Count Julian’s sword, he fitted round his wrist
The chain, and eyeing the elaborate steel
With stern regard of joy, The African
Under unhappy stars was born, he cried,
Who tastes thy edge!... Make ready for the charge!
They come ... they come!... On, brethren, to the field!...
The word is Vengeance!
Vengeance was the word;
From man to man, and rank to rank it pass’d,
By every heart enforced, by every voice