Immota Manet; Multosque Nepotes, Multa Vir'M Volvens Durando S'Cula, Vincit. Virg. Round Thee, Alas, No Shadows Move! From Thee No Sacred Murmurs Breathe! Yet Within Thee, Thyself A Grove, Once Did The Eagle Scream Above, And The Wolf Howl Beneath. There Once The Steel-Clad Knight Reclin'D, His Sable Plumage Tempest-Toss'D; And, As The Death-Bell Smote The Wind, From Towers Long Fled By Human Kind, His Brow The Hero Cross'D! Then Culture Came, And Days Serene, And Village-Sports, And Garlands Gay. Full Many A Pathway Cross'D The Green; And Maids And Shepherd-Youths Were Seen, To Celebrate The May. Father Of Many A Forest Deep, (Whence Many A Navy Thunder-Fraught) Erst In Their Acorn-Cells Asleep, Soon Destin'D O'Er The World To Sweep, Opening New Spheres Of Thought! Wont In The Night Of Woods To Dwell, The Holy Druid Saw Thee Rise; And, Planting There The Guardian-Spell, Sung Forth, The Dreadful Pomp To Swell Of Human Sacrifice! Thy Singed Top And Branches Bare Now Straggle In The Evening Sky; And The Wan Moon Wheels Round To Glare On The Long Corse That Shivers There Of Him Who Came To Die!