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Our hands, and cry “ Eureka!" it is clear-
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see
With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down
LXXXIV. The dictatorial wreath,—couldst thou divine To what would one day dwindle that which made Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine By aught than Romans Rome should thus be laid ? She who was named Eternal and array'd Her warriors but to conquer-she who veil'd Earth with her haughty shadow, and display'd, Until the o'er-canopied horizon fail'd, Her rushing wings-Oh! she who was Almighty hail'd!
His day of double victory and death
LXXXVI. The third of the same moon whose former course Had all but crown'd him, on the selfsame day Deposed him gently from his throne of force, And laid him with the earth's preceding clay. (44) And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway, And all we deem delightful, and consume Our souls to compass through each arduous way,
Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb? Were they but so in man’s, how different were his doom!
And thou, too, perish, Pompey ? have ye been
LXXXVIII. And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome! (46) She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dugs impart The milk of conquest yet within the dome Where, as a monument of antique art, Thou standest: Mother of the mighty heart, Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, Scorch'd by the Roman Jore's etherial dart,
And thy limbs black with lightning-dost thou yet Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forget?
Save one vain man, who is not in the grave,
Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd
XCI. And came—and saw-and conquerid ! But the man Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be A listener to itself, was strangely framed; With but one weakest weakness--vanity,
Coquettish in ambition--still he aim'dAt what? can he avouch-or answer what he claim'd ?
XCII And would be all or nothing—nor could wait For the sure grave to level him; few years Had fix'd him with the Cæsars in his fate On whom we tread : For this the conqueror rears The arch of triumph! and for this the tears And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd, An universal deluge, which appears
Without an ark for wretched man's abode, And ebbs but to reflow !-Renew thy rainbow, God!
XCIII. What from this barren being do we reap ? Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, (48) Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, And all things weigh'd in custom's falsest scale ; Opinion an omnipotence,whose veil Mantles the earth with darkness, until right And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale
Lest their own judgments should become too bright, And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too
XCIV. And thus they plod in sluggish misery, Rotting from sire to son, and age to age, Proud of their trampled nature, and so die, Bequeathing their hereditary rage To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage War for their chains, and rather than be free, Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage Within the same arena where they see Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree.
The apes of him who humbled once the proud, i And shook them from their slumbers on the throne;
were this all his mighty arm had done.