But when the rising moon begins to climb ye tread. "While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls- the World." From our own land Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. TOMB OF CECILIA METELLA. (CHILDE HAROLD, Cante iv. Stanzas 99-103.) THERE is a stern round tower of other days 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? - A woman's grave. But who was she, the lady of the dead, How lived how loved-how died she? Was she not So honor'd and conspicuously there, Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot? 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 affections are. Perchance she died in youth: it may be, bow'd Heaven gives its favorites — early death; yet shed With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead, Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. Perchance she died in age Charms, kindred, children surviving all, - with the silver gray On her long tresses, which might yet recall, It may be, still a something of the day When they were braided, and her proud array And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed By Rome - but whither would Conjecture stray? Thus much alone we know - Metella died, The wealthiest Roman's wife: Behold his love or pride! GROTTO OF EGERIA. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iv. Stanzas 115-124.) EGERIA! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair Or wert, Who found a more than common votary there 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 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 Fantastically tangled; the green hills Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colored by its skies. 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 veiled that mystic meeting This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, The dull satiety which all destroys And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys? Alas! our young affections run to waste, But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art - And to a thought such shape and image given, As haunts the unquench'd soul—parch'd — wearied – Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, |