A storm-host, with lightning swords
And thunderous gallop.
Just think; as fierce lit tis, as loud
Advancing each shock o'er
It shadows, faint, which image
In this forecast outlined.
Has, as Lord of Lords, at the head
A rain of death, precedes
Whom, as judge no fear to, concedes
But for shame does cower.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem