Amidst the roused democracy.
Good-bye to grouse, to health’s fair flush,
The pheasant’s whirr, the salmon’s rush,
War’s raven croaks, the cushat dove
Hushes her notes of peace and love.
No thought of peace or Autumn rest
Hath harbour in the Chieftain’s breast.
With unsheathed broadsword in his hand,
He’ll pace the war-awakened land.
Strife’s rising he has heard and laid