Aloft, the imperial Bird[445] of Rome invokes
Departed ages, shedding where he flew[446]
Loose fragments of wild wailing, that bestrew
The clouds and thrill the chambers of the rocks;
And into silence hush the timorous flocks,
That, calmly couching[447] while the nightly dew
Moistened each fleece, beneath the twinkling stars
Slept amid[448] that lone Camp on Hardknot's height,
Whose Guardians bent the knee to Jove and Mars:
Or, near[449] that mystic Round of Druid frame