The Destruction of Sennacherib
Lord Byron
1788 to 1824
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The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
the sheen of their spears was like stars on sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay on the turf,
And cold as the spray of rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted snow in the glance of the Lord!