There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;

For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844): The Exile of Erin.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;

They crowned him long ago

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,

With a diadem of snow.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Manfred. Act i. Sc. 1.

When Freedom from her mountain-height

Unfurled her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there.

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes

The milky baldric of the skies,

And striped its pure, celestial white

With streakings of the morning light.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home!

By angel hands to valour given!

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in heaven.

Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,

With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us?

Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820): The American Flag.

No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,

Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,

The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,

Become them with one half so good a grace

As mercy does.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Measure for Measure. Act ii. Sc. 2.