Along the Sacred Way Hither the triumph came, and, winding round With acclamation, and the martial clang Of instruments, and cars laden with spoil, Stopp'd at the sacred stair that then appear'd; Then thro' the darkness broke, ample, star-bright, As tho' it led to heaven. 'Twas night; but now A thousand torches, turning night to day', Blaz’d, and the victor, springing from his seat, Went up, and kneeling as in fervent prayer, Enter'd the Capitol. But what are they Who at the foot withdraw, a mournful train In fetters? And who, yet incredulous, Now gazing wildly round, now on his sons, On those so young, well pleas'd with all they see?, Staggers along, the last ? — They are the fallen, Those who were spar'd to grace the chariot-wheels; And there they parted, where the road divides, The victor and the vanquish'd - there withdrew; He to the festal board, and they to die.

Well might the great, the mighty of the world, They who were wont to fare deliciously, And war but for a kingdom more or less, Shrink back, nor from their thrones endure to look, To think that way! Well might they in their state Humble themselves, and kneel and supplicate To be deliver'd from a dream like this ! Here Cincinnatus pass’d, his plough the while Left in the furrow; and how many more, Whose laurels fade not, who still walk the earth, Consuls, Dictators, still in Curule pomp Sit and decide; and, as of old in Rome,

1 An allusion to Cæsar in his Gallic triumph.

* In the triumph of Æmilius, nothing affected the Roman people like the children of Perseus. Many wept; nor could any thing else attract notice, till they were gone by.Plutarch,

Name but their names, set every heart on fire!
Here, in his bonds, he whom the phalanx sav'd

not,
The last on Philip's throne; and the Numidian?,
So soon to say, stript of his cumbrous robe,
Stript to the skin, and in his nakedness
Thrust under-ground, “How cold this bath of

yours !”

3

not away,

And thy proud queen, Palmyra, thro' the sands 3
Pursu'd, o'ertaken on her dromedary;
Whose temples, palaces, a wondrous dream,
That passes

for

many a league
Illumine yet the desert. Some invok'd
Death and escapd; the Egyptian, when her asp
Came from his covert under the green leaf4;
And Hannibal himself; and she who said,
Taking the fatal cup between her hands 5,
“ Tell him I would it had come yesterday;
For then it had not been his nuptial gift.”

Now all is chang'd; and here, as in the wild,
The day is silent, dreary as the night;
None stirring, save the herdsman and his herd,
Savage alike; or they that would explore,
Discuss and learnedly; or they that come,
(And there are many who have cross’d the earth)
That they may give the hours to meditation,
And wander, often saying to themselves,
“ This was the Roman Forum!”

TO THE IVY.

Oh! how could fancy crown with thee

In ancient days, the god of wine, And bid thee at the banquet be

Companion of the vine? Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound

Of revelry hath long been o'er, Where song's full notes once peald around,

But now are heard no more.

The Roman, on his battle plains,

Where kings before his eagles bent,
Entwin'd thee, with exulting strains,

Around the victor's tent;
Yet thou, though fresh in glossy green,

Triumphantly thy boughs might wave, Better thou lov'st the silent scene,

Around the victor's grave.

Where sleep the sons of ages flown,

The bards and heroes of the past. Where, through the halls of glory gone,

Murmurs the wintry blast; Where years are hast’ning to efface

Each record of the grand and fair, Thou in thy solitary grace,

Wreath of the tomb ! art there.

Thou, o'er the shrines of fallen gods,

On classic plains dost mantling spread, And veil the desolate abodes

And cities of the dead; Deserted palaces of kings,

Arches of triumph, long o'erthrown, And all once glorious earthly things,

At length are thine alone.

Oh! many a temple, once sublime,

Beneath the blue, Italian sky, Hath nought of beauty left by time,

Save thy wild tapestry ; And, rear'd ʼmidst crags and clouds, tis thine

To wave where banners wav'd of yore; O'er mouldering towers, by lovely Rhine,

Cresting the rocky shore.

High from the fields of air look down

Those eyries of a vanish'd race
Homes of the mighty, whose renown

Hath pass'd, and left no trace.
But thou art there—thy foliage bright

Unchang'd the mountain-storm can brave, Thou that wilt climb the loftiest height,

And deck the humblest grave.

The breathing forms of Parian stone,

That rise round grandeur's marble halls,
The vivid hues, by painting thrown

Rich o'er the glowing walls ;
The Acanthus, on Corinthian fanes,

In sculptur'd beauty waving fair ;
These perish all — and what remains ?

Thou, thou alone, art there!

'Tis still the same-where'er we tread,

The wrecks of human power we see,
The marvels of all ages fled,

Left to decay and thee!
And still let man his fabrics rear,

August in beauty, grace, and strength,
Days pass — thou, Ivy, never sere,
And all is thine at length!

MRS. HEMANS. APOSTROPHE TO ENGLAND.

LAND of the Lord ! my own maternal isle !
Still in the noontide of celestial love
Basking, beneath the cross of Christ ador'd,
How bounds the heart with patriotic throb
Devoted, till each pulse a prayer becomes,-
When oft upon thy sea-dash'd cliff we stand,
While ships by thousands haunt thy favour'd shores,
And in their bosom half the world discharge
Of riches and of splendour!-God is thine,
My country!—faithful unto death be thou;
For He has made and magnified thy strength,
E'en like a second Palestine, to prove
The ark of Scripture, where a Christless world
May find the truth that makes her spirit free!-
Thy bulwark is the Bible, in the heart
Of Britain like a second heart enshrin'd
For inspiration, purity, and power :
And long o'er principle, and law, and weal,
O’er public virtue, and o'er private life,
May Scripture be sole paramount and test;
The source and standard of majestic faith,
Where morals form, and whence our motives flow.
And thus, brave Empire! if thy church belov’d,
Firm to the truths the Saxon Paul restor'd,
Tenaciously through blood and fire remain;
Then, long as guardian waves begirt
Thy shores, or sunbeams o'er thy corn-fields play,
While thy large soul with liberty exults
And brightens,will that Church uninjur'd stand,
Saintly and solemn, by the wise rever'd,
By great men haunted, and by good men blest.
And never may thy solemn sabbath-bells