Again the ramparts' loosen'd load
Of thunder rends the air!
Peal on--such pomp is fitly show'd--
He lands no stranger there.
Hear from his lips your language grave
In earnest accents fall--
The memories of the home ye gave
He hastens to recall--
'Mid flash of spears and fiery thrill
Of trumpets speed him forth,
The Master-Mind your Shakspeare still
Had loved to draw--that to its will
Shapes Fate and Chance with potent skill--
The Numa of the North.