For long enough the world has shook And from the northern hills I burst, And where I went the spot was cursed, See how their haughty barriers fail In judgment my triumphal car; And Vengeance sat upon the helm, Across the everlasting Alp I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Cæsars shrieked for help In vain within their seven-hilled towers I quenched in blood the brightest gem That glittered in their diadem; And struck a darker, deeper dye In the purple of their majesty ; And bade my northern banners shine Upon the conquered Palatine. My course is run, my errand done; I go to Him from whom I came ; Of glory that adorns my name ; Ex. 110. And Roman hearts shall long be sick My course is run, my errand done ; Roman Girl's Song. Rome! Rome! thou art no more As thou hast been! On thy seven hills of yore Thou sat'st a queen. Thou hadst thy triumphs then Purpling the street; Leaders and sceptred men Bowed at thy feet. They that thy mantle wore As gods were seen ; Rome! Rome! thou art no more Rome! thine imperial brow Never shall rise. What hast thou left thee now? Thou hast thy skies! Blue, deeply blue, they are, Veiling thy wastes afar With coloured light. Thou hast the sunset's glow, Rome, for thy dower; Temple and tower! And all sweet sounds are thine, Lovely to hear; While night, o'er tomb and shrine, Rests darkly clear. Many a solemn hymn, By starlight sung; Sweeps through the arches dim, Thy wrecks among. Everett. Many a flute's low swell On this soft air Lingers, and loves to dwell Thou hast the South's rich gift A charmèd fountain, swift, Thou hast fair forms that move With queenly tread; Thou hast proud fanes above Thy mighty dead. Yet wears thy Tiber's shore A mournful mien ; Rome! Rome! thou art no more As thou hast been ! Mrs. Hemans. EXTRACTS RELATING TO MODERN HISTORY. Ex. 111. Boadicea. When the British warrior queen, 'Princess! if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. 'Rome shall perish-write that word 'Rome, for empire far renowned, L Ex. 112. 'Other Romans shall arise, 'Then the progeny that springs 'Regions Cæsar never knew Heav'n awards the vengeance due; Shame and ruin wait for you. Crescentius. I looked upon his brow-no sign Of guilt or fear was there; He stood as proud by that death-shrine As even o'er despair He had a power; on his eye There was a quenchless energy, A spirit that could dare The deadliest form that death could take, And dare it for the daring's sake. He stood, the fetters on his hand,— He raised them haughtily; And had that grasp been on the brand, With freer pride than it waved now. The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, Cowper. Ex. 113. I saw him once before he rode And tens of thousands thronged the road His helm, his breast-plate, were of gold The sun shone on his sparkling mail, But now he stood, chained and alone, The plume, the helm, the charger gone: And never king's or conqueror's brow A wild shout from the numbers broke It was a people's loud acclaim, Rome's wail above her only son, Her patriot-and her latest one. Mrs. McLean. King Alfred in the Danish Camp. He thought of his country with sorrow and pain, Then striking his hand o'er the answering chords, Till the gathering crowd beat applause with their swords, 'Come, sing us a song of the full-flowing bowl!' The minstrel, though sadness lay deep on his soul, : 'Who drinks the deep draught shall be strong in the fight, Who drains to the dregs is a king!' * Again they applauded: We'll pledge you to-night :"Tis thus that a minstrel should sing!' |