And men shall say: ‘Now is the reign of peace, Foretold by sacred sages, come at last. And cries of war shall never more be heard Through the fair world, but men shall take their swords And beat them into ploughshares, and their spears And lances they shall turn to pruning-hooks,-- Nation with nation shall contend no more, Save as to who may reach the goal of best Before the other, for the common good,-- And men shall only vie in virtue, skill And beauty, fruits of hand and head and heart,-- And strength shall be in knowledge and its use,-- And right, not might, shall guide men in their acts,-- And small and great shall have one common law,-- And he, alone, shall be considered just Who, in a doubtful matter, puts himself In his friend’s place. So all men shall be friends: For each shall see in other but himself, And love him as himself. This is Christ’s rule, Which the base world so long has set at nought, But now restored by our All-blameless Prince, And preached by gentle act to all the world.’ So shall men say, rejoicing; but, alas! While yet the words rise from their gladdened hearts, The olive garland shall begin to fade On the sweet brows of peace; and Avarice, Like a gaunt wolf, ever unsatisfied As long as one lamb bleats within the fold, Shall raise the harsh cry that awakens war. In those far lands beyond the Southern Sea, Traversed by knights who seek the Holy Grail, The mountains belch forth fire, and flood the slopes And valleys with the sulphurous tide of hell, Till man and all his works are whelmed beneath. Then, wearied with his rage, the demon sleeps, And o’er the frozen graves of the long dead The hopeful vine grows and the flowers bloom, And children’s voices and the song of birds Bid hush the awful memory of the past. But on some doomful night an ominous roar Startles the dreaming villager, who, looking Forth through his shivering casement, sees the sky Alive with fearful forms. The spirits of fire, Unchained from their long bondage, with fierce joy Dance onward, bearing death, while smoky palls Waver around them. With their ghostly hands From wrathful vials they pour blazing streams That lick the earth, from which is no escape But death--and death comes soon. So after peace, Which men had thought eternal, shall come war, And chase, with rumbling horror, the sweet dreams Of gentle harmony throughout the world. Then shall the spirit of the Table Round Enter men’s hearts and make their right arms strong For deeds of war,--deeds that shall make the eyes Of those who come thereafter flash with pride.