Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   At every turn Morena’s dusky height
   Sustains aloft the battery’s iron load;
   And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
   The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,
   The bristling palisade, the fosse o’erflowed,
   The stationed bands, the never-vacant watch,
   The magazine in rocky durance stowed,
   The holstered steed beneath the shed of thatch,
The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match,