James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
March 8The Battle of Alexandria
By James Montgomery (17711884)
H
To the music of the spheres;
While the hero’s dirge is sung,
Breathe enchantment to our ears.
Glancing o’er thy feeling wire,
Kindle every chord that gleams,
Like a ray of heavenly fire,
O’er the plain with carnage spread,
Soothe the dying while they flow
To the memory of the dead.
Blushing at her maiden charms;
Fresh from ocean rose the Morn,
When the trumpet blew to arms.
On the Egyptian battle-plain,
As the darkness of that night
When the eldest born was slain.
As the Red Sea surges roar,
Leave a gloomy gulf behind,
And devour the shrinking shore;
Gallia’s brightest, boldest boast,
In a deep and dreadful tide,
Rolled upon the British host.
Though with unextinguished ire
Gallia’s legions thrice repelled,
Thrice returned through blood and fire.
Towering to the sacred spheres,
Stand the Pyramids sublime,—
Rocks amid the floods of years.
Conquest towering on his crest,
Valour beaming from his eye,
Pity bleeding in his breast.
In her guardian angel’s form;
But he lowered on hostile France,
Like the demon of the storm.
High he rode in vengeance dire;
To his friends a leading star,
To his foes consuming fire.
Slaughter feasted on the brave!
’Twas the carnival of death;
’Twas the vintage of the grave.
Lightning winged a cruel ball;
’Twas the herald of the tomb,
And the hero felt the call,—
Victory well the signal knew,
Darted from his awful eye,
And the force of France o’er threw.
Were the weeping muse to tell,
Oh, ’twould cleave the womb of night,
And awake the dead that fell!
Low in Glory’s lap they lie;
Though they fell, they fell like stars,
Streaming splendour through the sky.