« PředchozíPokračovat »
Were chaunted to the harp; and yellow mead
But ere the giant-fane
Cast its broad shadows on the robe of even, Hush'd were the bards, and in the face of heaven, O'er that old burial-plain
Flash'd the keen Saxon daggers !- Blood was streaming,
Where late the mead-cup to the sun was gleaming, And Britain's hearths were heap'd that night in vain.
For they return'd no more,
They that went forth at morn, with reckless heart, In that fierce banquet's mirth to bear their part; And on the rushy floor,
And the bright spears and bucklers of the walls, The high wood-fires were blazing in their halls; But not for them—they slept-their feast was o'er!
Fear ye the festal hour!
Aye, tremble when the cup of joy o'erflows! Tame down the swelling heart!--the bridal rose, And the rich myrtle's flow'r,
Have veil'd the sword!-Red wines have sparkled
From venom'd goblets, and soft breezes pass'd
With fatal perfume through the revel's bow'r.
Twine the young glowing wreath !
The ground is hollow in the path of mirth,
MARIUS AMONGST THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE.
[Marius, during the time of his exile, seeking refuge in Africa, had landed at Carthage; when an officer, sent by the Roman governor of Africa, came, and thus addressed him : "Marius, I come from the Prætor Sextilius, to tell you, that he forbids you to set foot in Africa. If you obey not, he will support the senate's decree, and treat you as a public enemy." Marius, upon hearing this, was struck dumb with grief and indignation. He uttered not a word for some time, but regarded the officer with a menacing aspect. At length, the officer inquired what answer he should carry to the governor? "Go and tell him," said the unfortunate man, with a sigh, "that thou hast seen the exiled Marius sitting on the ruins of Carthage."-See Plutarch.]
'Twas noon-and Afric's dazzling sun on high,
The wreck of Carthage lay-her prostrate Fanes
Dark weeds and grass the column had o'ergrown,
There came an exile, long by fate pursued,
Well did that wanderer's high, yet faded mien,
But slow his step-and where, not yet o'erthrown,
He slept and darkly, on his brief repose,
Crownless, but regal still-With stern disdain,
"And sleep'st thou, Roman ?" cried his voice aus-A
"Shall son of Latium find a refuge here?
Awake! arise! to speed the hour of fate,
When Rome shall fall, as Carthage, desolate !!
So shall the course of ages yet to be,
More swiftly waft the day, avenging me!
"Yes! from the awful gulf of years to come,
"Lo from the frozen forests of the North,
And their lost children bend the subject-knee, 'Midst the proud tombs and trophies of the free!
"Bird of the sun! dread eagle ! born on high,
Who conquer'd in the shadow of thy wings!
"But darker years shall mingle with the past,
Or bids the nations, 'midst her Desarts wait,
To learn the fearful Oracles of Fate.
"Still sleep'st thou, Roman? Son of victory! rise! Wake to obey th' avenging destinies !