Translated by A. Z. Foreman - At Napoleon's Tomb lyrics

An enigmatic thing, the fate of this world in stress and storm: In none but men of seething mettle will fate reveal its form. From seething mettle Alexander's sword dawned on the land To blaze on high, and melted down the mountain of Alvand. From seething mettle came torrential Timur's conquering flood. Such mighty waves make nothing of the land's vicissitude. The cry of prayer, the cry of war from men of God who trod The battlefield, in seething mettle became the Voice of God. Yet little more than meager moments are granted to the brave, A breath or two in time against the deep night of the grave. "The Valley of the Silenced ends the road of every man. Seethe and resound beneath the vault of stars, while yet you can."