The Destruction of Sennacherib
Lord Byron
1788 to 1824
Track 1
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And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;