And changed to pruning-hooks the shafts of war;
Who bear no glittering arms, no banners wave—
Who strike no blow—are stricken but to save!
Yet still they conquer! and where they appear,
The painted savage breaks his poisoned spear;
A bloodless triumph follows in their train—
For those they vanquish feel no victor’s chain!
They conquer!—nor like other conquerors boast
A prostrate people and a plundered coast—
Nor pant to hear a nation’s deafening peals,