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!
