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CV. And from the planks, far shattered o'er the rocks, Built me a little bark of hope, once more . To battle with the Ocean and the shocks Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar Which rushes on the solitary shore Where all lies foundered that was ever dear : But could I gather from the wave-forn store llora
Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer ? There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here.
CVI. Then let the winds howl on! their harmony Shall henceforth be my music, and the night The sound shall temper with the owlet's cry, As I now hear them, in the fading light Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, Answering each other on the Palatine, With their large eyes, all glistening grey and bright,
And sailing pinions.-Upon such a shrine What are our petly griefs ?-Jet 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 In fragments, chok'd up vaults, and frescos steep'd In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, Deeming it midnight :- Temples, baths, or halls, Pronounce who can; for all that Learning reap'd
From her research hath been, that these are walls-Behold the Imperial Mount! 'tis thus the mighty falls (1).
(1) 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 ean
All treasures, all delights, that eye or car, Heart; soul could seek, tongue ask- Away with words! draw near,
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? Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, Titus or Trajan's? No—'tis that of Time : Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, be told. to satisfy the belief of any but a Roman antiquary.
See-Historical Illustrations, page 206.
Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome,
With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues-still we Trajan's name adore.
CXII. Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place Where Rome embraced her heroes? where the steep Tarpeian? fittest goal of Treason's race, The promontory whence the traitor's leap Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap Their spoils herc? Yes; and in yon field below, A thousand years of silenced factions sleep
The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes--burns with Cicero?
Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes,
Then turn we to her latest tribune's name,
The Forum’s champion, and the people's chief
Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth,
CXVI. . The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled With thine Elysian water-drops; the face Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, Whose green, wild margin now no more erase Art's works; nor must the delicate waters sleep, Prisoned in marble, bubbling from the base
Of the cleft statue'; with a gentle leap The rill runs o’er, and round, fern, flowers and ivy, creep, CXVII.
Fantastically tangled; the green hills
The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes,
Here did'st thou dwell, in this enchanted cover,
Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell
The dull satiety which all destroys—