Chapter 27 THE STANDARDS.

That last,

Blown from our Sion of the Seven Hills,

Was no uncertain blast!

Listen: the warning all the champaign fills,

And minatory murmurs, answering, mar

The Night, both near and far,

Perplexing many a drowsy citadel

Beneath whose ill-watch'd walls the Powers of Hell,

With armed jar

And angry threat, surcease

Their