Impassioned votaries of Nature wear.

Mark his majestic port, his eagle eye,

The stern erection of his haughty brow,

Partially shaded by the snowy plumes

That lightly wave and wanton in the breeze.—

Is this a pensioner of hope?—Is this

A dreamer of wild dreams?—All eyes are turned

To gaze upon him, as with measured step

The weaponed warrior slowly passes by.—

Oh, this is one of War's tremendous sons,

Glory's intrepid champion: his stout heart

Leaps, as the war-horse, to the trumpet's sound,

And hails the storm of battle from afar.

He loves the press, the tumult, and the strife,

Where horror holds the gory steeds of death,

And slaughter hews a passage for the brave!—

He too is an enthusiast!—his zeal

Impels him onward with resistless force,

[Pg 15]

Severs his heart from nature's kindred ties,

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