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 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, re the immortal accents glow, And 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 veild, And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; Till every lawless soldier who assail'd
Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, Or raised 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, Rienzi! last of Romans !66 While the tree Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf, Even for thy tomb a garland let it be-
The forum’s champion, and the people's chief- Her new-born Numa thou—with reign, alas ! too brief.
Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart 67 Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art Or wert,-a young Aurora of the air, The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, 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, 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 Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ;
The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd 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 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 ?
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