text:  Hark! hear ye not that murmur that hush and hollow roar As when to the south-wester bow the pines upon the shore; And that low crackling intermix'd like wither'd twig that breaks When in the midnight greenwood the startled squirrel wakes! Lo how the fire comes roaring on like a host in war array! Nor lacks it gallant music to cheer it on its way Nor flap of flame-tongued banner like the Oriflamme of old Its vanward cohorts heralding in crimson green and gold