Iii[162:1]

I mark'd Ambition in his war-array! I heard the mailéd Monarch's troublous cry-- 'Ah! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay![162:2] Groans not her chariot on its onward way?' Fly, mailéd Monarch, fly! Stunn'd by Death's twice mortal mace, No more on Murder's lurid face The insatiate Hag shall gloat with drunken eye! Manes of the unnumber'd slain! Ye that gasp'd on Warsaw's plain! Ye that erst at Ismail's tower, When human ruin choked the streams, Fell in Conquest's glutted hour, Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams! Spirits of the uncoffin'd slain, Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, Oft, at night, in misty train, Rush around her narrow dwelling! The exterminating Fiend is fled-- (Foul her life, and dark her doom) Mighty armies of the dead Dance, like death-fires, round her tomb! Then with prophetic song relate, Each some Tyrant-Murderer's fate!