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AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE

As I ponder'd in silence,
Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,
A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,
The genius of poets of old lands,
As to me directing like flame its eyes,
With finger pointing to many immortal songs,
And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said,
Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?

And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,
The making of perfect soldiers.

Be it so, then I answer'd,
I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater
one than any,

Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight,
advance and retreat, victory deferr'd and
wavering,
(Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the
    last),
    the field the world,

For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal
Soul,
Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,
I above all promote brave soldiers.

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