| |
| OH, aged Time! how far, and long, | |
| Travell’d have thy pinions strong, | |
| Since the masters of the world | |
| Here their eagle-wings unfurl’d. | |
| Onward as the legions pass’d, | 5 |
| Was heard the Roman trumpet’s blast, | |
| And see the mountain portals old | |
| Now their opening gates unfold. | |
| Slow moves the Consul’s car between | |
| Bright glittering helms and axes keen; | 10 |
| O’er moonlit rocks, and ramparts bare, | |
| High the Pretorian banners glare. | |
| Afar is heard the torrent’s moan, | |
| The winds through rifted caverns groan; | |
| The vulture’s huge primeval nest, | 15 |
| Wild toss’d the pine its shatter’d crest; | |
| Darker the blackening forest frown’d: | |
| Strange murmurs shook the trembling ground. | |
| In the old warrior’s midnight dream | |
| Gigantic shadows seem’d to gleam,— | 20 |
| The Caudine forks, and Cannæ’s field | |
| Again their threatening cohorts yield. | |
| Seated on the Thunderer’s throne, | |
| He saw the shapes of gods unknown, | |
| Saw in Olympus’ golden hall | 25 |
| The volleyed lightning harmless fall, | |
| The great and Capitolian lord | |
| Dim sink, ’mid nameless forms abhorr’d. | |
| Shook the Tarpeian cliff; around | |
| The trembling Augur felt the sound; | 30 |
| Saw, God of Light! in deathly shade, | |
| Thy rich, resplendent tresses fade, | |
| And from the empty car of day | |
| The ethereal coursers bound away. | |
| |
| Then frequent rose the signal shrill, | 35 |
| Oft heard on Alba’s echoing hill, | |
| Or down the Apulian mountains borne, | |
| The mingled swell of trump and horn; | |
| The stern centurion frown’d to hear | |
| Unearthly voices murmuring near; | 40 |
| Back to his still and Sabine home | |
| Fond thoughts and favorite visions roam. | |
| Sweet Vesta! o’er the woods again | |
| He views thy small and silent fane; | |
| He sees the whitening torrents leap | 45 |
| And flash round Tibur’s mountain-steep; | |
| Sees Persian ensigns wide unroll’d, | |
| Barbaric kings in chains of gold; | |
| O’er the long Appian’s crowded street, | |
| Sees trophied arms and eagles meet, | 50 |
| Through the tall arch their triumph pour, | |
| Till rose the trumpet’s louder roar; | |
| From a thousand voices nigh | |
| Burst on his ear the banner-cry, | |
| And o’er the concave rocks, the sound | 55 |
| “AVRELIVS,” smote with stern rebound. | |
| |
