CXXXII. And thou, who never yet of human wrong Had it but been from hands less near-in this Thy former realm, I call the from the dust! Dost thou not hear my heart?-Awake! thou shalt, and must. CXXXIII, It is not that I may not have incurr'd For my ancestral faults or mine the wound I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd But now my blood shall not sink in the ground; To thee I so devote it-thou shalt take The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, But let that pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. CXXXIV. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now I shrink from what is suffered, let him speak Not in the air shall these my words disperse, Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak The deep prophetic fulness of this verse, And pile on human heads, the mountain of my curse! CXXXV. That curse shall be Forgiveness'-Have I not— Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven!Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? Have I not suffered things to be forgiven! Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven, Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away: And only not to desperation driven, Because not altogether of such clay As rots into the souls, of those whom I survey, CXXXVI. From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy Have I not seen what human things could do? But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : But there is that within me which shall tire The seal is set.-Now welcome, thou dread power And here the buzz of eager nations ran, Both are but Theatres where the chief actors rot. CXL. I see before me the Gladiator lie; 55 The arena swims around him he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout, which hail'd the wretch who won. CXLI. He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away; He reck'd not of the life he lost no prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire, All this rush'd with his blood-Shall he expire And unavenged?-Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire! But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam; 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. A ruin-yet what ruin! from its mass Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared; Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. When the colossal fabric's from is neared: It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all, years, man, CXLIV. But when the rising moon begins to climb have reft away. Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; Heroes have trod this spot-'tis on their dust ye tread. CXLV. «While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 59 «When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; «And when Rome falls-the World. » From our own land 1 |