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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409360" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Arsenal at Springfield, The</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,<br> Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;<br>But front their silent pipes no anthem pealing<br> Startles the villages with strange alarms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,<br> When the death-angel touches those swift keys<br>What loud lament and dismal Miserere<br> Will mingle with their awful symphonies</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,<br> The cries of agony, the endless groan,<br>Which, through the ages that have gone before us,<br> In long reverberations reach our own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,<br> Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song,<br>And loud, amid the universal clamor,<br>O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the Florentine, who from his palace<br> Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din,<br>And Aztec priests upon their teocallis<br> Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tumult of each sacked and burning village;<br> The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;<br>The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage;<br> The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,<br> The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;<br>And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,<br> The diapason of the cannonade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,<br> With such accursed instruments as these,<br>Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,<br> And jarrest the celestial harmonies?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Were half the power, that fills the world with terror,<br> Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts,<br>Given to redeem the human mind from error,<br> There were no need of arsenals or forts:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!<br> And every nation, that should lift again<br>Its hand against a brother, on its forehead<br> Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down the dark future, through long generations,<br> The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;<br>And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,<br> I hear once more the voice of Christ say, &quot;Peace!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals<br> The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies!<br>But beautiful as songs of the immortals,<br> The holy melodies of love arise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409360" data-title="Arsenal at Springfield, The de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
 Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But front their silent pipes no anthem pealing
 Startles the villages with strange alarms.

Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
 When the death-a..."></div>
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