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All this rush'd with his blood-Shall he expire
CXLII. But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam; And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain stream Dashing or winding as its torrent strays; Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, (61) My voice sounds much--and fall the stars' faint rays
On the arena void--seats crush'd-walls bow'd And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud.
CXLIII. A ruin-yet what ruin! from its mass Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd; Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd ? Alas! developed, opens the decay, When the colossal fabric's form is near'd:
It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away. CXLIV. But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Cæsar's head ; (62) When the light shines serene but doth not glare,
Then in this magic circle raise the dead: Heroes have trod this spot—'tis on their dust ye tread.
CXLV. “ While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ;(65) « When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; 6 And when Rome falls—the World.” From our own Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall [land In Saxon times, which we are wont to call Ancient; and these three mortal things are still On their foundations, and unalter'd all;
Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, The World, the same wide den-of thieves, or what ye will.
Shiver upon thee-sanctuary and home
And they who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honour'd forms, whose busts around them close. (65)
CXLVIII. There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light (66) What do I gaze on ? Nothing: Look again! Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sightTwo insulated phantoms of the brain: It is not so; I see them full and plainAn old man, and a female young and fair, Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein
The blood is nectar:-but what doth she there, With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare?
She sees her little bud put forth its leaves
CL. But here youth offers to old age the food, The milk of his own gift:—it is her sire To whom she renders back the debt of blood Born with her birth. No; he shall not expire While in those warm and lovely veins the fire Of health and holy feeling can provide Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher
Than Egypt's river:- from that gentle side Drink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm holds no such tide.
• CLI. The starry fable of the milky way Has not thy story's purity; it is A constellation of a sweeter ray, And sacred Nature triumphs more in this Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss Where sparkle distant worlds :-Oh, holiest nurse! No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss
To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe.
CLII. Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rear'd on high, (67) Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, Colossal copyist of deformity, Whose travell’d phantasy from the far Nile's Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils To build for giants, and for his vain 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! CLIII. But lo! the dome—the vast and wondrous dome,(68) To which Diana's marvel was a cellChrist's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracleIts columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hyæna and the jackall in their shade; I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell
Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd;
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
See thy God face to face, as thou dost now