141
And dar'st thou, frail and brittle reed!
Match thy weak word with my proud deed?
Can'st thou resist the eddying storm?
Will not the flames consume thy form?
And I, whom thou hast dar'd to brave,
My very touch would be thy grave.
Match thy weak word with my proud deed?
Can'st thou resist the eddying storm?
Will not the flames consume thy form?
And I, whom thou hast dar'd to brave,
My very touch would be thy grave.
Yes, such thou art, the pen replied—
Yes, such is war's ensanguin'd tide!
Thine be the fame to latest times,
To shine supreme in blood and crimes.
Yes, such is war's ensanguin'd tide!
Thine be the fame to latest times,
To shine supreme in blood and crimes.
Oh! innocents untimely slain!
Oh! matrons kill'd in child-birth pain!
Babes from their mother's bosom borne!
Sons from their dying fathers torn!
Nations of orphans and of slaves!
Unpeopled earth and peopled graves!
Oh! matrons kill'd in child-birth pain!
Babes from their mother's bosom borne!
Sons from their dying fathers torn!
Nations of orphans and of slaves!
Unpeopled earth and peopled graves!
