Halt! ye Legions, sheathe your Steel: <br />Blood grows precious; shed no more: <br />Cease your toils; your wounds to heal <br />Lo! beams of Mercy reach the shore! <br />From Realms of everlasting light <br />The favour'd guest of Heaven is come: <br />Prostrate your Banners at the sight, <br />And bear the glorious tidings home. <br /> <br />The plunging corpse with half-clos'd eyes, <br />No more shall stain th' unconscious brine; <br />Yon pendant gay, that streaming flies, <br />Around its idle Staff shall twine. <br />Behold! along th' etherial sky <br />Her beams o'er conquering Navies spread; <br />Peace! Peace! the leaping Sailors cry, <br />With shouts that might arouse the dead. <br /> <br />Then forth Britannia's thunder pours; <br />A vast reiterated sound! <br />From Line to Line the Cannon roars, <br />And spreads the blazing joy around. <br />Return, ye brave! your Country calls; <br />Return; return, your task is done: <br />While here the tear of transport falls, <br />To grace your Laurels nobly won. <br /> <br />Albion Cliffs--from age to age, <br />That bear the roaring storms of Heav'n, <br />Did ever fiercer Warfare rage? <br />Was ever Peace more timely given? <br />Wake! sounds of Joy: rouse, generous Isle; <br />Let every patriot bosom glow. <br />Beauty, resume thy wonted smile, <br />And, Poverty, thy cheerful brow. <br /> <br />Boast, Britain, of thy glorious Guests; <br />Peace, Wealth, and Commerce, all thine own: <br />Still on contented Labour rests <br />The basis of a lasting Throne. <br />Shout, Poverty! 'tis Heaven that saves; <br />Protected Wealth, the chorus raise: <br />Ruler of War, of Winds, and Waves, <br />Accept a prostrate Nation's praise.<br /><br />Robert Bloomfield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/peace-248/
