Men whisper low of spectres, calibans
And curses almost devilish with doom,
Mysterious fiends like hellhounds, werwolves, ghouls
And other nameless shapes as jinns and janns
That spring from demon-haunts and skulk or loom
To terror-stricken fancy of weak souls.
But none have named the scourge of Singing Death,
The dread reality which out of hell
Comes forth as often as the blood-lust burns;
Foulness and fury volcanize its breath
As, ravening for flesh insatiate, fell
It swoops, devours and bloodier returns.
An army gathers flushed with high resolve
And there is martial music and display
Of glory ominous with human fate;
For ere the dial shall again revolve
The Singing Death exultantly will prey
Upon the host till horror outdoes hate.
A floating citadel superbly steers
Her ocean-course with victory-flags unfurled,
Alike to sea and foe invincible;
Yet somewhere from the blue as she careers
The Singing Death by Titan forces hurled
Will scream above her decks with damning knell.
Hark! Hear you it like vomit from the throat
Of Hades hurtling through the sulphurous air,
With cross between the moan of Manes’ wraith,
The torture of Inferno and the note
Of vulture-torn Prometheus’ despair?
Ah! ’Tis the cannon missile’s Singing Death!
It plays no diapason as the roar
It leaves behind where thunders loud intone,
Nor as the mighty swell of organ-reeds;
But all the stops of battle rising o’er,
It shrieks its way to finish with the groan
Of mortal agony where valor bleeds.
It sings not as a master for applause,
With perfect-voiced-and-chested range of gift
Till song becomes the triumph of all time;
But, rather, ’tis a dirge which discord flaws
With time’s infernal arts lest God uplift
The world by love to Peace’s choir sublime.