The banner which once proudly fluttered,

A million subjects by whom bowed and admired.

Whose sight did once mean sure and settled

The march of thousand proven lionhearts behind.

Whose valour and order inspired awe and fear.

Awe for the loyal, and fear

For those who defied.

Whose orderly march once shook the world!

Under whose grace were highways built,

Towns, battlements and temples great,

Aqueducts and baths, and a fort a day,

Walls and garrisons to keep foes at bay.

Which did swing over the city eternal,

Founded by the brothers from the wolf-maternal,

Or by the Trojan with his ailing father,

Neither love nor joy was to his duty a matter.

The banner which preached democracy,

And democratically changed to autocracy.

This with the whip tamed many a proud tribe,

And which did wipe out brave Carthage.

The banner of peace and prosperity,

Though by war did peace gain victory.

The banner of culture and literature,

Of joy, merrymaking and the gladiator.

Now did lie, dusty and tattered,

Bent broken and forever shattered

Spat on and stepped on by the usurpers

The haters of culture and stability.

The very pride which one did help

The banner its height to develop.

Led to a failure to spot a limit.

An Icaran error, in result and spirit.

The very same winds which once blew right,

To lift the banner and give it its height.

Displeased and stormy, now were moody,

And sent it crashing to the ground right quickly.

Oh! The height by the Punic wars attained,

When supremacy oe'r a sea was gained

Now was brought down at Adrianople,

Where died a thousand thousand soldiers noble.

Oh! Never again will it swing high and proud

With SPOR written, grave and bold.

For "The end of the civilized world has come".

So sing the bards like prophets of doom.

And the children of the banner, who once did walk,

With a sneer and with arrogant confidence talk,

Now are dazed and like lost children

Wander around with many a strange expression.

For their banner is lost and gone!

The invincible empire has fallen this morn.

Wounded and bleeding, pinned down and famished,

And left for the ravens and vultures to ravish.

The eternal city lies silent and still

For soon it too will lie under the heel

Of those haters of peace, those looters and killers.

Those trouser wearing, unshaven, unlettered fiends.

Oh! But still firm stands the belief among a few

That the banner cannot fall but shall arise anew,

They talk of revival, a counter attack,

That the banner even stronger shall again stand.

But these few know naught of reality.

The condition of the banner or those who swore fealty,

And tis unfair to blame those unlettered fiends

For they are pushed by lady Fortune's hands.

The banner had grown too proud though weak,

And despised all except those underneath.

It forgot its beginning and its rise

And so was brought, down to size.

The ravens and the vultures circle on high

And the end of an age stands nigh

For nothing stands eternal, not even mountains,

So how such petty achievements, like forts and fountains?