From out his home they dragged him to the street,
With fiercely clenching hands and hurrying feet,
And shouts of “Death to him!” The crimson stain
Of recent carnage on his garb showed plain.
This man was one of those who blindly slay
At a king’s bidding. He’d shoot men all day,
Killing he knew not whom, scarce knew why,
Now marching forth impassible to die,
Incapable of mercy or of fear,
Letting his powder-blackened hands appear.