And partly that bright names will hallow song; And his was of the bravest; and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine—young, gallant Howard! There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. BYRON. ITALIAN SUN-SET. THE moon is up, and yet it is not night— Sunset divides the sky with her—a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be, Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air—an island of the blest. A single star is at her side, and reigns Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters; all its hues, And now they change; a paler shadow strews The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone, and all is gray. THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS. Now slain is King Amulius, BYRON. "The Children to the Tiber, The mother to the tomb." In Alba's lake no fisher His net to-day is flinging: And every Alban burgher Hath donned his whitest gown; And every head in Alba Weareth a poplar crown; And every Alban door-post With boughs and flowers is gay; For to-day the dead are living; The lost are found to-day. They were doomed by a bloody king: They were doomed by a lying priest: They were cast on the raging flood: They were tracked by the raging beast. Raging beast and raging flood Älike have spared the prey; And to-day the dead are living: The lost are found to-day. The troubled river knew them, The ravening she-wolf knew them, And gave them of her own fierce milk, Blithe it was to see the twins, To their old grandsire's hall. Are hung from tree to tree: Before them stride the pipers, Piping a note of glee. * So they marched along the lake; In the hall-gate sate Capys, Capys the sightless seer; From head to foot he trembled, As Romulus drew near. And up stood stiff his thin white hair, And his blind eyes flashed fire: "Hail! foster child of the wondrous nurse! Hail! son of the wondrous sire! "But thou-what dost thou here Our corn fills many a garner; "From sunrise until sunset All earth shall hear thy fame: A glorious city thou shalt build, And name it by thy name: And there unquenched through ages, Like Vesta's sacred fire, Shall live the spirit of thy nurse, The spirit of thy sire. "The ox toils through the furrow, The patient ass, up flinty paths, "But thy nurse will hear no master, "Pomona loves the orchard; And Liber loves the wine; |