Beneath thy calm, religious eye?
And hath the crested helmet bow’d
Before thee, midst the incense-cloud?
Hath the crown’d leader’s bosom lone
To thee its haughty griefs made known?
Did thy glance break their frozen sleep,
And win th’ unconquer’d one to weep?
Hush’d is the anthem, closed the vow,
The votive garland wither’d now;
Yet holy still to me thou art,