8
"Groans not her Chariot o'er its onward way?
Fly, mailed Monarch, fly!
Stunn'd by Death's "twice mortal" mace
No more on Murder's lurid face
Th' insatiate Hag shall glote with drunken eye!
Manes of th' unnumbered Slain!
Ye that gasp'd on Warsaw's plain!
Ye that erst at Ismail's tower,
When human Ruin chok'd the streams,
Fell in Conquest's glutted hour
Mid Women's shrieks and Infant's screams;
Whose shrieks, whose screams were vain to stir
Loud-laughing, red-eyed Massacre!
Spirits of th' uncoffin'd Slain,
Sudden blasts of Triumph swelling
Oft at night, in misty train
Rush around her narrow Dwelling!
Th' exterminating Fiend is fled—
(Foul her Life and dark her Doom!)
Mighty Army of the Dead,
Dance, like Death-fires, round her Tomb!
Then with prophetic song relate
Each some scepter'd Murderer's fate!
