The Sword

L ET frantic Sibyls augur hostile skill,
And tell of millions this bright Sword shall kill;
With voice prophetic bid the Muse prepare
Her incens'd praise — for phantoms in the air!
The Poplar Sibyl other zeal inspires,
Averse to War and its avenging fires,
Averse to Warriors and their desperate feats,
She with a milder glow the trophy greets;
Yet, with address, and well-divining art,
Adapts her language to the Hero's heart,
Then may her leaves by no rude winds be tost,
Nor, like her Sisters, be for ever lost.
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