This vehement side of his life resulted in a generous amount of war poetry which would be remembered—or forgotten—with the best of the rest of its kind if it were all that he had written. In a brief survey like the present chapter it can therefore serve the double purpose of illustrating the verse of the Revolution and of representing a less important aspect of his whole work. In this respect it is comparable to the Civil-War and antislavery poetry of Whittier. Sometimes this verse is full of scorn, as in “The Midnight Consultations,” in which Lord Howe is ridiculed as presiding over a council which arrives at the following heroic conclusion:
Three weeks—ye gods!—nay, three long years it seems
Since roast beef I have touched, except in dreams,
In sleep, choice dishes to my view repair,
Waking, I gape and champ the empty air,—
. . . . . . . .
On neighbouring isles uncounted cattle stray,
Fat beeves, and swine, an ill-defended prey—
These are fit victims for my noonday dish,
These, if my soldiers act as I would wish,