Hark! the tempest doth devour,
(Hurry, the lair of Hell prepare,)
Raining needles, a sharp shower,
Arrows arc thru the dark air.

Glaring weapons are the loom,
Where the soldiers strain,
Weaving many a fighters doom,
This man's woe, that man's bane.

See the fortress walls to right grow,
"'Tis a corpse tower." maiden said.
And cannon ***** do fire from below,
Each an enemy soldiers'  lobbed head.

Bones for arrows, dipped in gore,
Shot by the spinal cords so long.
Dagger, that once an emblem bore,
Keep that blade so sharp; so strong.

Before the ****** sun is ****** set,
Lances must shiver;
                        And javelins do sing.
Blades with clanging  
                            sound to whet.
Lightning crashes; helmets ring.

Blades of swords to suddenly glare
Send more to the front, let 'em fight,
Where our companions
                        The conflict share.
 Many triumph, yeah: but, O!
                          Yet, they die.