I see a great battle; I see the white men go down like corn before a tempest; I see the spears of the impis redden; I see the white soldiers lie like leaves cut from a tree by frost.

They are dead, all dead, save a handful that have fled away.

I hear the ingoma of victory sung here at Ulundi.

It is finished.
"The second matter is--what shall chance to the king?
I see him tossed on the Black Water; I see him in a land full of houses, talking with a royal woman and her councillors.

There, too, he conquers, for they offer him tribute of many gifts.