And censers wav'd around; And lyres were strung, and bright libations pour'd, Through Rome a triumph pass'd; Rich in her sun-god's mantling beams went by An empire's gems their starry splendour shed And many a Dryad's bow'r Had lent the laurels, which, in waving play, O'er his own porch, meantime, the cypress hung; A sound of lyre and song, In the still night, went floating o'er the Nile, And lamps were shining o'er the red wine's foam, 'Twas Anthony that bade The joyous chords ring out!-but strains arose Shook Alexandria through her streets that night, Bright midst its vineyards lay Joy was around it as the glowing sky, The sword of Harmodius. +Paulius Æmilius, one of whose sons died a few days before, and another after his triumph upon the conquest of Macedon, when Perseus, the king of that country, was led in chains. See the description given by Plutarch, in his life of Anthony, of the supernatural sounds heard in the streets of Alexandria the night before Anthony's death. § Herculaneum, of which it is related, that all the inhabitants were assembled in the theatres, when the shower of ashes which covered the city, descended. A cloud came o'er the face Of Italy's rich heaven!-its crystal blue As with the wings of death!-in all his pow'r Such things have been of yore, And where the palms to spicy winds are waving Turn we to other climes! Far in the Druid-Isle a feast was spread, Were chaunted to the harp; and yellow mead But ere the giant fane Cast its broad shadows on the robe of even, Flash'd the keen Saxon daggers !-Blood was streaming, For they return'd no more, They that went forth at morn, with reckless heart, And the bright spears and bucklers of the walls Fear ye the festal hour! Aye, tremble when the cup of joy o'erflows! Have veil'd the sword!-Red wines have sparkled fast With fatal perfume through the revel's bow'r. Stonehenge, said by some traditions to have been erected to the memory of Ambrosius, an early British king; and by others, mentioned as a monumental record of the massacre of British chiefs here alluded to. Twine the young glowing wreath But pour not all your spirit in the song, ALPINE SONG. What dost thou here, brave Swiss? What welcome cheers thee now? Dar'st thou lift thine eye to gaze around? Or the peasant's fearless brow? But thy spirit is far away! Where a greeting waits thee in kindred eyes, Where the white Alps look through the sunny skies, With the low Senn cabins, and pastures free, And the sparkling blue of the Glacier-sea, Back, noble child of Tell! Back to the wild, and the silent glen, • See Note (1) to "The League of the Alps." |