26. 
When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak, and frail
Like the vapour of a vale:  105

27. 
Till as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,

28. 
It grew—­a Shape arrayed in mail 110
Brighter than the viper’s scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.

29. 
On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the Morning’s, lay; 115
And those plumes its light rained through
Like a shower of crimson dew.

30. 
With step as soft as wind it passed
O’er the heads of men—­so fast
That they knew the presence there, 120
And looked,—­but all was empty air.

31. 
As flowers beneath May’s footstep waken,
As stars from Night’s loose hair are shaken,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where’er that step did fall. 125

32. 
And the prostrate multitude
Looked—­and ankle-deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien: 

33. 
And Anarchy, the ghastly birth, 130
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death tameless as wind
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.

34. 
A rushing light of clouds and splendour, 135
A sense awakening and yet tender
Was heard and felt—­and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose

35. 
As if their own indignant Earth
Which gave the sons of England birth 140
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother’s throe

36. 
Had turned every drop of blood
By which her face had been bedewed
To an accent unwithstood,—­ 145
As if her heart had cried aloud: 

37. 
’Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another; 150

38. 
’Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—­
Ye are many—­they are few. 155

39. 
’What is Freedom?—­ye can tell
That which slavery is, too well—­
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.

40. 
’’Tis to work and have such pay 160
As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants’ use to dwell,