English poem
Vi
Only the laurel got by peace No thunder e'er can blast: Th'artillery of the skies Shoots to the earth and dies: And ever green and flourishing 'twill last, Nor dipt in blood, nor widows' tears, nor orphans' cries. About the head crown'd with these bays, Like lambent fire, the lightning plays; Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace, Makes up its solemn train with death; It melts the sword of war, yet keeps it in the sheath.
More by Jonathan Swift
- VERSES SENT TO THE DEAN ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, WITH PINE'S HORACE, FINELY BOUND. BY DR. J. SICAN
- Verses Sent To The Dean On His Birth-Day, With Pine's Horace, Finely Bound. By Dr. J. Sican[1]
- Verses Sent To The Dean With An Eagle Quill, On Hearing Of The Presents By The Earl Of Orrery And Dr. Delany. By Mrs. Pilkington
- Verses Written On A Window, At The Deanery House, St. Patrick's
- Vi
- Vi
- Vi. Another, At Chester
- Vii