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CASWALLON'S TRIUMPH.
309
And sounds in every rushing blast
Of a conqueror's march were telling.
But his eagle's royal pinion,
Bowing earth beneath its glory,
Could not shadow with dominion
Our wild seas and mountains hoary!
Back from their cloudy realm it flies,
To float in light through softer skies;
Oh! chainless winds of Heaven arise!
Bear a vanquish'd world the story!
Lords of earth! to Rome returning,
Tell, how Britain combat wages,
How Caswallon's soul is burning
When the storm of battle rages!
And ye that shrine high deeds in song,
Oh! holy and immortal throng!
The brightness of his name prolong,
As a torch to stream through ages!
