Than storm or earthquake’s voice; for thence arise
All that mysterious world’s unseen sublimities.
XXI.
Well might thy name, brave Constantine! awake
Such thought, such feeling!—But the scene again
Bursts on my vision, as the day-beams break
Through the red sulphurous mists: the camp, the plain,
The terraced palaces, the dome-capt fane,
With its bright cross fix’d high in crowning grace;
Spears on the ramparts, galleys on the main,