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And even when sunset was pale on the ocean, The turrets were shining with taper and lamp, Which filled the night-wind, as it passed them, with odours. The angel of death came and summoned the monarch; But he looked on the city, the fair and the mighty, And said, "Ye proud temples, I leave ye my fame."

The conqueror went forth, like the storm over ocean, His chariot-wheels red with the blood of the vanquished; Nations grew pale at the sound of his trumpet, Thousands rose up at the wave of his banners, And the valleys were white with the bones of slain.