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Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour, | The donble night of ages, and of her,
and wrap The first, last look by death reveal'd! All round us; we but feel our way to err: Such is the aspect of this shore;
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their "Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
map, So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
And knowledge spreads them on her ample We start, for soul is wanting there.
lap; Hers is the loveliness in death,
But Rome is as the desert, where we steer That parts not quite with parting breath; Stumbling o'er recollections: now we clap But beauty with that fearful bloom,
Our bands and cry, “Eureka !"** it is Tbat hue which haupts it to the tomb,
clearExpression's last receding ray,
When but some false mirage of rain rises A gilled halo bovering round decay,
near. The farewell beam of feeling past away! Sparks of that flame, wbich boasts of hea Alas! the lofty city! and alas ! venly birth,
The trebly hundred triumphs ? and the Which gleams, but warms no more its che
day rish'd earth.
When Brutus made the dagger's edge sur
pass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame
Alas, for Tolly's voice, and Virgil's lay, ROME.
And Livy's pictured page !--but these
shall be BYRON.
Her resurrection; all beside-decay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Alas, for earth, for never shall we see Childless and crownless, in her voiceless That brightness in her eye she bore when wo;
Rome was free! An empty urn within her wither'd hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago; And thou, dread statue !+ yet existent in The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes pow;
The austerest form of naked majesty, The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Thou who beheldest,'mid the assassin's din, Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou fow, At thy bathed base the bloody Cæsar lie, Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness ?
Folding his rube in dying dignity, Rise with thy yellow waves, and mantle her
An offering to thine altar from the queen distress!
Of gods and men, great Nemesis ? did he
die, The goth, the christian, time, war, flood, And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye and fire,
been Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a pride;
scene ? She saw her glories star by star expire, And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,
And thou, the thunder-stricken purse of Where the car climb'd the capitol; far |
Rome! and wide
She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dags imTemple and tower went down, nor left a
part scite :
The milk of conquest yet within the dome Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void,
Where, as a monument of antique art, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, “here was, or is," where all is doubly night?
*“I have found.” + Statue of Pompey.
Thou standest:-mother of the mighty A thonsand years of silenced factions heart,
sleepWhich the great founder suck'd from thy The forum, where the immortal accents wild teat,
into Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial And still the eloquent air breathes--barns dart,
with Cicero! And thy limbs black with lightning-dost thou yet
The field of freedom, faction, fame, and Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond
blood : charge førget?
Here a proud people's passions were ex
haled, Thou dost ;--but all thy foster-babes are
From the first hour of empire in the bus dead The men of iron; and the world hath rear'd
To that when further worlds to conquer Cities from out their sepulchres : men bled
fail'd; In imitation of the things they fear'd,
But long before had freedom's face been And fought and conquer'd and the same
veild, course steer'd,
And anarchy assum'd her attributes, At apish distance ; but as yet none have,
Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Nor could, the same supremacy have
Trod on the trembling senate's slavish near'd,
mutes, Save one vain man, who is not in the
who is not in the Or rais'd the venal voice of baser prostitutes. grave, But vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome, a slave
Collecting the chief trophies of her line,
Would build up all her triumphs in one Tully was not so eloquent as thou,
dome. Thou nameless, column with the buried Her Coliseum stands: the moonbeams baset !
shine What are the laurels of the Cæsar's brow ? As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Crown me with ivy from his dwelling Should be the light which streams here, place.
i to illame Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, This long-explored but still exbaustless Titus' or Trajan's ? No, 'tis that of Time :
mine Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Of contemplation; and the azure gloom Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb of an Italian night, when the de To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept assume
Where is the rock of triumph, the high
Hues which have words, and speak to ye place
of heaven, Where Rome embrac'd her heroes? where
Floats o'er this vast, and wondrous mothe steep
nument, Tarpeian ? fittest goal of treason's race,
And shadows forth its glory. There is given The promontory whence the Traitor's leap
Unto the things of earth, which time hath Cured all ambition. Did the conqaeror's
A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant Thair spoils here? Yes; and in yon field
His band, but broke his scythe, there is a ** below !
And magic in the ruined battlement, * Buonaparte, here referred to, was alive | For which the palace of the present hour when this was written.
Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are + The column of Trajan.
Turn to the mole which Adrian, reard on
earth: His shrunken ashes raise this dome : How
smiles The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth, To view the huge design which sprung from
such a birth!
Cypress and ivy, weed, and wall-flower
grown Matted and mass'd together, hillocks
heap'd On what were chambers, arch-crush'd,
column-strewn In fragments, chok'd up vaults, and frescos
steep'd In subterraneous damps, where the owl
peep'd, Deeming it midnight:-temples, baths, or
balls ? Pronounce who can ; for all that learning
reap'd From her research bath been, that these are
walls Behold the Imperial City! - Thus the
Mighty falls !
The castle of St. Angelo.
Oft, rising from the sea, the tempest lowers,
And buoy'd on winds, the clouds majestic sail, Which scattering burst in wide and frequent showers,
Swelling the streams which glide thro' every vale ; Yet are the marshy plains bedeck'd with flowers,
And balmy sweets are borne on every gale.
Where Dart romantic winds its mazy course,
And mossy rocks adhere to woody hills,
From whence each creeping rill its store distils,
There Nature's hand has wildly strewn her flowers,
And fruitful groves
Along the grassy banks how sweet to stray,
When the mild eve smiles in the glowing west, And lengthen'd shades proclaim departing day, And fainting sunbeams in the waters play,
When every bird seeks its accustom'd rest !
And the grave sky wrapp'd in its nightly robes ;
Or when the darkening clouds ny o'er the sea And early morning beams a cheerful ray, Waking melodious songsters from each tree;
How sweet beneath each dewy hill Amid the pleasing shades to stray,
Where nectar'd flowers their sweets distil, Whose watery pearls reflect the day!
To scent the jonquil's rich perfume, To pluck the hawthorn's tender briars,
As wild beneath each flowery hedge
Fair strawberries with violets bloom, And every joy of spring conspires !
Nature's wild sungsters from each bush and tree
Invite the early walk, and breathe delight: What bosom heaves not with warm sympathy
When the gay lark salutes the new-born liglit? Hark! where the shrill-ton'd thrush,
Sweet whistling, carols the wild harmony ! The linnet warbles, and from yonder busha
The robin pours soft streams of melody.
Hail, Devon! while throngh thy lov'd woods I stray, ·
Tell each luxuriant bank where violets grow,
How much of their bewitching charms they owe
0, lov'd society! the heartfelt lay
Thy praises still I sing, as on I stray,
BEAUTIES OF DEVON. Broke on our infant eyes, or where our cot
Uprises, render'd precious by long years CARRINGTON.
Of residence, may throw illusive grace Fair are the provinces that England boasts, | Upon the hills, the vales, the woods, the Lovely the verdure, exquisite the flowers, streams That bless her hills and dales,-her stream. That do encircle it, but thou hast charms lets clear,
"Enchanting mount, which not the LOCAL Her seas majestic, and her prospects all,
LOVE Of old, as now the pride of British song! Too highly values, or the genial West But England sees not on her charming map, Alone enamour'd views, for thou art own'd A goodlier spot than our fine Devon ;-rich | Supreme in loveliness in this our isle, Art thou in all that Nature's hand can give, Profusely teeming with unrivall’d scenes! Land of the matchless view! The tyrant Sun
Thine is the monarch oak, the sturdy Thy emerald bosom spares, for frequent growth showers
Of ages, long triumphant o'er decay; Drop from the voyaging and friendly cloud. / And thine the venerable elm that loves, To cheer thy foliage, and to swell thy streams: / Of old, to stand in stately row. Around Hence all thy mountain torrents that descend The chesnut throws its amplitude of shade, To stray in meads, as Tempe ever fair, And many a brave exotic too exults Thy noble rivers hence, and that rich robe
In soil and clime all-fav'ring as its own. Of green, throughout the varying year which
Thine the grand CEDAR of enormous bough clothes
And trunk stupendous,- scarcely Libanus The pleasant fields of thy Peninsula. Outvies the giant stranger; by its side
Upshoots the sable CORK. The forest teems
Of Zephyr, and some scarely bend their
For very mightiness, when wintry storms
Are maddening the seas! But 'tis not Local PREJUDICE that prompts
O when the breath The lay, when EDGCUMBE is the inspiring Of Spring is on thy renovated hill, theme !
When all the buds are leaping into leaf, Affection for one valued, honor'd, nook And the broad sheets of eaily foliage clothe Of Earth, where haply first the light of day | Anew, thy waste of bough, delicious 'tis