  "The lady sleeps! O, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep." E. A. Poe's "The Sleeper." Bellona sleeps! If sleep it be That nightmare slumber, restlessly Haunted by dream-world's wizardry. So Sisera slept within the tent, Restless, though way-worn and war-spent, Whilst Jael's fierce face above him bent. Wake not, War-Goddess! All the world Dreads now to hear the war-cry skirled, To see the battle-flag unfurled. Our Deborahs now invoke not war, And urge not to its shock and jar The princes of our Issachar. An awesome hush is o'er the earth, It checks our joy, it mutes our mirth. Foreboding some prodigious birth,— Some monstrous issue, that may sweep Earth's plains with red from deep to deep; And thou dost sleep, still thou dost sleep! "Awake! Awake!" So Deborah cried To Barak in her prophet-pride, But earth hath now no prophet-guide. Our bravest Baraks well may quail At the dread thought of that fierce hail, That shall beat Europe like a flail. We see in dreams War's shrieking scythe Whirl through earth's ranks that fall and writhe, Of our best manhood taking tithe. What dreams are thine? That restless hand Stretches, in sleep, to grasp the brand. We watch! What may we understand? Bellona sleeps! Oh, may that sleep, Though it seem restless, yet be deep! May Somnus hold her in his keep! Humanity prays that she may lie For ever with unopened eye!— But—what dim sheeted ghosts go by? What spectres of what coming woes, What vision-shocks of phantom foes Make that hand stretch, and clutch, and close? What rattle of the war-dogs' chain Steals through dull slumber to her brain? Are Love's bland opiates all in vain? Vain Science, Commerce, Human ruth, The love of Right, the search of Truth, Wisdom of Sage and warmth of Youth? That hand, stretched in half-conscious quest Of the war-weapon, doth attest Awakening's prelude in—Unrest! Wake not, War-Goddess! When you stir, The Raven-wings, once more a-whirr, May see our earth—a sepulchre! |
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