Of stainless waters, swelling as they go,
Now widening broad in the sun's westering glow,
Broad widening to the ocean, whither all
The round world's fertilizing floods must fall,
The sweeping river with the streamlet small.
Hang up the sword! It struck its latest stroke,
A swashing one, there where the closed ranks broke
Into wild cheers that all the echoes woke.
That stroke, the last, was swift, and strong, and keen,
Now hang thou there, though sheathed, yet silver-clean,