Befouler of barbaric faith,
Are there fanatics now so fond
As to protest against thy scath?
Seeing thine old defenders turn,
Sickened at that dread Death-Pit's sight,
And with just indignation burn,
Sure the horizon bears a light,
A blade-like beam of menace clear,
Typing the brand of Nemesis.
E'en Power's panders well might fear