1812 10

Previous Poem    -    Next Poem

“W. A.”
The Poetical Register and Repository of Fugitive Poetry, VII (1812), pp. 511-512

While the madly raging nations
    Rush on to furious fight,
I'll seek the silver moonbeam,
    And wander by its light.
Beneath yon hanging ruin,
    Where the screech-owl sits on high,
I'll forget the clangous trumpet,
    And the shout of victory!

Vile is the field of slaughter,
    And vile the trade of blood;
Hence! parasites and tyrants,
    Ambition is your god!
To me the silent nightfall,
    And curfew's soothing knell,
And sound of distant waters,
    Delightful stories tell.

What time the chilling shadows
Creep o'er the dusky dale,
    What time the distant mountain
Puts on his thickest veil,
    What time the poet's phrenzy
Darts from his radiant eye,
    I'll despise the clangous trumpet,
And the shout of victory!


Previous Poem    -    Next Poem