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Normale Version: Dutt, Omesh Chunder
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Omesh Chunder Dutt
1836–1912 Indien

Sonnets—War.

I


How terrible art thou O iron War!
⁠With vengeful furies in thy long-drawn train,
⁠Thy step is found e'en o'er the trackless main,
Nor rock, nor sea thy fiery course can bar.

Where'er thou goest in thy rattling car,
⁠Deserted hamlet and ensanguin'd plain,
⁠Attest thy cruel and tyrannic reign,
And flaming towns gleam lurid from afar.

Thy blood-red standard to the winds display'd,
⁠Thy drum's deep roll, thy trumpets shrill and clear,
The thunder of the furious cannonade,

⁠Are sights and sounds which fill the heart with fear;
For they presage, alas! too well we know.
Rapine and wreck, untimely death and woe.


II.

But yesterday upon this ravaged spot,
⁠Rose the proud city lifting high in air
⁠Its graceful arches and its columns fair,
Here was the mart with life and tumult fraught;

O cruel War, what ruin hast thou wrought!
⁠Outrage and wrong are rampant everywhere:
⁠Hark to those shrieks, wild cry, and hopeless prayer,
Bursting alike from hall and lowly cot!

Is this the glory, this the deathless fame,
⁠Which thou dost promise to thy lawless crew!
Shall we for this emblazon forth thy name,

⁠Shall we for this thy path with flowerets strew!
⁠Away,—tho' proud thy brow, and dark its frown,
It is not worthy of the victor's crown.



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Sonnets—Peace.

I.


Come gentle Peace, with Plenty at thy side,
⁠And scatter with a free and bounteous hand,
⁠Thy gifts and blessings over all the land.
⁠The earth has worn the rich robes of a bride,

The trees lift up their stately heads in pride,
⁠The cloudless skies with varied hues look grand,
⁠The air is full of perfume sweet and bland,
To welcome thee, O goddess tender-eyed!

We love thee with an ardent love sincere,
⁠For 'neath thy quiet and benignant sway,
Gaunt Care, and sombre Grief, and trembling Fear

⁠Depart, and vanish from our homes away,
And sunshine lights each heart so dark erewhile,
The glad bright sunshine of thy cheerful smile.


II.

Lo! where they stand upon yon village green,
⁠Youths and young maidens in a joyous round,
⁠Hark to the violin and pipe's sweet sound,
As they strike up to greet May's lovely queen.

High in the midst the slender pole is seen,
⁠With garlands bright and prizes gaily crown'd;
⁠O, can a fairer sight than this be found,
Where all is mirth, no shadows intervene!

O Peace, our guardian angel, may thy throne
⁠Be fix'd and steadfast on our fertile shore,
And may we ne'er thy sov'reignty disown,

⁠But love and worship thee for evermore;
The crown, the laurel wreath are meet for thee,
Thine is the triumph, thine the victory!




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