_For the Table Book._
War was abroad, and the fleeting gale
Loud, o’er the wife’s and the daughter’s wail,
Brought the summoning sound of the clarion’s blast--
Age and affection looked their last
On the valour and youth that went forth to the tomb--
Young eyes were bright at the nodding plume--
Banner and spear gleam’d in the sun--
And the laugh was loud as the day were won:
But the sun shall set, and--ere ’tis night,--
_Woe_ to thee, Child of Pride and Might.
’Tis the hour of battle, the hosts are met,
Pierc’d is the hauberk, cleft the bass’net:
Like a torrent the legions thunder’d on--
Lo! like its foam, they are vanish’d and gone
_Thou_ whom this day beauty’s arms carest,
The hoof of the fleeing spurns thy crest--
Thy _pride_ yet lives on thy dark brow’s height,
But, where is thy _power_, CHILD OF MIGHT?