Classic Poem

The tide of things should flow less troubled, sure;
To clear its current sages do impart
Their wisdom, and the poet's pitying heart
Pours in its crystal tribute, bright and pure;
But still doth War present a mighty lure
To many minds; a charm which lulls to rest
Compunctious thought, and mails the obdurate breast
With triple-plated iron, to endure
The shock of children's cries and woman's tears,
Untouch'd, unsoften'd, and without a sigh;
O Glory without Honour! Helms and spears
School to a ruthless calm the warrior's eye;
" Carnage" he means, when he cries " Victory,"
And barren battle hath his hopes and fears!