If 'mid these vows Be still found place for mine, with wife and child, So far as Imperator may, I bend Before you suppliant -- unless this fight Be won, behold me exile, your disgrace, My kinsman's scorn.

From this, 'tis yours to save.
Then save! Nor in the latest stage of life, Let Magnus be a slave." Then burned their souls At these his words, indignant at the thought, And Rome rose up within them, and to die Was welcome.
Thus alike with hearts aflame Moved either host to battle, one in fear And one in hope of empire.

These hands shall do Such work as not the rolling centuries Not all mankind though free from sword and war Shall e'er make good.

Nations that were to live This fight shall crush, and peoples pre-ordained To make the history of the coming world Shall come not to the birth.

The Latin names Shall sound as fables in the ears of men, And ruins loaded with the dust of years Shall hardly mark her cities.