Decebal to his people

This life is a lost boon if you Don't live it as you wanted to! Much would a warlike, ruthless foe Enslave us all! Our birth, we know, Was woe enough; would you get through Another dreadful woe? Death, even for a godlike scion, Is a hard law, as hard as iron! It is all one to breathe one's last A lad or an old man bypast, But not the same to die a lion Or a poor dog chained fast. What if you fight in the first line, What if by great exploits you shine? A grumbler cannot better be Than those who fear to fight and flee! To murmur is to have no spine And make a bootless plea! Like dead men, cowards will keep still! The living - let them laugh at will! The really good ones laugh and die. Hold, therefore, heroes, your brows high And let your lusty cheering fill Both hell and earth and sky! Blood may in floods and torrents flow, The arm assail with spear and blow, When the fierce enemies are dead! Well, you may think yourself Godhead, When you but laugh at what the foe Does more than all else dread. They're Romans, we know that. So what? Where they not Romans but our god, Zamolxes, with his creatures, still We would, sure, ask them what they will - They won't get of our land a jot: They have their skies to fill! Now, men, to sword and shield and horn! 'Twas bad enough that we were born; But he is free to go whose fright Makes him too dastardly to fight, And if there is someone foresworn, Let him avoid our sight! What I have told you is enow! You swore on shields your oath of love For Dacia! Might resides in you And in the gods! But, heroes, know That they, the gods, are far above, Our foes - at a stone's throw!