The Destruction of Sennacherib

by Lord Byron

The Assyrain came down like the wolf on the fold,
His cohorts work gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like the star on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves off the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves off the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow laid withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe has he passed;
And the eyes is of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the due on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broken in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!