Looked forth each silent star:
And forms that never more should rise
Cumbered the ground afar.
And o’er them stalks the conqueror now,
With step and glance of pride;
The hue of slaughter on his brow—
His falchion at his side.
His red blade rested on the dead,
He laid his helmet by;
When hark! a sudden courser’s tread—