Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/47

Now death is sick, and riven men
Labour and toil for life;
Steed rolls on steed, and shield on shield,
Sunk in this sea of strife!

The god of war is drunk with blood,
The earth doth faint and fail;
The stench of blood makes sick the heavens,
Ghosts glut the throat of hell!
 
O what have kings to answer for
Before that awful throne!
When thousand deaths for vengeance cry,
And ghosts accusing groan!
 
Like blazing comets in the sky
That shake the stars of light,
Which drop like fruit unto the earth
Thro' the fierce burning night;

Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet,
And the first blow decides;
Down from the brow unto the breast
Gordred his head divides!
 
Gwin fell: the Sons of Norway fled,
All that remain'd alive;
The rest did fill the vale of death,
For them the eagles strive.