The Eternal Jew hears a noise one morning. At first he thinks its thunder; then an earthquake. Then he realizes, an army is attacking. This scene in The Atternen Juez Talen takes place in approximately 1100CE. First a translation into standard English, and then the original in MetaEnglish.
And behind the forward shock of noise
The walls of dust that choke your breath
And cloak your face in a deathly mask
So dragoon and drayman, commando and corpse
All look like statues in a Roman tomb.
And this the song them dragoons sung:
We are the hollow men born for war.
We are the arrogant caked in hate.
We are the sons of pagan gods.
And we are the fruit of polluted clods.
March on, march on, man of dust.
Do what you will; do what you must.
Look on us, your conquerors,
Sharp our tongue and sharp our darts.
Look at us, above all law.
Bloody hands and bloodless hearts.
March on march on, hollow men.
Your road is long; who knows its end?
We are the wallowers, slogging in scorn.
We wallow in impotence, loving a sword.
We hide our envy in a bigot’s abuse,
And express ourselves best with a mob and a noose.
March on march on, man of chalk.
Your road is short; no time for talk.
Look on us who scorn the just.
Past? We’ll have no piece of that.
Look on us, who mock your trust.
Future? We’ll have no peace in that.
March on, march on, hollow men.
March on, to find your punishment.
Here’s the original metaEnglish version, with its more overtly vibrating language:
We arren hawlo menz bornen wor.
We ar the araggenz kaekt in haets.
We ar the sunz uv pagen godz.
An we ar the frute a poluten klodz.
March on march on, man a dus.
Du wut yu wil; du wut yu mus.
Louk on us, yur konkerren.
Sharp ar tung an sharp ar darts.
Louk at us, abbuv awl law.
Bludded hanz a bludles harts.
March on march on, hawlo menz.
Yur roed iz long; hu knoez it enz?
We ar the wawlowerz, sloggen a skorn.
We wawlo in impotens, luvven a sord.
We hiden ar enveez in a biggets abyuse,
An espres ar selz bes with a mobben a noos.
March on march on, man uv chok.
Yur roed iz short; no tiem fer tok.
Louk on us hu skorn the jus.
Past? Weel hav no pees a that.
Louk on us, hu mok yur trus.
Fewcher? We hav no pees a that.
March on, march on, hawlo men.
March on, an fien yur punnishen.