XLIX.
Sounds of triumphant praise! the mass was sung—
Voices that die not might have pour’d such strains!
Through Salem’s towers might that proud chant have rung
When the Most High, on Syria’s palmy plains,
Had quell’d her foes!—so full it swept, a sea
Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free!
—Oft when the wind, as through resounding fanes,
Hath fill’d the choral forests with its power,
Some deep tone brings me back the music of that hour.