They rattle like chariots over the tops of the hills,

Like the crackle of flames devouring stubble,

Like a powerful people prepared for battle.

Peoples are writhing before them,

Every face gathers blackness.

Like warriors they run,

Like fighting-men they come up the wall;

They march every man by himself,[1213]

And they ravel[1214] not their paths.

None jostles his comrade,