Who rolled their chariots of war
In other lands, and distant climes.
Earth groaned beneath those mail-clad men,
Bereft of beauty where they trod—
And wildly rose, from hill and glen,
Loud, agonizing shrieks to God.
Purveyors to the carrion-bird,
Blood streamed from their uplifted swords,
And while the crash of states was heard
Swept on their desolating hordes.