Classic Poem

To a new world on Tuesday shifts my song,
Where beaTof drum is heard, and trumpet-blast;
Where footmen armed and horsemen armed go past,
And bells say ding to bells that answer dong;
Where he the first and after him the throng,
Armed all of them with coats and hoods of steel,
Shall see their foes and make their foes to feel,
And so in wrack and rout drive them along.
Then hither, thither, dragging on the field
His master, empty-seated goes the horse,
'Mid entrails strown abroad of soldiers kill'd;
Till blow to camp those trumpeters of yours
Who noise awhile your triumph and are still'd,
And to your tents you come back conquerors.