large/7841/battle-pieces_aspects_war_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/battle-pieces_27_melville_64kb_32
large/7841/battle-pieces_aspects_war_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/battle-pieces_27_melville_64kb
English
7841
_Were men but strong and wise, Honest as Grant, and calm, War would be left to the red and black ants, And the happy world disarm._ That eve a stir was in the camps, Forerunning quiet soon to come Among the streets of beechen huts No more to know the drum. WERE MEN BUT STRONG AND WISE HONEST IS GRANT AND CALM WAR WOULD BE LEFT TO THE RED AND BLACK ANTS AND THE HAPPY WORLD DISARM THAT EVE A STIR WAS IN THE CAMPS FOR RUNNING QUIET SOON TO COME AMONG THE STREETS OF BEECH AND HUTS NO MORE TO KNOW THE DRUM
tlemen’s libraries old-- Books which only the scholar heeds-- Are flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range, And gardens are left to weeds. _Turned adrift into war Man runs wild on the plain, Like the jennets let loose On the Pampas--zebras again._ Like the Pleiads dim, see the tents through the storm-- Aloft by the hill-side hamlet’s graves, On a head-stone used for a hearth-stone there The water is bubbling for punch for our braves. What if the night be drear, and the blast Ghostly shrieks? their rollicking staves Make frolic the heart; beating time with their swords, What care they if Winter raves? _Is life but a dream? and so, In the dream do men laugh aloud? So strange seems mirth in a camp, So like a white tent to a shroud._ II The May-weed springs; and comes a Man And mounts our Signal Hill; A quiet Man, and plain in garb-- Briefly he looks his fill, Then drops his gray eye on the ground, Like a loaded mortar he is still: Meekness and grimness meet in him-- The silent General.  FAIRFAX'S PARCHMENT DEEDS AND VIRGINIAN GENTLEMAN'S LIBRARIES OLD BOOKS WHICH ONLY THE SCHOLAR HEEDS ARE FLUNG TO HIS KENNEL IT IS RAVAGE AND RANGE AND GARDENS ARE LEFT TO WEEDS TURNED ADRIFT INTO WAR MAN RUNS WILD ON THE PLAIN LIKE THE JANETS LET LOOSE ON THE PAMPAS CEBRIS AGAIN LIKE THE PLEAD'S DIM SEE THE TENTS THROUGH THE STORM ALOFT BY THE HILLSIDE HAMLET'S GRAVES ON A HEADSTONE USED FOR A HEARTHSTONE THERE THE WATER IS BUBBLING FOR PUNCH FOR OUR BRAVES WHAT IF THE NIGHT BE DREAR AND THE BLAST GHOSTLY SHRIEKS THEIR ROLLICKING STAVES MAKE FROLIC THE HEART BEATING TIME WITH THEIR SWORDS WHAT CARE THEY IF WINTER RAVES IS LIFE BUT A DREAM AND SO IN THE DREAM DO MEN LAUGH ALOUD SO STRANGE SEEMS MIRTH IN A CAMP SO LIKE A WHITE TENT TO A SHROUD TWO THE MAYWEED SPRINGS AND COMES A MAN AND MOUNTS OUR SIGNAL HILL A QUIET MAN AND PLAIN IN GARB BRIEFLY HE LOOKS HIS FILL THEN DROPS HIS GREY EYE ON THE GROUND LIKE A LOADED MORTAR HE IS STILL MEEKNESS AND GRIMNESS MEET IN HIM THE SILENT GENERAL
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