the French lilies.
The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen, Excester had the rear,
A braver man not there:
O Lord! how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!
They now to fight are gone ;
Armor on armor shone;
Drum now to drum did groan, -
To hear was wonder; That with the cries they make The very earth did shake; Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham!
Which did the signal aim
To our hid forces;
When, from a meadow by,
Like a storm, suddenly,
The English archery
Struck the French horses
With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And, like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.
When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilboes drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height!-On, on, you noblest
English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonor not your mothers; now attest,
That those whom you called fathers, did beget
Still as they ran up.
Suffolk his axe did ply; Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope.
Upon St. Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay
To England to carry ; O, when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?
OF THE WARRES IN IRELAND.
FROM "EPIGRAMS," BOOK IV. EP. 6.
I PRAISED the speech, but cannot now abide it,
That warre is sweet to those that have not try'd it;
For I have proved it now and plainly see 't,
It is so sweet, it maketh all things sweet.
At home Canaric wines and Greek grow lothsome;
Here milk is nectar, water tasteth toothsome.
THE KING TO HIS SOLDIERS BEFORE There without baked, rost, boyl'd, it is no cheere;
FROM "KING HENRY V.," ACT III. SC. 1.
Bisket we like, and Bonny Clabo here.
There we complaine of one wan rosted chick;
Here meat worse cookt ne're makes us sick.
ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, At home in silken sparrers, beds of Down,
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness, and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspèct;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
We scant can rest, but still tosse up and down ;
Here we can sleep, a saddle to our pillow,
A hedge the Curtaine, Canopy a Willow.
There if a child but cry, O what a spite !
Here we can brook three larums in one night.
There homely rooms must be perfumed with
Here match and powder ne're offend our noses. There from a storm of rain we run like Pullets; Here we stand fast against a showre of bullets.
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