Who sees that long victorious pomp

Wind down the Sacred Way,

And through the bellowing Forum,

And round the Suppliant's Grɔve,

Up to the everlasting gates

Of Capitolian Jove.

XXXI.

"Then where, o'er two bright havens,

The towers of Corinth frown; Where the gigantic King of Day

On his own Rhodes looks down;

Of dark-red colonnades;

Where in the still deep water,

Sheltered from waves and blasts,

Bristles the dusky forest

Of Byrsa's thousand masts;

Where fur-clad hunters wander

Amidst the northern ice;

Where through the sand of morning-land

The camel bears the spice;

Where Atlas flings his shadow

Far o'er the western foam,

Shall be great fear on all who hear
The mighty name of Rome.

IVRY:

A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS.