But, in the legends of our English tongue, To Fame's long drum-beat rolls. Rupert's wild locks, In moldering abbeys, but on England's brow XIX. THE DREAM OF PEACE. L OVE is the symbol of the Deity The gospel which the Galilean preach'd Was one of peace-of peace to all mankind. The prophet's dream was of a Golden Age, When wars should come no more, the olive's bloom End, for all time the iron argument, The lion and the lamb to rest lie down In peace together, and to lead them both, A little child; when hatred's reign should cease; Become, in labor's hand, a pruning-hook, Which, stain'd no more by Discord's purple grapes O, mount, if o'er thee broods the eagle's wing,- Hath heal'd war's gaping wounds, and in our hearts As on our hills, its scars have disappear'd. Hast thou not seen the looms of spring at work, Full many a year, on gory fields of war? In green battalions, rise the banner'd corn? The moldering cannon, in war's fiery track, Hast thou not seen the soldier, home return'd, The victim of gaunt hunger's ghastly clutch, Or weak from unheal'd wounds?-his war-bronz'd face Grim with the silent story of defeat But telling of a spirit unsubdu'd? Aye, bent this hero of a thousand fields This warrior-knight-this vanquish'd victor-bent, Than of his load of laurels. Home once more Without a murmur, start life's work anew, Amid the smoldering wreckage-catch the glow |