Well here's to the Maine, and I'm sorry for Spain,
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
We made war to the end—to the very end of the end.
What voice did on my spirit fall,
Peschiera, when thy bridge I crossed?
"'Tis better to have fought and lost,
Than never to have fought at all."
War in fact is becoming contemptible, and ought to be put down by the great nations of Europe, just as we put down a vulgar mob.
The flames of Moscow were the aurora of the liberty of the world.
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real interest to discern;
That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other.
But war's a game, which, were their subjects Wise,
Kings would not play at.
General Taylor never surrenders.
We give up the fort when there's not a man left to defend it.
From fear in every guise,
From sloth, from love of pelf,
By war's great sacrifice
The world redeems itself.
Qui fugiebat, rusus præliabitur.
The man who flies shall fight again.
Di qui non si passa.
By here they shall not pass.
Non si passa, passereme noi.
What argufies pride and ambition?
Soon or late death will take us in tow:
Each bullet has got its commission,
And when our time's come we must go.
A feat of chivalry, fiery with consummate courage, and bright with flashing vigor.
Carry his body hence!
Kings must have slaves:
Kings climb to eminence
Over men's graves:
So this man's eye is dim;
Throw the earth over him!
They now to fight are gone;
Armor on armor shone:
Drum now to drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make,
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.
Drayton—Ballad ofAgincourt. St. 8.
| seealso = (See also Tennyson)
| topic = War
| page = 845
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 18
| text = <poem>War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble.
All delays are dangerous in war.
When 'tis an aven thing in th' prayin', may th' best man win ... an' th' best man will win.
'Tis startin' a polis foorce to prevint war. . . . How'll they be ar-rmed? What a foolish question. They'll be ar-rmed with love, if coorse. .Who'll pay thim? That's a financyal detail that can be arranged later on. What'll happen if wan iv th' rough-necks reaches f'r a gun? Don't bother me with thrifles.
There is no discharge in that war.
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurl'd;
Here once the embattl'd farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.
