Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/56

Thy life-stream to his cup of wine, and saw
That purple vintage shed o'er half the earth,
Write the first line, if thou hast blood to spare.
Thou, too, whose pride adorn'd dead Cæsar's tomb,
And pour'd high requiem o'er the tyrant train
Who rul'd thee to thy cost, lend us thine arts
Of sculpture and of classic eloquence
To grace his obsequies at whose dark frown
Thine ancient spirit quail'd; and to the list
Of mutilated kings, who glean'd their meat
'Neath Agag's table, add the name of Rome.
Turn, Austria! iron-brow'd and stern of heart,
And on his monument to whom thou gav'st
In anger battle, and in craft a bride,
Grave Austerlitz, and fiercely turn away.
Rouse Prussia from her trance with Jena's name,
Like the rein'd war-horse, at the trumpet-blast,
And take her witness to that fame which soars
O'er him of Macedon, and shames the vaunt
Of Scandinavia's madman.
From the shades
Of letter'd ease, Germany! come forth
With pen of fire, and from thy troubled scroll,
Such as thou spread'st at Leipsic, gather tints
Of deeper character than bold romance
Hath ever imag'd in her wildest dream,
Or history trusted to her sibyl leaves.
Hail, lotus-crown'd! in thy green childhood fed