And a boy went before them all Blowing a ram's horn.
As mocking such rude revelry, The dim clan of the GaelCame like a bad king's burial-end,With dismal robes that drop and rend And demon pipes that wail —
In long, outlandish garments, Torn, though of antique worth,With Druid beards and Druid spears,As a resurrected race appears Out of an elder earth.
And though the King had called them forth And knew them for his own,So still each eye was, like a gem,So spectral hung each broidered hemGrey carven men he fancied them, Hewn in an age of stone.
And the two wild peoples of the north Stood fronting in the gloam,And heard and knew each in his mindA third great sound upon the wind,The living walls that hedge mankind, The walking walls of Rome.
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