Druid Chorus on the Landing of the Romans

By the dread and viewless powers
Whom the storms and seas obey,
From the Dark Isle’s mystic bowers,
Romans! o’er the deep away!
Think ye, ’tis but nature’s gloom
O’er our shadowy coast which broods?
By the altar and the tomb,
Shun these haunted solitudes!

Know ye Mona’s awful spells?
She the rolling orbs can stay!
She the mighty grave compels
Back to yield its fetter’d prey!
Fear ye not the lightning stroke?
Mark ye not the fiery sky?
Hence!--around our central oak
Gods are gathering--Romans, fly!