Voluptuous, as their bubbling life-blood flows

In streams of purple rain

From hecatombs of slain

Saluting Cæsar still with failing breath,

But in their dying souls

Undying hate, which rolls

From land to land the avalanche of Death,

That, gathering volume as it sweeps along,

Pours down the Alps throng on unnumbered throng.

From northern hills and plains

Storm-lashed by driving rains,

From moorland wastes and depths of desolate wood,

[34]

From many an icebound shore,

The human torrents pour,

Horde following upon horde as flood on flood,

Avengers of the slain they come, they come,

And break in thunder on the walls of Rome.

A trembling people waits

As, surging through its gates,

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