A boundless sea of blood, and the wild air
Moans with the crimson surges that entomb
Cities and bannered armies; forms that wear

The kingly circlet rise, amid the gloom,

O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallowed in its womb

XIII.

Those ages have no memory-but they left

A record in the desert-columns strown

On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft,
Heaped like a host in battle overthrown;

Vast ruins, where the mountain's ribs of stone
Were hewn into a city; streets that spread

In the dark earth, where never breath has blown
Of heaven's sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread
The long and perilous ways-the Cities of the Dead:

XIV.

And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled-
They perished-but the eternal tombs remain-
And the black precipice, abrupt and wild,
Pierced by long toil and hollowed to a fane ;—
Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain
The everlasting arches, dark and wide,

Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black with rain.
But idly skill was tasked, and strength was plied,
All was the work of slaves to swell a despot's pride.

XV.

And Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke; She left the down-trod nations in disdain, And flew to Greece, when Liberty awoke, New-born, amid those glorious vales, and broke Sceptre and chain with her fair youthful hands: As rocks are shivered in the thunder-stroke. And lo! in full-grown strength, an empire stands Of leagued and rival states, the wonder of the lands.

XVI.

Oh, Greece! thy flourishing cities were a spoil
Unto each other; thy hard hand oppressed

And crushed the helpless; thou didst make thy soil
Drunk with the blood of those that loved thee best;
And thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast,
Thy just and brave to die in distant climes;
Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sighed for rest
From thine abominations; after times,

That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy crimes.

XVII.

Yet there was that within thee which has saved

Thy glory, and redeemed thy blotted name;
The story of thy better deeds, engraved

On fame's unmouldering pillar, puts to shame

Our chiller virtue; the high art to tame
The whirlwind of the passions was thine own;

And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came,

Far over many a land and age has shone,

And mingles with the light that beams from God's own throne

XVIII.

And Rome-thy sterner, younger sister, she
Who awed the world with her imperial frown-
Rome drew the spirit of her race from thee,-
The rival of thy shame and thy renown.

Yet her degenerate children sold the crown

Of earth's wide kingdoms to a line of slaves;

Guilt reigned, and wo with guilt, and plagues came down, Till the north broke its floodgates, and the waves

Whelmed the degraded race, and weltered o'er their graves.

XIX.

Vainly that ray of brightness from above,
That shone around the Galilean lake,

The light of hope, the leading star of love,
Struggled, the darkness of that day to break;
Even its own faithless guardians strove to slake,
In fogs of earth, the pure immortal flame;
And priestly hands, for Jesus' blessed sake,
Were red with blood, and charity became,

In that stern war of forms, a mockery and a name.

XX.

They triumphed, and less bloody rites were kept
Within the quiet of the convent cell;

The well-fed inmates pattered prayer, and slept,
And sinned, and liked their easy penance well.
Where pleasant was the spot for men to dwell,
Amid its fair broad lands the abbey lay,

Sheltering dark orgies that were shame to tell,

And cowled and barefoot beggars swarmed the way, All in their convent weeds, of black, and white, and gray.

XXI.

Oh, sweetly the returning muses' strain

Swelled over that famed stream, whose gentle tide
In their bright lap the Etrurian vales detain,

Sweet, as when winter storms have ceased to chide,
And all the new-leaved woods, resounding wide,

Send out wild hymns upon the scented air.

Lo! to the smiling Arno's classic side

The emulous nations of the west repair,

And kindle their quenched urns, and drink fresh spirit there

XXII.

Still, Heaven deferred the hour ordained to rend

From saintly rottenness the sacred stole ;

And cowl and worshipped shrine could still defend

The wretch with felon stains upon his soul;

C

And crimes were set to sale, and hard his dole
Who could not bribe a passage to the skies;
And vice, beneath the mitre's kind control,
Sinned gaily on, and grew to giant size,

Shielded by priestly power, and watched by priestly eyes

XXIII.

At last the earthquake came-the shock, that hurled
To dust, in many fragments dashed and strown,
The throne, whose roots were in another world,
And whose far-stretching shadow awed our own.
From many a proud monastic pile, o'erthrown,
Fear-struck, the hooded inmates rushed and fled;
The web, that for a thousand years had grown
O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread
Crumbled and fell, as fire dissolves the flaxen thread.

XXIV.

The spirit of that day is still awake,

And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again; But through the idle mesh of power shall break Like billows o'er the Asian monarch's chain; Till men are filled with him, and feel how vain, Instead of the pure heart and innocent hands, Are all the proud and pompous modes to gain The smile of heaven ;—till a new age expands Its white and holy wings above the peaceful lands.