With shout and trumpet-blast.
An empire’s gems their starry splendour shed
O’er the proud march; a king in chains was led;
A stately victor, crown’d and robed, came last.[261]
And many a Dryad’s bower
Had lent the laurels which, in waving play,
Stirr’d the warm air, and glisten’d round his way
As a quick-flashing shower.
—O’er his own porch, meantime, the cypress hung,
Through his fair halls a cry of anguish rung—