Fallen, And Diffused Into A Shapeless Heap, Or Quietly Self-Buried In Earth'S Mould, Is That Embattled House, Whose Massy Keep, Flung From Yon Cliff A Shadow Large And Cold. There Dwelt The Gay, The Bountiful, The Bold; Till Nightly Lamentations, Like The Sweep Of Winds, Though Winds Were Silent, Struck A Deep And Lasting Terror Through That Ancient Hold. Its Line Of Warriors Fled; They Shrunk When Tried By Ghostly Power: But Time'S Unsparing Hand Hath Plucked Such Foes, Like Weeds, From Out The Land; And Now, If Men With Men In Peace Abide, All Other Strength The Weakest May Withstand, All Worse Assaults May Safely Be Defied.