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LXXXVI.

The third of the same moon whose former course
Had all but crown'd him, on the selfsame day
Deposed him gently from his throne of force,
And laid him with the earth's preceding clay, 44
And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway,
And all we deem delightful, and consume
Our souls to compass through each arduous way,
Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb?
Were they but so in man's, how different were his
doom!

LXXXVII

And thou, dread statue! yet existent in 35
The austerest form of naked majesty,
Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din,
At thy bath'd base the bloody Caesar lie,
Folding his robe in dying dignity,
An offering to thine altar from the queen
Of gods and men, great Nemesis! did he die,
And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been
Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene?

LXXXVIII.

And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome! 46
She-wolf! whose brazen - imaged dugs impart
The milk of conquest yet within the dome
Where, as a monument of antique art,
Thou standest:- Mother of the mighty heart,
Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat,
Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial dart,
And thy limbs black with lightning-dost thou yet
Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge
forget?

Thou dost;

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LXXXIX.

but all thy foster-babes are dead

The men of iron; and the world hath rear'd
Cities from out their sepulchres: men bled
In imitation of the things they fear'd,

And fought and conquer'd, and the same course steer'd,

At apish distance; but as yet none have,
Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd,
Save one vain man, who is not in the grave,

But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a

slave

XC.

and a kind

The fool of false dominion

Of bastard Caesar, following him of old
With steps unequal; for the Roman's mind
Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould, 47
With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold,
And an immortal instinct which redeem'd
The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold,
Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd

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And came

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XCI.

and saw-and conquer'd! But the man Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic, van,

Which he, in sooth, long led to victory,

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With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be
A listener to itself, was strangely framed;
With but one weakest weakness

vanity,

Coquettish in ambition-still he aim'd

At what? can he avouch- or answer what he claim'd?

XCII.

And would be all or nothing

nor could wait For the sure grave to level him; few years Had fix'd him with the Caesars in his fate,

On whom we tread: For this the conqueror rears
The arch of triumph! and for this the tears
And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd,
An universal deluge, which appears

Without an ark for wretched man's abode,
And ebbs but to reflow!-Renew thy rainbow, God!

XCIII.

What from this barren being do we reap?
Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, 48
Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep,
And all things weigh'd in custom's falsest scale;
Opinion an omnipotence, whose veil
Mantles the earth with darkness, until right
And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale
Lest their own judgments should become too bright,
And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too
much light.

CXIV.

And thus they plod in sluggish misery,
Rotting from sire to son, and age to age,
Proud of their trampled nature, and so die,
Bequeathing their hereditary rage

To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage
War for their chains, and rather than be frec,
Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage
Within the same arena where they see

Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree.

XCV.

I speak not of men's creeds-they rest between Man and his Maker but of things allow'd,

Averr'd, and known, — and daily, hourly seen

--

The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd,
And the intent of tyranny avow'd,

The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown
The apes of him who humbled once the proud,
And shook them from their slumbers on the throne;
Too glorious, were this all his migthy arm had done.

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