Classic Poem

Majestio Michael rises—he whose brow
Is crown'd with castles; and whose rocky sides
Are clad with dusky ivy: he whose base,
Beat by the storms of ages, stands unmov'd
Amidst the wreck of things—the change of time.
That base, encircled by the azure waves,
Was once with verdure clad: the towering oaks
Here waved their branches green: the sacred oaks,
Whose awful shades among the Druids stay'd
To cut the hallowed mistletoe, and hold
High converse with their gods.