The heavens glow red to the zenith
In the ominous, fevered light,
And the glimmering hilltops waver,
Sharp-drawn on the walls of night.
And now, as a wide-flung army,
Hurled hot on the foemen's spears,
With plumes of smoke on its tossing head,
With flaring banners and lances red,
The wavering flood appears.
It runs like a wolf in hunger,