II.

Unchang’d through many a hardy race Stood the rough dome in fallen grace; Still on its angry front defiance frown’d, Though monarchs kept their state within, Still murmur’d with the martial din The gloomy gateway arch profound, And armed forms in airy rows, Bent o’er the battlements their bows, And blood-stained banners crown’d its hostile head. And oft its hoary ramparts wore The rugged scars of conflict sore, What time, pavillion’d on the neighb’ring mead The indignant Barons rang’d in bright array Their feudal bands to curb despotic sway, And, leagued a Briton’s birthright to restore, From JOHN’s reluctant grasp the roll of freedom bore.