SAXON CONQUEST

Nor wants the cause the panic-striking aid

Of hallelujahstost from hill to hill —

For instant victory. But Heaven's high will

Permits a second and a darker shade

Of Pagan night. Afflicted and dismayed,

The Relics of the sword flee to the mountains:

O wretched Land! whose tears have flowed like fountains;

Whose arts and honours in the dust are laid

By men yet scarcely conscious of a care

For other monuments than those of Earth;

Who, as the fieldsand woods have given them birth,

Willbuild their savage fortunes only there;

Content, if foss, and barrow, and the girth

Of long-drawn rampart, witness what they were.