THE ANGEL ON WAR.


An angel spirit winging
Through aerial space her flight,
O'er peaceful, sleep-bound nature
Thus sang one autumn night:
What are those hosts advancing
In legions o'er the plain,
Through orchards heavy laden
And fields of full-eared grain?

Eastward and westward come they
Shining like gems of light,
Beneath soft, silvery moonbeams
Of peaceful, silent night.
Surely assembled nations
Are gathering for a fete
Of tournament, sham fight or joist,
In pride of strength elate.

Or, may be, some grand meeting
On field of cloth of gold,
Attracts those swarming legions
A peaceful tryst to hold;
For see, the steeds caparisoned
In trappings rich and bright,
With noble, high-bred men astride,