Hath wrapt that conflict’s lone and awful scene;
And man’s forsaken homes, in ruin spread,
Tell where the storming of the cliffs hath been.
And there, o’er wastes magnificently rude,
What race may rove, unconscious of the chain?
Those realms have now no desert unsubdued,
Where Freedom’s banner may be rear’d again:
Sunk are the ancient dwellings of her fame,
The children of her sons inherit but their name.