Kings, heroes, martial triumphs, nuptial rites--

Now, like a cypress, shiver'd by the blast,
Or mountain-cedar, which the lightning smites,
In dust and darkness sinks thy head declined,
Thy tresses streaming wild on ocean's reckless wind.

Art thou not glorious?--In that night of storms,
When He, in Power's supremacy elate,
Gaul's fierce Usurper! fulminating fate,
The Goth's barbaric tyranny restored,
And science, art, and all life's fairer forms,
Sunk to the dark dominion of the sword:
Didst thou not, champion of insulted man!
Confront this stern Destroyer in his pride?
Didst thou not crush him in the battle shock,
While recent victory shouted in his van,
And shrunk the nations, shadow'd by his stride?
Yea, chain him howling to yon desert rock,
Where, thronging ghastly from uncounted graves,
His victims murmur 'midst the groans of waves,
And mock his soul's despair, his deep blaspheming ban!

Nor erst, in Liberty's avenging day,
When, launching lightnings in her wrath divine,
She rose, and gave to never-dying fame,
Platæ, Marathon, Thermopylæ,
Did each, did all, sublimer laurels twine
Round Græcia's conquering brows, than Waterloo on thine!