Saying, “Curse them! kill them all!”
Even boyhood’s old companions,
Comrades of your later days,
Friends who, seeing not your vices,
Gave your scanty virtues praise—
None of these could gain your mercy
On that long-remembered day;
For the stranger, friend or foeman,
Came one doom relentless—“Slay!”
Swiftly at your word the hatchet