Page:Marius Amongst the Ruins of Carthage.pdf/4

"Bird of the sun! dread eagle! born on high,
A creature of the empyreal—Thou, whose eye
Was light'ning to the earth—whose pinion wav'd,
In haughty triumph, o'er a world enslav’d;
Sink from thy heav'ns! for glory's noon is o'er,
And rushing storms shall bear thee on no more!
Clos'd is thy regal course—thy crest is torn,
And thy plume banish'd from the realms of morn.
The shaft hath reach'd thee!—rest with chiefs and kings,
Who conquer'd in the shadow of thy wings!
Sleep! while thy foes exult around their prey,
And share thy glorious heritage of day!

"But darker years shall mingle with the past,
And deeper vengeance shall be mine at last.
O'er the seven hills I see destruction spread,
And empire's widow veils with dust her head!
Her gods forsake each desolated shrine,
Her temples moulder to the earth, like mine;
'Midst fallen palaces she sits alone,
Calling heroic shades from ages gone,
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!
Shed by thy mandate, soon thy country's blood
Shall swell and darken Tiber's yellow flood.
My Children's Manes call—awake! prepare
The feast they claim—exult in Rome's despair!
Be thine ear clos'd against her suppliant cries;
Bid thy soul triumph in her agonies!