Then came the Persian, with his vast array Of armed millions, fretting for the fray, Led on by Xerxes and his harlot horde, Where billows swallowed, and where battle roared. On every side there rose a bloody screen, Till mighty Alexander closed the scene. Behold that warrior! in his pomp and pride, Dash through the world, and over myriads ride; Plant his proud pennon on the Gangean stream, Pierce where the tigers hide, mount where the eagles scream, And happy only amid war's alarms, The clank of fetters, and the clash of arms; And moulding man by battle-fields and blows, To one foul mass of furies, fiends and foes. Such, too, the Roman, vanquishing mankind, Their fields to ravage, and their limbs to bind; Whose proudest trophy, and whose highest good, To write his fame with pencil dipped in blood; To stride the world, like Ocean's turbid waves, And sink all nations into servient slaves. As passed the old, so modern realms swept by, Woe in all hearts, and tears in every eye; Crimes stained the noble, famine crushed the poor; Poison for kings, oppression for the boor; Force by the mighty, fraud by the feebler shown; Mercy a myth, and charity unknown. The Dreamer sighed, for sorrow filled his breast; Turned from the scene and sank to deeper rest. "Come!" cried a low voice full of music sweet, "Come!" and an angel touched his trembling feet. Down the steep hills they wend their toilsome way, Cross the vast plain that on their journey lay; Gain the dark city, through its suburbs roam, And pause at length within the dreamer's home. Again he stood at his anvil good With an angel by his side, And rested his sledge on its iron edge And blew up his bellows wide; He kindled the flame till the white heat came, Then murmured in accent low: "All ready am I your bidding to try So far as a mortal may go." 'Midst the heat and the smoke the angel spoke, And breathed in his softest tone, "Heaven caught up your prayer on the evening air As it mounted toward the throne. God weaveth no task for mortals to ask Beyond a mortal's control, And with hammer and tongs you shall right the wrongs That encompass the human soul. "But go you first forth 'mong the sons of the earth, And bring me a human heart That throbs for its kind, spite of weather and wind, And acts still a brother's part. The night groweth late, but here will I wait Till dawn streak the eastern skies; And lest you should fail, spread _my_ wings on the gale, And search with _my_ angel eyes."