They that thy mantle wore, As gods were seen— Rome, Rome! thou art no more As thou hast been! Rome! thine imperial brow Never shall rise: What hast thou left thee now? Thou hast thy skies! Blue, deeply blue, they are, Gloriously bright! Veiling thy wastes afar With colour'd light. Thou hast the sunset's glow, Rome, for thy dower, Flushing tall cypress-bough, 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 thro' the arches dim, Thy wrecks among. Many a flute's low swell, On thy soft air Lingers, and loves to dwell With summer there. Thou hast the South's rich gift Of sudden song, A charmed fountain, swift, Joyous, and strong. Thou hast fair forms that move With queenly tread; Thou hast proud fanes above Thy mighty dead. Yet wears thy Tiber's shore Rome, Rome! thou art no more As thou hast been! THE DISTANT SHIP. THE sea-bird's wing, o'er ocean's breast Shoots like a glancing star, While the red radiance of the west Spreads kindling fast and far; And yet that splendour wins thee not,-- Dwells but on one dark distant spot Of all the main and sky. Look round thee !-o'er the slumbering deep A solemn glory broods ; A fire hath touch'd the beacon-steep, And all the golden woods: A thousand gorgeous clouds on high What spell, from that rich pageantry, A softening thought of human cares, Is not yon speck a bark, which bears The lov'd of many a hearth? Oh! do not Hope, and Grief, and Fear, Crowd her frail world even now, And manhood's prayer and woman's tear, Follow her venturous prow? Bright are the floating clouds above, The glittering seas below; But we are bound by cords of love To kindred weal and wo. |