CVI. Then let the winds howl on! their harmony With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright, What are our petty griefs?-let me not number mine. CVII. Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strown CVIII. There is the moral of all human tales; (52) First Freedom, and then Glory—when that fails, Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask-Away with words! draw near, CIX. Admire, exult-despise-laugh, weep,—for here There is such matter for all feeling :-Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, Ages and realms are crowded in this span, This mountain, whose obliterated plan Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd! Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared to build? Z CX.. Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base ! To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime, (53) CXI. Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, But yielded back his conquests:-he was more With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues-still we Trajan's name adore. (54) 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 here? 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 ! CXIII. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd; Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. CXIV.. Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, The friend of Petrarch-hope of Italy— The forum's champion, and the people's chief— CXV. Egeria! sweet creation of some heart (56) Who found a more than common votary there Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. |