War

O War, What art thou? After the brightest conquest, what remains Of all thy glories? For the vanquish'd - chains - For the proud victor - what? Alas! to reign O'er desolated nations - a drear waste, By one man's crime, by one man's lust of power, Unpeopled! Naked plains and ravaged fields, Succeed to smiling harvests and the fruits Of peaceful olive - luscious fig and vine! Here, rifled temples are the cavern'd dens Of savage beasts, or haunt of birds obscene; There, populous cities blacken in the sun, And in the general wreck proud palaces Lie undistinguish'd, save by the dun smoke Of recent conflagration! When the song Of dear-bought joy, with many a triumph swell'd, Salutes the victory's ear, and soothes his pride, How is the grateful harmony profaned With the sad dissonance of virgins' cries, Who mourn their brothers slain! Of matrons hoar, Who clasp their wither'd hands, and fondly ask With iteration shrill - their slaughter'd sons! How is the laurel's verdure stain'd with blood And soil'd with widows' tears!