Of blessing rises from the throng below.
Have not the scenes of other days returned?
Do I not hear the sentry’s measured tramp,
Clangor of mail, and neigh of battle-steed,
Mingling their discord with the drum’s deep roll?
No! ’twas a dream!—the magic of a place
Allied to memory of Earth’s noblest son,
Gives form and seeming life to viewless air.
Relic of our Heroic Age, farewell!
Long may these walls defy dissolving Time,