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ROME.

OH, 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 Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres 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-hill'd city's pride :
She saw her glories, star by star, expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.

43

Where the car climb'd 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.

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.

I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure :
But the least motion which they made,
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from Heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

WORDSWORTH. RESTORATION OF JERUSALEM.

FROM THE MESSIAH.

RISE, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise !
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thine eyes !
See, a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See, future sons and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies !
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend !
See, thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings,
And heap'd with products of Sabæan springs !
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See, Heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break

thee in a flood of day!
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O’erflow thy courts; the Light himself shall shine
Reveald, and God's eternal day be thine !
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away,
But fix'd His word, His saving power remains,
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns !

upon

PoPE

THE DIFFUSION OF CHRISTIANITY.

FROM Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand;
Where Afric's

sunny

fountains
Roll down their golden sand;
From many an ancient river,

From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes

Blow soft o'er Java's isle ;
Though every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile ?
In vain, with lavish kindness,

The gifts of God are strewn;
The heathen in his blindness

Bows down to wood and stone.

Can we, whose souls are lighted

With wisdom from on high-
Can we, to men benighted,

The lamp of life deny ?
Salvation ! oh, Salvation !

The joyful sound proclaim ;
Till each remotest nation

Has learnt Messiah's name !

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