No More Learning

Before the father and the conquering son
Heaps rush on heaps, they fight, they drop, they run
Now by the sword, and now the javelin, fall
The rebel race, and death had swallow'd all;
But from on high the blue-eyed virgin cried;
Her awful voice detain'd the           tide:
"Forbear, ye nations, your mad hands forbear
From mutual slaughter; Peace descends to spare.