The Deed of Blood is o'er! <br />And, hark, the Trumpet's mournful breath <br />Low murmurs round it a Note of Death— <br />The Mighty are no more! <br /> <br />How solemn slow that distant Groan!— <br />O, could AMBITION, wild with fear, <br />The deep prophetic Warning hear, <br />And, looking, listning vain around <br />For one soul-soothing, softer sound, <br />While near, unseen, the Fiends of Hell <br />Toll round the wretch his fancied Knell, <br />Rave all alone! <br /> <br />But, hark, soft Plaints arise!— <br />Friendship, adieu; farewel, soft Love! <br />I go to smiling Peace above:— <br />The Friend, the Lover dies! <br /> <br />Yet, happy Soul to Freedom giv'n, <br />Go where no proud tyrannic Lord <br />Drives Man upon his Brother's sword; <br />Where Angels from thine arms shall tear <br />The Chains AMBITION bade thee wear; <br />Where, on the once pale Cheek of Woe, <br />In Smiles immortal, Roses blow— <br />The Bloom of Heav'n!<br /><br />James Henry Leigh Hunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-field-of-battle/
