VI.

Awake-awake! thou stand'st on sacred ground;

Is earth not sacred, formed of human bones?
Which blood hath deluged, nor Avenger found,
Save in that cold Oblivion which atones,

Till the Archangel summons prostrate thrones !
Here-pageants passed, until they swelled the sum
Of thrice a hundred triumphs; here, the groans
Of captives filled the air, drowned in the hum
Of millions, vanquished-victors—now, for ever dumb!

VII.

Nature! thy secrets of the Past avow :—
Death!-raise thy yawning portal-gates to tell
What is their doom, and where the actors now?
Fed they the worm alike, the crushed who fell,
And those who triumphed? those who, ill or well,
Played on the stage, accursed or caressed?
Ye mightier Dead! who were the Oracle

Of nations, are ye mingled with the rest?

The bard, barbarian, sage, together rudely pressed?

VIII.

Men as unlike in mind as hell to heaven,

Blent in one mass to turn to dust again?
No!-the sublimer spirits to ye given,
Essayed not here your mortal race in vain :
The fame that bade ye rise above all pain,

No luring phantom was, that mocked the embrace,
But the great Spirit of Truth; which, when the chain
That bound to earth was loosened, did efface

All earthlier stains ensphered in your immortal place!

IX.

Thou all-inscrutable Destiny! that weighest
The dust of nations, thou art not a shade;
For on this spot thy wrath thou still essayest,
Yea, Desolation here thy throne hath made:
More awful thus with solitude arrayed,
Than visibly apparent-thou hast passed;
Lo, how thy Shadow on the ground hath laid!
A blighting spell, a withering curse hath cast

The Lightning of thy Presence; while such power thou

hast,

X.

That Time, nor Death nor Até here can work

A further change; thou, nought hast left undone;
Beneath yon rank grass Pestilence doth lurk;
Awaiting but the influence of the Sun,

To poison him, the wretch who hath begun
To plough the earth in furrows faintly traced;
Till, like the seaman who the rock hath won,
He sinks exhausted on the sickly waste,

Eyeing the promised land whose fruits he ne'er shall

taste.

XI.

And thou dost rise o'er all this, glorious Rome!

Dream of our youth, whose hope will not depart,

Until we die, or see thy sacred home!

Mecca of pilgrimage to every heart

Whose feeling is religion! thou, that art

The Nurse of faith, arts, arms; to whom were given The keys of Heaven, and Hell's avenging dart ;

Kings at thy feet have knelt to be forgiven;

Sole Mediator thou 'twixt sinful man and Heaven.

XII.

Thy cause is ours-'tis freedom; and we feel

For thee, as for ourselves, to heal those ills
Which time and error can no more conceal;
Thy kingly majesty of language thrills

Our hearts from childhood, until it instils

In us a worship for thy fallen star!

Our spirit thus a duty but fulfils,

Paying thee reverent homage, near and far:

Thou, who, e'er manhood's growth, hath made us what

we are.

XIII.

I leaned against a tower, a ruined wall,

That wall was Troy-like Veii! the bird
Sprang from its moss, the lizard rustled, all
Were happy, but Time's warning voice I heard:
I thought of when the twin-born cities stirred
In the same womb, contending for first birth:

But Fate had stamped the irrevocable word:

The one to sink forgotten into earth;

The other, reared to heaven, to prove fame's, fortune's

worth.

XIV.

But where is Rome-that Matron on the ground,

O'er her stern brow the dust of ages shed?
Where is earth's Cybelè with turrets crowned?

Still raising haughtily her fallen head,

The majesty of ruin round her spread?

Where sits that Queen who time and fate defied,

Still pointing, on the ground, her glories fled?

Lo, yon far Dome! she hath but changed her pride, Aspiring now to heaven for that by earth denied.

XV.

And dim beside it rises Hadrian's tomb,

And the far Sabine hills;-'tis Rome! awake :
My spirit let her deathless page illume,

Now, while the lights of ages o'er me break!
Pause-on this solemn spot could'st thou partake

Feeling of triumph? vain were such false heat;

Rather the ashes from beneath thee rake:

The dust of ages lives beneath thy feet!

The Past is watching thee-'tis here she holds her scat,