What murmurs rose 'mid thine oarsmen bold
At viewing the triumph of wrong o'er right?
For a treacherous blow
Despatched thy foe,
And blood-stains cannot be hid with gold.
"Dost thou remember how thou didst spurn
Pity or shame, and with reeking blade
Pierced the bosoms of each in turn;
Spilt the gore
Of the fated four,
And over the boatside cast the dead?
"Count Rudolph, thine hand hath given
More than death to blameless men;
Innocent souls are barred from heaven;
He cannot come
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