But when, Calliope, thy loud harp rang—
In Epic grandeur rose the lofty strain;
The clash of arms, the trumpet’s awful clang
Mixed with the roar of conflict on the plain;
The ardent warrior bade his coursers wheel,
Trampling in dust the feeble and the brave,
Destruction flashed upon his glittering steel,
While round his brow encrimsoned laurels waved,
And o’er him shrilly shrieked the demon of the grave.
From “An Ode to Music,” by James G. Percival