The toil of captive hands,

That aye must do as their taskmaster bids,

Through years of dusty days

Brick by slow brick shall raise

The incarnate pride of kings—the Pyramids—

Linked with some name synonymous with slaughter

Time has effaced like a name writ in water.

For ever with fateful shocks,

Roar as of hurtling rocks,

Start fresh embattled hosts with flags unfurled,

To meet on battle-fields

With clash of spears and shields,

Widowing the world of men to win the world:

The hissing air grows dark with iron rain,

And groans the earth beneath her sheaves of slain.

[32]

Triumphant o'er them all,

See crowns and sceptres fall

Before the arms of iron-soldered legions;

As Capitolian Rome

 Prev. P 27/155 next