XCII.

Woe to the vanquish’d!--thus it hath been still Since Time’s first march! Hark, hark, a people’s cry! Ay, now the conquerors in the streets fulfil Their task of wrath! In vain the victims fly; Hark! now each piercing tone of agony Blends in the city’s shriek! The lot is cast. Slaves! ’twas your _choice_ thus, rather thus, to die, Than where the warrior’s blood flows warm and fast, And roused and mighty hearts beat proudly to the last!