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Percy Bysshe Shelley must have written it in 1818 with today's event in mind. So fitting that he was an Englishman.
God bless America!
Rule, Brittania!
Viva Espana!
Thankski, Poland!
Leni
Let it never be for us. Pray to God and thank Him. Never must our ego get in the way of our thought. Just look at Saddam.
I want to thank you our men and women in uniform and ESPECIALLY George W. Bush and his Administration for making this moment possible. 
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: An enormous wall of stone
Stands lonely in the desert. Upon it, on its face
Half faded, a hideous visage appears, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its painter well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Saddam Hussein, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Babylon
In Babylon did Saddam Hussein
A stately torture dome decree
Where near the ancient rivers ran
Through evil measureless to man
Down to a sundrenched sea.
So twice five miles of desert soil
Walls were girdled by moats of oil;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many a terror plan
And here were pools, statues and all the frills
To flatter the vanity of a soulless man.
But Oh! That bunker deep and daunting
Below the palace near to hell,
A savage place! For civilization’s taunting
Forever its denizen’s cries will be haunting.
By woman wailing for first born son.
And into this chamber, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if the air in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty weapon momently was forced,
And with a swift discharge it burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail,
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever,
It flung up pieces of Saddam’s body severed.
Nearby meandering with a mazy motion,
Through ancient streets the timeless river ran,
Rolling past evil measureless to man
To sink in shame at a busy ocean.
And ‘mid this tumult Saddam heard from far
Angry voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of torture
Floated midway on the waves
Where was felt the minion’s scorcher
From the bunker of the knaves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny torture-dome with souls of ice.
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was a Babylonian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of sacred Najaf.
Could I revive within me.
Her symphony and song.
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
That with forces proud and strong,
I would destroy all torture-domes by air,
Those Sunni domes! Those souls of ice!
And all who saw them no longer there
And all who should cry, Beware! Beware!
His pitiless eyes, his helmet hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes and do not dread,
For he is really, finally dead,
And will not ever see Paradise.
With apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge (see http://lheawww.gsfc.nasa.gov/users/kaa/poem/poem.html)
But Shelley is in despair. Ozy wanted people to look at his huge kingdom and despair at how mighty he was and they weren't. From the Christian tradition this king Ozy got what he deserved. This is the same Christian tradition that looks at Saddam's fall and laughs (I'm not implying any religious stuff like Islam and Christianity; what I mean by "Christian tradition" is the meek shall inherit the earth and all that.)
But, see, Shelley was an atheist and a revolutionary and a protocommunist. He was someone who believed in the individual (he was a Romantic poet after all) and how great the individual is, how great the man can become, what power he can seize, what might he acquire, all in defiance of those who would take it away.
Ozy had all this but lost it because of Time. Time took away Ozy's life and took away the kingdom. All that remains is ruins amongst sand. This breaks the poet's heart. Shelley is in despair that no matter how great you become you still die and what was you -- making a huge impact in your time -- fades away.
The Christian tradition says no matter how great you become in life you still die. Shelley is raging against this.
This is a clear case of knowing about the poet's beliefs and politics before saying what a poem means. If this poem is applied to Saddam, it would actually be LAMENTING his fall.