Defunctos ploro!
Pestem fugo!
Festa decoro!
Lucifer. Shake the casements!
Break the painted
Panes, that flame with gold and crimson:
Scatter them like leaves of Autumn,
Swept away before the blast!
Voices. Oh, we cannot;
The Archangel
Michael flames from every window,
With the sword of fire that drove us
Headlong, out of heaven, aghast!
The Bells.
Funera plango!
Fulgura frango!
Sabbata pango!
Lucifer. Aim your lightnings!
At the oaken,
Massive, iron-studded portals!
Sack the house of God, and scatter
Wide the ashes of the dead!
Voices. Oh, we cannot!
The Apostles
And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles,
Stand as warders at the entrance,
Stand as sentinels o’erhead!