XLIX.
Lo, where the giant form of Liberty
Arises grand yet shadowy dim o’er Spain.
With smiles her champion, Arthur, she doth see,
And frowns terrific with august disdain
Upon the Invaders, trampling on the chain!
A fiery sword that as a comet blazed
On high she brandished, like the angel-train
O’er Paradise. The tyrant-host amazed
Saw their expulsion doomed, and trembled as they gazed.