From far Topróbanè’s dells and dales,
From Ganges’ source, from Niger’s side,
And turbid Nile’s eternal tide;
From England’s fields, from Scotland’s glens,
From Ireland’s mosses, bogs and fens;
From sunny France, from swarthy Spain,
As if the skies shed golden rain,
Flashing, like streams of falling stars,
A myriad million minim Lars,
With terror painted on each face,