Through fair and through foul went Captain Sword, Pacer of highway and piercer of ford, Steady of face in rain or sun, He and his merry men, all as one; Till they came to a place, where in battle-array Stood thousands of faces, firm as they, Waiting to see which could best maintain Bloody argument, lords of pain; And down the throats of their fellow-men Thrust the draught never drunk again. It was a spot of rural peace, Ripening with the year's increase And singing in the sun with birds, Like a maiden with happy words-- With happy words which she scarcely hears In her own contented ears, Such abundance feeleth she Of all comfort carelessly, Throwing round her, as she goes, Sweet half-thoughts on lily and rose, Nor guesseth what will soon arouse All ears--that murder's in the house; And that, in some strange wrong of brain, Her father hath her mother slain. Steady! steady! The masses of men Wheel, and fall in, and wheel again, Softly as circles drawn with pen. Then a gaze there was, and valour, and fear, And the jest that died in the jester's ear, And preparation, noble to see, Of all-accepting mortality; Tranquil Necessity gracing Force; And the trumpets danc'd with the stirring horse; And lordly voices, here and there, Call'd to war through the gentle air; When suddenly, with its voice of doom, Spoke the cannon 'twixt glare and gloom, Making wider the dreadful room: On the faces of nations round Fell the shadow of that sound.