--On marshland rough and self-sprung forest gazed The imperial Roman of the eagle-eye; Log-splinter'd forts on green hill-summits raised, Earth huts and rings that dot the chalk-downs high:-- Dark rites of hidden faith in grove and moor; Idols of monstrous build; wheel'd scythes of war; Rock tombs and pillars hoar: Strange races, Finn, Iberian, Belgae, Celt; While in the wolds huge bulls and antler'd giants dwelt. 4 --Another age!--The spell of Rome has past Transforming all our Britain; Ruthless plough, Which plough'd the world, yet o'er the nations cast The seed of arts, and law, and all that now Has ripen'd into commonwealths:--Her hand With network mile-paths binding plain and hill Arterialized the land: The thicket yields: the soil for use is clear; Peace with her plastic touch,--field, farm, and grange are here. 5 Lo, flintwall'd cities, castles stark and square Bastion'd with rocks that rival Nature's own; Red-furnaced baths, trim gardens planted fair With tree and flower the North ne'er yet had known; Long temple-roofs and statues poised on high With golden wings outstretch'd for tiptoe flight, Quivering in summer sky:-- The land had rest, while those stern legions lay By northern ramparts camp'd, and held the Pict at bay. 6 Imperious Empire! Thrice-majestic Rome! No later age, as earth's slow centuries glide, Can raze the footprints stamp'd where thou hast come, The ne'er-repeated grandeur of thy stride! --Though now so dense a darkness takes the land, Law, peace, wealth, letters, faith,--all lights are quench'd By violent heathen hand:-- Vague warrior kings; names writ in fire and wrong; Aurelius, Urien, Ida;--shades of ancient song. 7 And Thou--O whether born of flame and wave, Or Gorlois' son, or Uther's, blameless lord, True knight, who died for those thou couldst not save When the Round Table brake their plighted word,-- The lord of song hath set thee in thy grace And glory, rescued from the phantom world, Before us face to face; No more Avilion bowers the King detain; The mystic child returns; the Arthur reigns again! 8 --Now, as some cloud that hides a mountain bulk Thins to white smoke, and mounts in lighten'd air, And through the veil the gray enormous hulk Burns, and the summit, last, is keen and bare,-- From wasted Britain so the gloaming clears; Another birth of time breaks eager out, And England fair appears:-- Imperial youth sign'd on her golden brow, While the prophetic eyes with hope and promise glow. 9