On man and brute, on soul and heart?
What spirit haunts the chorded shell,
Whose murmurs every passion start?
The silent tenants of the sea,
The brinded pard and serpent, own
Thy sway—their fierceness tamed by thee,
They cower and writhe about thy throne.
Thy lordly breath to war can yield
A glory wild, a nameless charm;
The sworded ranks, the embattled field