The yells of the slayers, the groans of the dying.
Too weak in our numbers to venture a sally,
We sat in our fortress and looked on the valley.
We heard the wild uproar, the screaming and yelling,
The firing and crashing, of butchery telling.
No tiger imprisoned in iron-bound caging
Felt half of our fury or equalled our raging.
Yet what could we hinder? Revenge was denied us,
While ten times our number to battle defied us.
Though wild was our anguish and deep our despairing,