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!