A single star is at her side, and reigns Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Their magical variety diffuse : And now they change; a paler shadow strews The last still loveliest, till-tis gone, and all is gray. BYRON. THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS. Now slain is King Amulius, "The Children to the Tiber, The mother to the tomb." In Alba's lake no fisher And every Alban burgher Hath donned his whitest gown; And every head in Alba Weareth a poplar crown; And every Alban door-post With boughs and flowers is gay; For to-day the dead are living; The lost are found to-day. They were doomed by a bloody king: The troubled river knew them, That bore the fate of Rome. And licked them o'er and o'er, And gave them of her own fierce milk, Blithe it was to see the twins, So they marched along the lake; In the hall-gate sate Capys, As Romulus drew near. And up stood stiff nis thin white hair, “But thou—what dost thou here Our corn fills many a garner; "From sunrise until sunset Shall live the spirit of thy nurse, The spirit of thy sire. "The ox toils through the furrow, The patient ass, up flinty paths, "But thy nurse will hear no master, "Pomona loves the orchard; And Liber loves the wine; And Pales loves the straw-built shed Beneath the chesnut shade. "But thy father loves the clashing He loves to drink the stream that reeks He smiles a smile more dreadful Than his own dreadful frown, When he sees the thick black cloud of smoke "And such as is the War-god, "Thine, Roman, is the pilum: |