With Attila, the whirlwind Hun:
A myriad cannon spake for him,
The silent, dread Napoleon.
For these had ready spoil to give.
Had reeking spoil for savage hands;
Slaves, and fair wives, and pillage rare:
The wealth of cities: teeming lands.
And if the world, once drunk with blood,
Sated, has turned from arms to peace,
Man hath not lost his ancient lusts;