当被罗马人的棍棒打得鲜血淋漓的英国女王，愤愤不平地向她的国家的众神寻求建议时，在一棵茂盛的橡树下的圣人，年迈的德鲁伊酋长;他说的每一句话都充满了愤怒和悲伤。公主!如果我们苍老的眼睛因你的无度冤屈而哭泣，那是因为怨恨把我们口中所有的恐怖都缚住了。罗马将灭亡，——用她所流的血写下这句话;你要灭亡，无指望，被憎恶，陷在败坏和罪孽之中。罗马，作为一个声名远扬的帝国，践踏了一千个国家;不久，她的骄傲将亲吻大地——听!高卢人已经到了她的门口!其他罗马人将奋起，不管士兵的名字; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize-- Harmony the path to fame. Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. Regions Cæsar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they. Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending, as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow; Rushed to battle, fought, and died; Dying, hurled them at the foe. Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due: Empire is on us bestowed, Shame and ruin wait for you!