Where all lies foundered that was ever dear : Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer? There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here. Then let the winds howl on! their harmony With their large eyes, all glistening grey and bright, What are our petty griefs?-let me not number mine. CVII. Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd On what were chambers, arch crush'd. column strown * The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the side towards the Circus Maximus. The very soil is formed of crumbled brick-work. Nothing has been told, nothing can be told, to satisfy the belief of any but a Roman antiquary.-See-Historical Illustrations, page 206. CVIII. There is the moral of all human tales; 48 First Freedom, and then Glory-when that fails, Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask-Away with words! draw near CIX. Admire, exult-despise—laugh, weep,—for here There is such matter for all feeling ;-Man! This mountain, whose obliterated plan Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd? Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared to build? CX.. Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base! What are the laurels of the Cæsar's brow? Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, 49 CXI. Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, And looking to the stars: they had contain'd A spirit which with these would find a home, But yielded back his conquests :-he was more Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues-still we Trajan's name adore. 50 Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place Where Rome embraced her heroes ? where the steep The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes-burns with Cicero ! CXIII. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, 4. From the first hour of empire in the bud Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, The friend of Petrarch-hope of Italy- Of Freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, The forum's champion, and the people's chief- Egeria! sweet creation of some heart 52 Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common votary there Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. CXVI. The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Whose green wild margin, now no more erase Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creep, CXVIII. Fantastically tangled, the green hills Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its skies. CXVIII Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, Egeria! thy, all heavenly bosom beating For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ; The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting Thyself by thine adorer, what befel? |