Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/285

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2o9

��That eagle of the Alps, who, through the clouds Wrapping in murky folds their slippery heights, Forced his unwieldy elephants ? who rolled Victory's hoarse thunder o'er Ticinus' tide ? And 'mid the field of Cannae waved his sword Like a destroying angel ? This is he, And this is human glory !

God of might,

Gird with thy shield our vacillating hearts, That, 'mid the illusive and bewildering paths Of this brief pilgrimage, we may not lose Both this world's peace, and the rewards of that Which hath no shadow.

From this double loss, This wreck of all probationary hope, Defend us by thy power.

�� �