Classic Poem

Anger a champion bold but warrior weak,
Led me with feeble armour to the field,
Against Love's bow and shafts blunt arms to wield
And Freedom or Revenge in battle seek.
Fool that I was! what human arms avail
In conflict with that torch of heavenly fire
Whose light alone turns anger to desire? —
Peace I implore — and own me rash and frail:
Mercy I beg — and my weak hands extend —
And kneel and bow and bare my humble breast —
If fight I must — Pity her aid shall lend
And win the palm for me or death and rest!
If with my blood some tears of her's should blend
Defeat is triumph and I perish blest!