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 ilha illah 'llhu -     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!