XI.

Her voice hath been th’ awakener--and her name The gathering-word of nations. In her might, And all the awful beauty of her fame, Apart she dwelt, in solitary light. High on her cliffs, alone and firm she stood, Fixing the torch upon her beacon-tower-- That torch whose flame, far streaming o’er the flood, Hath guided Europe through her darkest hour. Away, vain dreams of glory!--in the dust Be humbled, Ocean-queen! and own thy sentence just!