And on the hoary castle's ruined walls,
The rotting ivy, clinging as it falls,
Seems their past strength to mock.
Exalted are the thoughts
That rise within our souls at such a time;
The vast, the wild, the awful, the sublime,
Embodied, round us floats!
And the hushed spirit seems
To listen to the tones from giants flung;
Echoes of war-songs, that of old were sung,