74

BATTLE-FIGHTING-WAII.

BATTLE - FIGHTING - WAR.

So brave returning, with his brandish'd blade,

He to the carle himself again addrest,
And struck at him so sternly that he made

An open passage through his riven breast,
And half the steel behind his back did rest.

SPENSER's Fairy Queen.
It was a pity—so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digg d
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good brave fellow has destroy’d.

SHAKSPEARE.
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war.

SHAKSPEARE.
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in his ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger.

SHAKSPEARE.
Now one's the better—then the other best,
Both tugging to be victor, breast to breast;
Yet neither conqueror or is conquered,
So is the equal poise of this fell war.

SHAKSPEARE,
With many a stiff thwack, many a bang,
Hard crabtree and old iron rang;
While none who saw them could divine
To which side conquest would incline.

BUTLER'S Hudibras.
Ah me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron !
For tho' Dame Fortune seem to smile,
And seer upon him for a while,

BATTLE - FIGHTING - WAR.

75

She'll after show him, in the nick
Of all his glories, a dog-trick.

BUTLER'S Hudibras

-Death
Grinn'd horribly a ghastly smile, to hear
His famine should be fill'd, and bless'd his maw,
Destined to that good hour.

Milton's Paradise Lost.
Those who in quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody nose.

Gay's Fables The broomstick o'er her head she waves; She sweats, she stamps, she puffs, she raves ; The sneaking cur before her flies; She whistles, calls—fair speech she tries. These nought avail. Her choler burns ; The fist and cudgel threat by turns ; With hasty stride she presses near; He slinks aloof, and howls with fear.

Gay's Fables. He drew the sword, but knew its rage to charm, And loved peace best when he was forc'd to arm; Unmov'd with all the glittering pomp of power, , He took with joy, but laid it down with more.

Rowe's Lucan Nations with nations mixt confus’dly die, And lost in one promiscuous carnage lie.

ADDISON.
Me glory summons to the martial scene;
The field of combat is the sphere for men.
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger, and the first in fame.

Pope's Homes
Rash, fruitless war, from wanton glory wag'd,
Ls only splendid murder.

THOMSON

76

BATTLE - FIGHTING - WAR.

Is death more cruel from a private dagger
Than in the field, from murdering swords of thousands!
Or does the number slain make slaughter glorious ?

CIBBER
War is of use to human kind;
For ever and anon,

when

you

have passid
A few dull years in peace and propagation,
The world is overstock'd with fools, and wants
A pestilence at least, if not a hero.

JEFFERY,
Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rush'd the steeds to battle driven,
And, louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.

CAMPBELL
Their clamours rend the hills around,
And earth re-bellows with the sound;
And many a groan increased the din
From broken nose and battered shin.

TRUMBULL'S McFingal.
And cover'd o'er with knobs and pains
Each void receptacle for brains.

TRUMBULL'S McFingal.
ne murder marks the assassin's odious name,
But millions damn the hero into fame.

R. T. PAINE and, where the hottest fire was seen and heard, And the loud cannon peal'd its hoarsest strains.

Byron's Don Juan.

Al that the mind would shrink from of excesses,

All that the body perpetrates of bad,
Ali that we read, hear, dream, of man's distresses,

All that the devil would do, if run stark mad-
Was here let loose

BYRON's Don Juan BATTLE - FIGHTING - WAR.

77

I own my natural weakness: I have not
Yet learn'd to think of indiscriminate murder
Without some sense of shuddering.

Byron's Marino Faliero They form-unite-charge-waver-all is lost !

BYRON's Corsair The death-shot hissing from afar The shock, the shout, the groan of war.

Byron's Giaour.

Theirs the strife, That neither spares nor speaks for life.

BYRON'S Giaour. But when all is past, it is humbling to tread O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, And see worms of the earth and fowls of the air, And beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; All regarding man as their prey, All rejoicing in his decay.

Byron's Siege of Corinth. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood.

Byron's Childe Haruld. And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore.

Byron's Childe Harold "T was blow for blow, disputing inch by inch, For one would not retreat, nor t’ other flinch.

BYRON'S Don Juan. And slaughter heap'd on high its weltering ranks.

Byron's Childe Harold. Battle's magnificently stern array.

BYRON's Childe Harc'a. In vain he did whate'er a chief

may do, To check the headlong fury of that crew; in vain their stubborn ardour he would tameThe hand that kindles cannot quench the flame.

Byron's Lara.

78

BATTLE - FIGHTING-WAR.

Not in the conflict havoc seeks delight-
His day of mercy is the day of fight;
But when the field is fought, the battle won,
Tho' drench'd with gore, his woes are but begun.

Byron's Curse of Minerva.
Waved her dread pinion to the breeze of morn,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn.

CAMPBELL.
From rank to rank their vollied thunder flew.

CAMPBELL.
Death spoke in every booming shot that knell'd upon the ear

SPRAGUE.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wide wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall,
Like sheets of flame in midnight pall.

J. R. DRAKE.
Hark! the muffled drum sounds the last march of the brave !
The soldier retreats to his quarters, the grave,
Under Death, whom he owns his commander-in-chief;-
No more he'll turn out with the ready relief.

H. CUMMINGS.
Now lies he low-no more to hear

The victor's shout or clashing steel;
No more of war's rude cares to bear,

No more kind sympathy to feel.
No more he charges with the host,

The thickest of the battle-field;
No more to join in victory's boast,
No more to see the vanquish'd yield.

Richmond Republican,
The bursting shell, the gateway wrench'd asunder,

The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,
The diapason of the cannonade.

LONGFELLOW