Tuesday, July 31, 2012

On the Battle of Teutoburg Forest, AD 9

If you catch up a German and take him away,
From his Teutonic night to bright Roman day,
You may teach him to speak,
You may teach him to ride,
You may think he's forgot,
When he's learned how to hide.

But when in the forest the fog closes in,
And rain's beating down on the huts of his kin,
When the murmurs and footfalls just off of the track,
Set a lump in your throat and a chill down your back,
While your grim legionnaires (who are soaked to the skin)
are strung out in a line miles long, columns thin,
You may look for your German,
But look to your sword,
And look to your captains,
And pray to your lord.

You'll not find your German,
But he's found his kin,
And round all your legions,
The Teutons close in,
And Teutoburg Forest
resounds with the din,
And none of your Romans
will see Rome again.

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