Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/312

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I have traced out thy march by its features of pain, While famine and pestilence stalked in thy train, And the trophies of sin did thy victory swell, And thy breath on the soul was the plague-spot of hell Death lauded thy deeds, and in letters of flame The realm of perdition recorded thy name.

War-spirit ! war-spirit ! go down to thy place, With the demons that thrive on the woe of our race ; Call back thy strong legions of madness and pride, Bid the rivers of blood thou hast opened be dried Let thy league with the grave and Aceldama cease, And yield the torn world to the angel of peace.

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