7. 
For traitorously did that foul Tyrant robe
His countenance in lies,—­even at the hour
When he was snatched from death, then o’er the globe,
With secret signs from many a mountain-tower, 3850
With smoke by day, and fire by night, the power
Of Kings and Priests, those dark conspirators,
He called:—­they knew his cause their own, and swore
Like wolves and serpents to their mutual wars
Strange truce, with many a rite which Earth and Heaven abhors. 3855

8. 
Myriads had come—­millions were on their way;
The Tyrant passed, surrounded by the steel
Of hired assassins, through the public way,
Choked with his country’s dead:—­his footsteps reel
On the fresh blood—­he smiles.  ’Ay, now I feel 3860
I am a King in truth!’ he said, and took
His royal seat, and bade the torturing wheel
Be brought, and fire, and pincers, and the hook,
And scorpions, that his soul on its revenge might look.

9. 
’But first, go slay the rebels—­why return 3865
The victor bands?’ he said, ’millions yet live,
Of whom the weakest with one word might turn
The scales of victory yet;—­let none survive
But those within the walls—­each fifth shall give
The expiation for his brethren here.—­ 3870
Go forth, and waste and kill!’—­’O king, forgive
My speech,’ a soldier answered—­’but we fear
The spirits of the night, and morn is drawing near;

10. 
’For we were slaying still without remorse,
And now that dreadful chief beneath my hand 3875
Defenceless lay, when on a hell-black horse,
An Angel bright as day, waving a brand
Which flashed among the stars, passed.’—­’Dost thou stand
Parleying with me, thou wretch?’ the king replied;
’Slaves, bind him to the wheel; and of this band, 3880
Whoso will drag that woman to his side
That scared him thus, may burn his dearest foe beside;

11. 
‘And gold and glory shall be his.—­Go forth!’
They rushed into the plain.—­Loud was the roar
Of their career:  the horsemen shook the earth; 3885
The wheeled artillery’s speed the pavement tore;
The infantry, file after file, did pour
Their clouds on the utmost hills.  Five days they slew
Among the wasted fields; the sixth saw gore
Stream through the city; on the seventh, the dew 3890
Of slaughter became stiff, and there was peace anew: 

12. 
Peace in the desert fields and villages,
Between the glutted beasts and mangled dead! 
Peace in the silent streets! save when the cries
Of victims to their fiery judgement led, 3895
Made pale their voiceless lips who seemed to dread
Even in their dearest kindred, lest some tongue
Be faithless to the fear yet unbetrayed;
Peace in the Tyrant’s palace, where the throng
Waste the triumphal hours in festival and song! 3900