Classic Poem

A BOUT this time the Trumpet talked of war.
On which, I set my books in decent order;
Took leave of friends; bequeathed a gift or two;
And, though till then I had battled but with words,
I buckled on my sword like other men,
And plunged in action. 'Twas called ‘civil’ war.
The People were abroad,—like a mighty fleet
Wrenched from its moorings, by some sudden storm;
Tossed to and fro—past counsel,—blind and deaf
To all things, save the roaring hurricane.