LXXI

Lives he, who fixes on us that stern look
Of triumph, as if life's great aim were won?
The iron Junius, he who could not brook
That tyranny should blight the growth begun
Of palmy Rome? What deeds may not be done
By him who conquered nature's self, nor quailed?
Behold the priest who sacrificed his son
To duty; filial prayers in vain assailed;

LXI

Peace! from yon altar's depths a sound is stealing,
Impalpable as dreams, or touch of light
Upon the brow of darkness felt, revealing
Its soundless presence in airial flight,
Vibrating on the dull dead ear of Night;
An exhalation rising from beneath
To blend its being with the infinite;
A spirit-tone that glides on its own breath,

LI

Behold your work! Accuse nor fate nor God;
Justice' poised scales are weighed alike for all;
Nations before you the same path had trod,
But you had godlike spirits, to recall
How single virtue stays an empire's fall.
Bear witness one, immortal Trajan! thou,
Thou who didst rear again the old senate-hall,
And all its pristine dignity avow,

XLI

Time, the dread secrets of the past avow!
Death, raise thy yawning portal gates to tell
What is their doom, or where the actors now?
Fed they the worm alike, the weak who fell,
The strong who triumphed, those who ill or well
Played on the stage, feared, hated, or caressed?
Ye mightier dead! whose spirits in us dwell,

XXXI

Pause here, where like a golden exhalation
O'er the green bank Clitumnus rears his shrine;
Is that all delicate temple the creation
Of human hands? As clasps the elm the vine,
The acanthus leaves round those fair columns twine,
The Roman owned the river god, and paid
His tributary gratitude; divine
Those olden faiths when the heart, grateful, made

XXI

Yet pass not, gliding through the soundless streets,
Pisani's palace, where a greater dwelt
Than he; whose name humanity repeats,
As coming and departing life have felt
The spell which answering souls in common melt,
The magic of the beautiful; the grace
To which in its idolatry have knelt
Entranced spirits, forms that leave their trace

XI

Hurled to the dust is now that Freedom, broken
And thunder-torn her banner once flung high
O'er those red columns as a rainbow token,
When wilder grew the tempest and the sky;
And they, the brave who in their agony
Fought round it, rallied, struggled, bled, and died,
Sleep with it now, forgot like victory!

PART II.

I

T HOU glorious Adriatic! do I gaze
On thee, bright dream of boyhood? Fount-like springs
Again the memories of classic days
When thou didst fill the heart's imaginings;
The full sail wafts me with expanded wings
Over thy azure waters, the glad foam
On the white deck its feathery eddy flings;

XLI

Silent Ravenna! through thy desolate streets
Flits the dim shadow of departed power,
Felt on the heart which thy great tale repeats;
Thou that did'st prop Rome's empire for an hour,
Shade of a Shadow! yet is thine the dower
That as with rays of light hath thee arrayed:
Thou hold'st the dust of Dante; in that tower

XXXI

And near him Dante bends above his urn,
His thoughtful head upon his hand reclined:
On that austerest forehead, high, and stern,
The lip compressed, and cheeks with furrows lined,
Is graved the eternal record of the mind
That, raised above humanity, drew down
Storms robbing it of rest; that still doth find
Envy and hate within fame's iron crown,