“Nay, for no longer the glorious Earth
Yieldeth her young; nor by ever a birth
Of a child do our women change sorrow to mirth.
You may see how they’re flocking like birds of unrest
Or swifter than fire’s unquenchable quest,
Afar to the shore of the God in the West.
“They are unnumbered, dead and dying,
The city’s children, unpitied they’re lying,
With no one to mourn them, outstretched on the ground,
Death and pestilence spreading around.”