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THE RUINS OF ROME.

391

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends ! shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles !
Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the

gay, cheer,
Some kind voice had murmured, “I wisn he were here!”
Let fate do her worst; there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she can not destroy ;
And which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care,
To bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled !-
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled
You may break, you may ruin, the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

T. MOORE.

LXXXV. - THE RUINS OF ROME.

O, Rome! my country! city of the soul !

The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control

In their shut breasts their petty misery.

What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way

O'er steps of broken thrones, and temples, ye,
Whose agonies are evils of a day —
A world is at our feet, as fragile as our clay.
The Ni'o-be of nations! there she stands

Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her withered hands,

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchers lie tenantless

Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire,

Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride; They saw her glories star by star expire,

And, up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride

Where the car climbed the capitol ; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site:

Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void ?
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, "here was, or is,” where all is doubly night?
Alas! the lofty city! and alas !

The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass
The conqueror's sword in bearing

fame away!
Alas, for Tully's * voice, and Virgil's lay,
And Livy's pictured page ! - but these shall be

Her resurrection ; all beside - decay.
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free!

BYRON.

LXXXVI. - TASSO'S CORONATION.

FOR TWO SPEAKERS. The tone of the First is loud, animated, and exultant ; that of the Second,

mournful and measured.

FIRST SPEAKER. A TRUMPET's note is in the sky, in the glorious Roman sky, Whose dome hath rung, so many an age, to the voice of victory; There is crowding to the capitol, the imperial streets along, For again a conqueror must be crowned, — a kingly child of song!

SECOND SPEAKER,
Yet his chariot lingers,
Yet around his home
Broods a shadow silently,
'Midst the joy of Rome.

FIRST SPEAKER,
A thousand thousand laurel-boughs are waving wide and far,
To shed out their triumphal gleams around his rolling car ;
A thousand haunts of olden gods have given their wealth of

flowers, To scatter o'er his path of fame bright hues in gem-like showers.

Cicero, whose first names were Marcus Tullius, is thus sometimes called in English.

Tasso died at Romo (1595) on the day before that appointed for his cora nation in the capitol.

TASSO's CORONATION.

393

SECOND SPEAKER.

Peace! within his chamber
Low the mighty lies;
With a cloud of dreams on his noble brow,
And a wandering in his eyes.

FIRST SPEAKER.

Sing, sing for him, the lord of song, for him, whose rushing strain In mastery o'er the spirit sweeps, like a strong wind o'er the

main ! Whose voice lives deep in burning hearts, for ever there to dwell, As full-toned oracles are shrined in a temple’s holiest cell.

SECOND SPEAKER.
Yes! for him, the victor,
Sing, - but low, sing low!
A soft, sad mis-e-ré're chant
For a soul about to go!

FIRST SPEAKER.

The sun, the sun of Italy is pouring o'er his way,
Where the old three hundred triumphs moved, a flood of golden

day; Streaming through every haughty arch of the Cæsar's past Bring forth, in that exulting light, the conqueror for his crown!

renown:

SECOND SPEAKER.

Shut the proud bright sunshine
From the fading sight!
There needs no ray by the bed of death,
Save the holy taper's light.

FIRST SPEAKER.

The wreath is twined, the way is strown, the lordly train are

met, The streets are hung with coronals — why stays the minstrel yet? Shout! as an army shouts in joy around a royal chief Bring forth the bard of chivalry, the bard of love and grief!

SECOND SPEAKER.

Silence! forth we bring him,
In his last array ;
From love and grief the freed, the flown
Way for the bier- make way!

MRS. HEMANS

LXXXVII. — THE WAR SONG OF DINAS VAUR

The mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter;
We therefore deemed it meeter

To carry off the latter!
We made an expedition ;

We met a host, and quelled it;
We forced a strong position,

And killed the men who held it.
On Dyfed's richest valley,

Where herds of kine were browsing,
We made a mighty sally

To furnish our carousing.
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us ;

We met them and o'erthrew them ;
They struggled hard to beat us,

But we conquered them and slew them.
As we drove our prize at leisure,

The king marched out to catch us
His rage surpassed all measure,

But his people could not match us.
He fled to his hall-pillars,

And e'er our force we led off,
Some sacked his house and cellars,

While others cut his head off.
We there in strife bewildering

Spilt blood enough to swim in ;
We orphaned many children,

And widowed many women.
The eagles and the ravens

We glutted with our foemen;
The heroes and the cravens,
The
spearmen

and the bowmen.
We brought away from battle -

And much the land bemoaned them -
Three thousand head of cattle,

And the head of him who owned them :
Ednyfed, King of Dyfed, -

His head was borne before us,
His wine and beasts supplied our feasts ;

His overthrow, our chorus.

ARON. THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE.

895

LXXXVIII. - THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE
THE joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide,
The fresh wind is singing along the sea-side ;
The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers,
And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers.
Swell, swell the gay measure! roll trumpet and drum!
'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendor they come !!
The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide,
For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride.
Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed.!
With accents that falter her promise is made
From father and mother for ever to part,
For him and no other to treasure her heart.
The words are repeated, the bridal is done,
The rite is completed — the two, they are one;
The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart,
That must not be broken till life shall depart,
Hark! 'mid the gay clangor that compassed their car,*
Loud accents in anger come mingling afar !
The foe's on the border! his

weapons

resound
Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found !
As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold,
When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold,
So rises already the chief in his mail,
While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale.
“Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife,
For sister and mother, for children and wife !
O’er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain,
Up, true men, and follow ! let dastards remain ! ”
Farrah ! to the battle ! - They form into line
The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine !
Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue
On, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do!
The eve is declining in lone Malahide :

The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride;

At the fifth stanza the speaker's delivery should become louder and more rapid. The young chieftain's summons (seventh stanza) should be loud, bold, and stirring. There is opportunity for several effective changes of intonation in this piece.

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