Austrian Alliance

Doth this hand live? Trust not a royal coat, My country! Smite that cheek; there is no stain But of the clay! no flush of shame or pain. This is the smell o' the grave. Lift the gold crown And see that brow. Lo! how the dews drip down The empty house! The worm is on the walls, And the half-shuttered lights are dull and dead With dusty desecration. The soul fled On a spring-day within thy palace-halls, Hapsburg! and all the days of all the springs Of all the ages bring it not again! Vampyre! we wrench thee from the breathing throat Of living Man, and he leaps up and flings Thy rotten carcase at the heads of Kings.