IV.
Alas, alas! her sacred name is all dishonored now,
And blood-stained hands are tearing off each laurel from her brow;
But ever yet rings out the cry, in loud and mocking tone,
Still in her holy shrine they strive to rear a despot's throne;
And pressing on with eager tread, they sweep across the land,
To burn and havoc and destroy--a fierce and ruthless band.