The Destruction of Sennacherib Lord Byron

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf

And there lay the rider distorted and pale
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!