Thy glorious father to the temple bore
The banners won in battle from his foes?
Mat. A day to be remember’d!
Ant. By his side
Each seem’d inferior. Every breath of air
Swell’d with his echoing name; and we, the while
Station’d on high and sever’d from the throng,
Gazed on that one who drew the gaze of all,
While, with the tide of rapture half o’erwhelm’d,
Our hearts beat high, and whisper’d—“We are his.”