The poem composed by the famous orator, Libacius, lamenting the sack of Nacia. Written as he fled the city on foot with many other refugees, watching great pillars of smoke envelope the walls.
By what have the sharp fangs gone dull?
Or roar so thunderous now like a mouse’s squeak?
Now marble towers
Lie in ruined pile
Sit Overrun with weeds
By what force has the world tamed the Lion of Nacia?
Which did once prey on whole hosts of nations with razor teeth
And make cower all with a roar of deafening magnitude
By what milk shall the lion grow strong again?
Can such elixir exist?
Can such a man be born?
To make the lion roar once again