The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, <br /> And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; <br /> And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, <br /> When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. <br /> <br /> Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, <br /> That host with their banners at sunset were seen: <br /> Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, <br /> That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. <br /> <br /> For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, <br /> And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; <br /> And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, <br /> And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! <br /> <br /> And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, <br /> But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; <br /> And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, <br /> And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. <br /> <br /> And there lay the rider distorted and pale, <br /> With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail: <br /> And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, <br /> The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. <br /> <br /> And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, <br /> And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; <br /> And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, <br /> Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-destruction-of-sennacherib-2/
