Lord Byron on War
← Back to Lord Byron Profile
βBattle's magnificently stern array!β
βThe Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold.β
βHand to hand, and foot to foot: Nothing there, save death, was mute; Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry For quarter or for victory, Mingle there with the volleying thunder.β
βLike the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown!β
βAnd there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal, afar And near; the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lipsβ"The foe! they come! they come!"β