CXVI. Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be, Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled? CXVII. But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime; Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst—his second fall. XCVIII. 1 Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, The loudest still the tempest leaves behind; Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth, But the sap lasts, and still the seed we find Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North; So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. XCIX. There is a stern round tower of other days, 49 Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, Such as an army's baffled strength delays, Standing with half its battlements alone, And with two thousand years of ivy grown, The garland of eternity, where wave The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown; What was this tower of strength? within its cave What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid? greve. - A woman's C. But who was she, the lady of the dead, Tomb'd in a palace? Was she chaste and fair? or more a Roman's bed? Worthy a king's What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear? What daughter of her beauties was the heir? not how died she? Was she So honour'd and conspicuously there, Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot? CI. Was she as those who love their lords, or they To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar Love from amongst her griefs? for such the af fections are. CII. Perchance she died in youth: it may be, bow'd With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead, CIII. Perchance she died in age-surviving all, When they were braided, and her proud array The wealthiest Roman's wife; Behold his love or pride! CIV. I know not why-but standing thus by thee Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan Till I had bodied forth the heated mind Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves behind; CV. And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks, Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear: |