That still expand and soar;
Can you not hear, through outcries loud,
The beaten drum, and the tramp of the crowd,
The mighty furnace roar!
Then trophy, and relic, and ancient spoil,
One molten mass went down,
And Ruin had stretch'd his red hand out
To seize the sacred Crown.
And faces, that else were white with fear,
Gleam'd in the woful light;