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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,

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,
The last of those who o'er the whole earth
reign'd,
The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd,
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.

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
red all ambition. Did the conquerors heap
Their spoils here? Yes; and in yon field

The nympholepsy of some fond despair;
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth,
Who found a more than common votary thero
Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly
bodied forth.

The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled
With thine Elysian water-drops; the face
Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years un-
wrinkled,

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,

Prison'd 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

Fantastically tangled; the green hills
Are clothed with early blossoms, through
the grass

The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Of summer birds sing welcome as ye pass; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes sand years of silenced factions sleep-Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; The Forum, where the immortal accents The sweetness of the violet's deep-blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seema colour'd by its skies.

below,

glow, kad still the eloquent air breathes-burns with Cicero ! The field of freedom, faction, fame, and

blood:

Here a proud people's passions were exhaled.
From the first hour of empire in the bud
To that when further worlds to conquer
fail'd;
But long before had Freedom's face been

veil'd,

And Anarchy assumed her attributes;
Fill every lawless soldier who assail'd
nd on the trembling senate's slavish

mutes,

Ormised the venal voice of baser prostitutes.

Then turn we to her latest tribune's name,
From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee,
Redeemer of dark centuries of shame—–
The friend of Petrarch—hope of Italy—
Kenzi! last of Romans! While the tree
* Freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a

leaf,

E for thy tomb a garland let it be

The

chief

Her new-born Numa thou with reign, alas!

too brief.

geria! sweet creation of some heart

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

With her most starry canopy, and seating
Thyself by thine adorer, what befel?
This cave was surely shaped out for the
greeting

Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell
Haunted by holy Love-the earliest oracle!
And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying,
Blend a celestial with a human heart;
And Love, which dies as it was born, in
sighing,
Share with immortal transports? could
thine art

Make them indeed immortal, and impart
The purity of heaven to earthly joys,
Expel the venom and not blunt the dart-
The dull satiety which all destroys—

And root from out the soul the deadly weed
which cloys?

Alas! our young affections run to waste,
Or water but the desert; whence arise
But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste,

Which found no mortal resting-place so fair Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes,

Athine ideal breast; whate'er thou art
Or vert.-a young Aurora of the air,

Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies,

plants

Which spring beneath her steps as Passion

And trees whose gums are poison; such the | Antipathies-but to recur, ere long, Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong; And Circumstance, that unspiritual god And miscreator, makes and helps along Our coming evils with a crutch-like r Whose touch turns Hope to dust,—the d we all have tro

flies

O'er the world's wilderness,and vainly pants For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants.

Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art—
An unseen seraph, we believe in thee,
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart,
But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see
The naked eye, thy form, as it should be;
The mind has made thee, as it peopled
heaven,

Our life is a false nature-'tis not in
The harmony of things,-this hard decre
This uneradicable taint of sin,
This boundless upas, this all-blasting tr
Whose root is earth, whose leaves a
branches be
The skies which rain their plagues on n
like dew-

Even with its own desiring phantasy,
And to a thought such shape and image given, Disease, death, bondage-all the woes
As haunts the unquench'd soul-parch'd-
wearied—wrung—and riven. | And worse, the woes we see not-wh

Of its own beauty is the mind diseased,
And fevers into false creation :- where,
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath
seized?

In him alone. Can Nature show so fair?
Where are the charms and virtues which we
dare

Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men,
The unreach'd Paradise of our despair,
Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen,
And overpowers the page where it would
bloom again?

Who loves, raves-'tis youth's frenzy-but

the cure

Is bitterer still; as charm by charm unwinds
Which robed our idols, and we see too sure
Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the
mind's

Ideal shape of such, yet still it binds
The fatal spell, and still it draws us on,
Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown
winds;

The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun,
Seems ever near the prize,-wealthiest when
most undone.

see

throb through

The immedicable soul, with heart-ac

ever new.

Yet let us ponder boldly-'tis a basc
Abandonment of reason to resign
Our right of thought-our last and o
place

Of refuge; this, at least, shall still be mi
Thongh from our birth the faculty div
Is chain'd and tortured-cabin'd, crib
confined,

And bred in darkness, lest the truth sho
shine

Too brightly on the unprepared mind, The beam pours in, for time and skill v couch the blin

Arches on arches! as it were that Rom
Collecting the chief trophies of her lin
Would build up all her triumphs in

dome,

Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams sh
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine
Should be the light which streams h
to illume
This long-explored but still exhaust

mine

We wither from our youth, we gasp away-Of contemplation; and the azure gloo Sick-sick; unfound the boon-unslaked Of an Italian night, where the deep si

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Oh Time! the beautifier of the dead,
Adorner of the ruin, comforter

err,

That curse shall be Forgiveness.— Have I
not-

And only healer when the heart hath bled-Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it,
Time! the corrector where our judgments
Heaven!-
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?
Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven?
Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart
riven,

The test of truth, love,-sole philosopher,
For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift,
Which never loses though it doth defer-
Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave
of thee a gift:

Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made

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Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life
lied away's
y?

And only not to desperation driven,
Because not altogether of such clay
As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.
From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy
Have I not seen what human things could do?
From the loud roar of foaming calumny
To the small whisper of the as paltry few,
And subtler venom of the reptile crew,
The Janus-glance of whose significant eye,
Learning to lie with silence, would seem
true,

And without utterance, save the shrug or
sigh,

Deal round to happy fools its speechless
obloquy.

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain :
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,
And my frame perish even in conquering
pain,

But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time,and breathe when I expire;
Something unearthly, which they deem
not of,

Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse
of love.

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I see before me the Gladiator lie:
He leans upon his hand-his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low—
And through his side the last drops, ebbing
slow

Then in this magic circle raise the dea Heroes have trod this spot-'tis on th dust ye tread.

"While stands the Coliseum, Rome sh stand;

From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one," When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fa
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now "And when Rome falls-the World." Fr
The arena swims around him-he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd
the wretch who won.

He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away;

He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay; There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire,

Butcher'd to make a Roman holidayAll this rush'd with his blood-Shall he expire

And unavenged?-Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!

But here, where Murder breathed her bloody

steam; And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain

stream

Dashing or winding as its torrent strays; Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise

Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd,
My voice sounds much-and fall the stars'
faint rays
On the arena void-seats crush'd-walls

bow'd

And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud.

A ruin-yet what ruin! from its mass
Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd;
Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass
And marvel where the spoil could have
appear'd
Hath it indeed been plunder'd,or but clear'd?
Alas! developed, opens the decay,
When the colossal fabric's form is near'd:
It will not bear the brightness of the day,
Which streams too much on all years, man.
have reft away.

But when the rising moon begins to climb
Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there;
When the stars twinkle through the loops
of time,
And the low night-breeze waves along the air
The garland-forest, which the gray walls

wear,

Like laurels on the bald first Cæsar's head; When the light shines serene but doth not glare,

our own land Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mig wall

In Saxon times, which we are wont to c Ancient; and these three mortal things still

On their foundations, and unalter'd all Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's sk The World, the same wide den-of thiev or what ye wil

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublimeShrine of all saints and temple of all go From Jove to Jesus-spared and blest time;

Looking tranquillity, while falls or n Arch, empire, each thing round thee, a man plods

His way through thorns to ashes-glori

dome !

Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe a
tyrants' rods
Shiver upon thee-sanctuary and home
Of art and piety-Pantheon!—pride of Ro

Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts!
Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spre
A holiness appealing to all hearts-—
To art a model; and to him who treads
Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds
Her light through thy sole aperture; to th
Who worship,here are altars for their bea
And they who feel for genius may repose
Their eyes on honour'd forms, whose bu

around them clo

There is a dungeon.in whose dim drear li
What do I gaze on? Nothing: Look aga
Two forms are slowly shadow'd on
sight--

Two insulated phantoms of the brain:
It is not so; I see them full and plain—
An old man, and a female young and fair
Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vei
The blood is nectar:-but what doth
there,

With her unmantled neck, and bosom wh and bare?

Full swells the deep pure fountain of you life,

Where on the heart and from the heart took

Our first and sweetest nurture, when wife,

Blest into mother, in the innocent look. Or even the piping cry of lips that brook

a Nopain and small suspense, a joy perceives | Of a sublimer aspect ? Majesty,

in Man knows not, when from out its cradled | Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all

nook

She sees her little bud put forth its leaves What may the fruits be yet?—I know not— Cain was Eve's.

But here youth offers to old age the food, The milk of his own gift:-it is her sire To whom she renders back the debt of blood Born with her birth. No; he shall not expire While in those warm and lovely veins the fire Of health and holy feeling can provide Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher

are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.

Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not;
And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind,
Expanded by the genius of the spot,
Has grown colossal, and can only find
A fit abode wherein appear enshrined
Thy hopes of immortality; and thou
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined,
See thy God face to face, as thou dost now
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his

Than Egypt's river:-from that gentle side = Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's Thou movestrealm holds no such tide.

The starry fable of the milky way
Has not thy story's purity; it is
A constellation of a sweeter ray,
And sacred Nature triumphs more in this
Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss
Where sparkle distant worlds :-Oh, holiest

nurse!

brow.

but increasing with the advance,

Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise,

Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; Vastness which grows-but grows to har

monize

All musical in its immensitics;
Rich marbles-richer painting — shrines
where flame

So drop of that clear stream its way shall The lamps of gold--and haughty dome

miss

which vies

thr sire's heart, replenishing its source | In air with Earth's chief structures, though ich life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe.

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Blo! the dome the vast and wondrous dome,

To which Diana's marvel was a cell--Chit's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb;

have beheld the Ephesian's miraclecolumns strew the wilderness; and dwell The hyaena and the jackall in their shade: have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd;

He thou, of temples old, or altars new, handest alone-with nothing like to thee Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Nine Zion's desolation, when that He Forok his former city, what could be, Of earthly structures, in his honour piled,

their frame Sits on the firm-set ground--and this the clouds must claim.

Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break,

To separate contemplation, the great whole;
And as the ocean many bays will make,
That ask the eye-so here condense thy soul
To more immediate objects, and control
Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by
heart

Its eloquent proportions, and unroll
In mighty graduations, part by part,
The glory which at once upon thee did not
dart,

Not by its fault-but thine: Our outward

sense

Is but of gradual grasp-and as it is
That what we have of feeling most intense
Outstrips our faint expression; even so this
Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice
Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great
Defies at first our Nature's littleness,
Till.growing with its growth, we thus dilate
Our spirits to the size of that they con-
template.

Then pause, and be enlighten'd; there is more
In such a survey than the sating gaze
Of wonder pleased,or awe which would adore
The worship of the place, or the mere praise
Of art and its great masters, who could raise
What former time, nor skill, nor thought
could plan;

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