Alfred Castner King, Mountain Idylls, and Other Poems
“ The clank of shackles and the captives groan, As marched the vanquished forth to servitude, To ceaseless toil rewarded by the scourge; To stand within the slave marts and endure The taunts and bear the chains of slavery. Did'st thou look down with neutral radiance On that incursion from the Scythian plain, A surging multitude beyond the power Of mental computation and which seemed A seething mass of spears and shapes of war, A sea of bellicose barbarity, O'erwhelming helpless and ill-fated Tyre With a resistless deluge of the sword? ”
