V.
Under that prophet tree, thou standest now;
Inscribe thy wish upon the mystic rind;
Hath the warm human heart no tender vow
Link'd with sweet household names?—no hope enshrined
Where thoughts are priests of Peace.
Or, if dire Hannibal thy model be,
Dread lest, like him, thou bear the thunder home!
Perchance ev'n now a Scipio dawns for thee,
Thou doomest Carthage while thou smitest Rome—
Write, write "Let carnage cease!"
VI.
Whispers from heaven have strife itself inform'd;—
"Peace" was our dauntless Falkland's latest sigh,
Navarre's frank Henry fed the forts he storm'd.
Wild Xerxes wept the Hosts he doom'd to die!
Ev'n War pays dues to Love!
Note how harmoniously the art of Man
Blends with the Beautiful of Nature! see
How the true Laurel of the Delian
Shelters the Grace!—Apollo's peaceful tree
Blunts ev'n the bolt of Jove.
VII.
Write on the sacred bark such votive prayer,
As the mild Power may grant in coming years,
Some word to make thy memory gentle there;—
More than renown, kind thought for men endears
A Hero to Mankind.
Slow moved the mighty hand—a tremour shook
The leaves, and hoarse winds groan'd along the wood;
The Pythian tree the damning sentence took,
And to the sun the battle-word of blood
Glared from the gashing rind.
VIII.