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Spirit of mercy! oh! return, to bring
Palm in thy wreath, and "healing on thy wing!"
Compose each passion to th' eternal will,
Say to the hurricane of war,—"Be still!"
"Vengeance, expire! thy reign, ambition, cease!
Beam, light of heaven! triumphant star of peace!"
Is this the muse's wild, illusive dream,
An airy picture, an ideal theme?
Shall death still ride victorious o'er the slain,
And his "pale charger[1]" desolate the plain?
Ne'er shall revenge her vulture-pinion fold,
Close her dark eye, her lightning-arm withhold?"
Still must oppression cause th' eternal strife,
And breathe dire mildew o'er the blooms of life?
Must war still ravage with his car of fire,
And victim myriads in the blaze expire?
Supernal Pow'r! on suffering earth look down,
Tyrannic might shall perish in thy frown!
- ↑ see errata—original has charges
