Are spread to snare the souls of men,
By foreign tyrants’ bayonets
Established on his throne again,
Blesses the swords still reeking red
With the best blood his country bore,
And prays for blessings on the head
Of him who wades through Roman gore.
The same unholy sacrifice
Where’er I turn bursts on mine eyes,
Of princely pomp, and priestly pride,