From Persia to Hibernia
We march in mighty ranks of bronze
To spread the glory of the realm
We fight for Caesar and our gods.
Our swords are polished like a mirror
They hunger for the taste of blood
Our hobnailed boots crack out a quickstep
Through the woods and through the mud.
The ragged foe that stands before us
Faces now their lives' last fight
We'll break their ranks like scythes in wheat
Their kin will mourn before the night.
Their wives in chains, we'll march in glory
Back to the city of the Seven Hills.
The poets there will tell our story
So even in death, our deeds will live still.
Back from pagan lands afar
March the mighty ranks of bronze
Let the mighty bow before them
Their glory will live ever on. . .