1. Stand awhile, my friends, this morn, and greet
The wasteland, or you will regret this day

2. If only its ruined dwellings could but speak
Time-ravaged art and traces would convey

3. Our glory none can equal, nothing equals
Its like, not even days of Two-Horned King

4. When tribe of 'Abs by me in battle wheel
I build with it a monument to cling

5. Our onslaught done, we leave but dusty haze
Behind their ramparts, darker than the gloom

6. Oh, mansions, we by you would spend our days
With upright lance and smoothed, well-balanced spear

7. Let enemies unfurl their flags to meet
In war, and blood-soaked be their homes entire

8. Our lances broke their ranks in disarray
And smashed their bulls, breaking their strength away

9. The Indian blades our bright swords sunder all
Well-balanced, striking coats of mail, and shatter

10. The helms of armored men, their fragments scatter
As heroes' wrists and forearms smashed fins flutter