Roma

Give to the wind thy locks; all glittering
Thy sea-blue eyes, and thy white bosom bared,
Mount to thy chariots, while in speechless roaring
Terror and Force before thee clear the way!

The shadow of thy helmet like the flashing
Of brazen star strikes through the trembling air.
The dust of broken empires, cloud-like rising,
Follows the awful rumbling of thy wheels.

So once, O Rome, beheld the conquered nations
Thy image, object of their ancient dread.
To-day a mitre they would place upon

Thy head, and fold a rosary between
Thy hands. O name! again to terrors old
Awake the tired ages and the world!