LXXXI.

Wake! wake! They come from sea and shore ascending In hosts your ramparts! Arm ye for the day! Who now may sleep amidst the thunders rending, Through tower and wall, a path for their array? Hark! how the trumpet cheers them to the prey, With its wild voice, to which the seas reply; And the earth rocks beneath their engines’ sway, And the far hills repeat their battle-cry, Till that fierce tumult seems to shake the vaulted sky!