And War hath raged o’er many a distant plain,
Trampling the vine and olive in his path;
While she, that regal daughter of the main,
Smiled in serene defiance of his wrath!
As some proud summit, mingling with the sky,
Hears calmly far below the thunders roll and die.
XI.
Her voice hath been th’ awakener—and her name
The gathering-word of nations. In her might,
And all the awful beauty of her fame,