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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=478399" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>War</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ambition, power, and avarice, now have hurled<br>Death, fate, and ruin, on a bleeding world.<br>See! on yon heath what countless victims lie,<br>Hark! what loud shrieks ascend through yonder sky;<br>Tell then the cause, 'tis sure the avenger's rage <br>Has swept these myriads from life's crowded stage:<br>Hark to that groan, an anguished hero dies,<br>He shudders in death’s latest agonies;<br>Yet does a fleeting hectic flush his cheek,<br>Yet does his parting breath essay to speak--<br>'Oh God! my wife, my children--Monarch thou<br>For whose support this fainting frame lies low;<br>For whose support in distant lands I bleed,<br>Let his friends' welfare be the warrior's meed.<br>He hears me not—ah! no—kings cannot hear, <br>For passion's voice has dulled their listless ear.<br>To thee, then, mighty God, I lift my moan,<br>Thou wilt not scorn a suppliant's anguished groan.<br>Oh! now I die--but still is death's fierce pain--<br>God hears my prayer--we meet, we meet again.'<br>He spake, reclined him on death's bloody bed,<br>And with a parting groan his spirit fled.<br>Oppressors of mankind to YOU we owe<br>The baleful streams from whence these miseries flow;<br>For you how many a mother weeps her son, <br>Snatched from life's course ere half his race was run!<br>For you how many a widow drops a tear,<br>In silent anguish, on her husband's bier!<br>'Is it then Thine, Almighty Power,' she cries,<br>'Whence tears of endless sorrow dim these eyes?<br>Is this the system which Thy powerful sway,<br>Which else in shapeless chaos sleeping lay,<br>Formed and approved?--it cannot be--but oh!<br>Forgive me, Heaven, my brain is warped by woe.'<br>'Tis not--He never bade the war-note swell, <br>He never triumphed in the work of hell--<br>Monarchs of earth! thine is the baleful deed,<br>Thine are the crimes for which thy subjects bleed.<br>Ah! when will come the sacred fated time,<br>When man unsullied by his leaders' crime,<br>Despising wealth, ambition, pomp, and pride,<br>Will stretch him fearless by his foe-men's side?<br>Ah! when will come the time, when o'er the plain<br>No more shall death and desolation reign?<br>When will the sun smile on the bloodless field, <br>And the stern warrior's arm the sickle wield?<br>Not whilst some King, in cold ambition's dreams,<br>Plans for the field of death his plodding schemes;<br>Not whilst for private pique the public fall,<br>And one frail mortal's mandate governs all. <br>Swelled with command and mad with dizzying sway;<br>Who sees unmoved his myriads fade away.<br>Careless who lives or dies--so that he gains<br>Some trivial point for which he took the pains.<br>What then are Kings?--I see the trembling crowd, <br>I hear their fulsome clamours echoed loud;<br>Their stern oppressor pleased appears awhile,<br>But April's sunshine is a Monarch’s smile--<br>Kings are but dust--the last eventful day<br>Will level all and make them lose their sway; <br>Will dash the sceptre from the Monarch’s hand,<br>And from the warrior’s grasp wrest the ensanguined brand.<br>Oh! Peace, soft Peace, art thou for ever gone,<br>Is thy fair form indeed for ever flown?<br>And love and concord hast thou swept away, <br>As if incongruous with thy parted sway?<br>Alas, I fear thou hast, for none appear.<br>Now o'er the palsied earth stalks giant Fear,<br>With War, and Woe, and Terror, in his train;--<br>List'ning he pauses on the embattled plain,<br>Then speeding swiftly o'er the ensanguined heath,<br>Has left the frightful work to Hell and Death.<br>See! gory Ruin yokes his blood-stained car,<br>He scents the battle's carnage from afar;<br>Hell and Destruction mark his mad career, <br>He tracks the rapid step of hurrying Fear;<br>Whilst ruined towns and smoking cities tell,<br>That thy work, Monarch, is the work of Hell.<br>'It is thy work!' I hear a voice repeat,<br>Shakes the broad basis of thy bloodstained seat; <br>And at the orphan’s sigh, the widow's moan,<br>Totters the fabric of thy guilt-stained throne--<br>'It is thy work, O Monarch;' now the sound<br>Fainter and fainter, yet is borne around,<br>Yet to enthusiast ears the murmurs tell<br>That Heaven, indignant at the work of Hell,<br>Will soon the cause, the hated cause remove,<br>Which tears from earth peace, innocence, and love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Percy+Bysshe+Shelley">Percy Bysshe Shelley</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=478399" data-title="War de Percy Bysshe Shelley" data-description="Ambition, power, and avarice, now have hurled
Death, fate, and ruin, on a bleeding world.
See! on yon heath what countless victims lie,
Hark! what loud shrieks ascend through yonder sky;
Tell then the cause, 'tis sure the avenger's rage 
Has swept..."></div>
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