Here you will find the Poem The Forefather of poet Richard Francis Burton
HERE at the country inn, I lie in my quiet bed, And the ardent onrush of armies Throbs and throbs in my head. Why, in this calm, sweet place, Where only silence is heard, Am I ware of the crash of conflict,? Is my blood to battle stirred? Without, the night is blessed With the smell of pines, with stars; Within, is the mood of slumber, The healing of daytime scars. ?T is strange,?yet I am thrall To epic agonies; The tumult of myriads dying Is borne to me on the breeze. Mayhap in the long ago My forefather grim and stark Stood in some hell of carnage, Faced forward, fell in the dark; And I, who have always known Peace with her dove-like ways, Am gripped by his martial spirit Here in the after days. I cannot rightly tell: I lie, from all stress apart, And the ardent onrush of armies Surges hot through my heart.