The thunder-clouds of Caesar are advancing,
Scorched heads of grain fall under Roman foot;
The cindered huts of Gauls, long since abandoned,
Stare, dark-eyed, at these passing Roman swords.
Some Gaul had held his torch,
Spread silently the fire on his home
In death of dreams to take
What power might be taken from his foe
But march on, mighty Caesar, conquer on!
Spread fear from Roman hill to Briton's end,
For man shall wear the laurel, crowned forever!
And earth shall serve a pantheon of men.
The woman holds her child,
Stares silent at his frozen, fading face
To catch what bit of life
May still be caught before he fades away
But stand, oh mighty Caesar! Give no way!
The least of these are not a god's concern;
Vercingetorix's mighty men lay slain
And Rome awaits triumphant man's return!