The Pen and the Sword

And dar'st thou then with me compare,Frail fleeting passenger of air!Say, am not I my country's rock?The lion in the battle's shock?I pour impetuous from afarThe mighty torrent of the war,Like Kissoun's waters, Phison's flood,Spreads far the whelming tide of blood!Forsaken parents well can tellHow fierce the raging currents swell;Deserted lands the tide-mark form,And nations perish in the storm.

Bright is the forked lightning's stream!As bright, as fatal too, my beam!From me the bravest warriour flies,Or pausing bleeds, and sinks, and dies.And as the dews of Heav'n that fallOn vines that clothe the cottage wall,Send life through ev'ry drooping cell,The tendrils curl, the clusters swell;So baths of blood my pow'rs restore,My nourishment the hero's gore!From me the lion's princely whelpExpects and finds his only help;Her prey from me the vulture seeks,And pays me with her dismal shrieks;And with the wild wolf's deepen'd howl,Makes music for ray restless soul;Fear not! whilst I exist ye ne'erShall pangs of thirst and hunger share;Still be the warriour's flesh your food!Still be your drink the hero's blood!

And dar'st thou, frail and brittle reed!Match thy weak word with my proud deed?Can'st thou resist the eddying storm?Will not the flames consume thy form?And I, whom thou hast dar'd to brave,My very touch would be thy grave.

Yes, such thou art, the pen replied—Yes, such is war's ensanguin'd tide!Thine be the fame to latest times,To shine supreme in blood and crimes.

Oh! innocents untimely slain!Oh! matrons kill'd in child-birth pain!Babes from their mother's bosom borne!Sons from their dying fathers torn!Nations of orphans and of slaves!Unpeopled earth and peopled graves!Tis yours to tell what endless fameThis all-consuming sword may claim.

And canst thou, fell destroyer, dareMy pure umblemish'd rights to share!Learn thy contracted sphere to scan;If strength were pow'r, then what were man?The elephant had rul'd the world,And monarchs from their thrones had hurl'd.'Tis mind, 'tis reason's sov'reign sway,That nations own, and states obey.

And what art thou? and what am I?The globe shall hear the proud reply.—Me, science, wisdom, virtue claim,And gain a never-ending fame.Through me, the eloquence, that diesFast as the fleeting shadow flies,To ages yet unborn shall showThe priest's pure zeal, the patriot's glow.Through me the high behest ye share,That bids frail man his fellow spare;And still the heav'nly thunders roll"Commit no murder" on the soul!

Thou dwell'st among the mountain rocks,Haunt of the chamois, and the fox,Thou sleep'st upon the rugged bed,Where foaming torrents erst have spread;Thou roam'st along the blasted heath,Or shades of plunder and of death,Where murd'rers ply their dreadful trade,And bathe in blood thy reeking blade.Such is thy fate! and dar'st thou thenCompare thee with the blameless pen?Scourge of the weak, but wisdom's slave,Dar'st thou to threat an early grave?My waving banners once unfurl'd,Have launch'd thee o'er a conquer'd world;My breath can bid the havoc cease,And sheath thy gory blade in peace.