Behold the ruin, the ravaged Shire,
The trees are felled and burned with fire
The brave draw naught but evil’s ire,
Alas for the innocent home.
Behold the shanties and the gates,
All laughter trampled down in hate;
Vengeance-hunger it does not sate,
Alas for those crying alone.
Behold sweet Hill of evil full,
Like teeth knocked from a crooked skull
The shutters hang, its flowers culled –
Alas for the shade and the loam.
Behold the gravel in the Row,
Elders turned out by word and blow,
Whence come their help they do not know,
Alas for those that roamed!