110
THE TRIUMPHS
Nor could her lips a single line repeat,
Tho' the soft verse, most ravishingly sweet,
Thro' Time's just ear will lasting pleasure spread,
And charm the poppy from Oblivion's head.
Thus, like a city mayor, whose heavy barge
Steers its dull progress at the public charge,
This Power, so cumber'd by her empire's weight,
Makes her slow circuit round her sluggish state.
Around her tribes of rambling sceptics crawl,
Tho' moving, dubious if they move at all.
Before her, languid Pomp, her marshal, creeps,
Whole hand her banner half unfolded keeps,
Its quaint device her dull dominion spoke—
An eagle, numb'd by the torpedo's stroke.
"Enough of scenes so foreign to thy soul,"
Sophrosyne exclaim'd; "from this dark goal
Pass we to regions opposite to this."
She spoke; and, darting o'er the wide abyss,
Her car, like lightning in quick flashes hurl'd,
Shot to the confines of a clearer world.
Tho' the soft verse, most ravishingly sweet,
Thro' Time's just ear will lasting pleasure spread,
And charm the poppy from Oblivion's head.
Thus, like a city mayor, whose heavy barge
Steers its dull progress at the public charge,
This Power, so cumber'd by her empire's weight,
Makes her slow circuit round her sluggish state.
Around her tribes of rambling sceptics crawl,
Tho' moving, dubious if they move at all.
Before her, languid Pomp, her marshal, creeps,
Whole hand her banner half unfolded keeps,
Its quaint device her dull dominion spoke—
An eagle, numb'd by the torpedo's stroke.
"Enough of scenes so foreign to thy soul,"
Sophrosyne exclaim'd; "from this dark goal
Pass we to regions opposite to this."
She spoke; and, darting o'er the wide abyss,
Her car, like lightning in quick flashes hurl'd,
Shot to the confines of a clearer world.
