Drive him back!-the fever, the god of death that raging god of war not armored in bronze, not shielded now, he burns me, battle cries in the onslaught burning on- O rout him from our borders! Sail him, blast him out to the Sea-queen's chamber the black Atlantic gulfs or the northern harbor, death to all where the Thracian surf comes crashing. Now what the night spares he comes by day and kills- the god of death.