If spectres wait upon the bowl,
Thou needs not be afraid,
Grin hell-hounds for thy bold black soul,
His purple be thy shade.
Go! feast with Commerce, be her spouse;
She loves thee, thou art hers—
For thee she decks her board and house.
Then how may others curse
If she, mild-seeming matron, leans
Upon thine iron neck,
And leaves with thee her household scenes
To follow at thy beck—
Bastard in brotherhood of kings,
Their blood runs in thy veins,
For them the crowns, the sword that swings,
For thee to hew their chains.
For thee the rending of the prey—
They, jackals to the lion,
Tread after in the gory way
Trod by the mightier scion.
O slave! that slayest other slaves,
O'er vassals crowned, a king!
War, build high thy throne with graves,
High as the vulture's wing!
THE SWORD.
THE FORGING OF THE SWORD.
At the forging of the Sword—
The mountain roots were stirr'd,
Like the heart-beats of a bird;
Like flax the tall trees wav'd,
So fiercely struck the Forgers of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
So loud the hammers fell,
The thrice seal'd gates of Hell,
Burst wide their glowing jaws;
Deep roaring, at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
Kind mother Earth was rent,
Like an Arab's dusky tent,
And monster-like she fed—
On her children; at the forging of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
So loud the blows they gave,
Up sprang the panting wave;
And blind and furious slew,
Shrill-shouting to the Forgers of the Sword.
At the forging of the Sword—
The startled air swift whirl'd
The red flames round the world,
From the Anvil where was smitten,
The steel, the Forgers wrought into the Sword.