Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 062.djvu/242

236 Him broad-waved Rhine reluctant own'd As 'neath the firm-set planks it groan'd, Then, when the march of spoiling Rome Stirr'd the far German's forest-home;
 * And when he show'd his rods

Back to their marshy dens withdrew The Titan-hearted Suevians blue,
 * That dared the immortal gods.

Him Britain from her extreme shores, Where fierce the huge-heaved ocean roars,
 * Beholding, bent the knee.

Now, Pompey, now! from rushing Fate Thy Rome redeem: but 'tis too late,
 * Nor lives that strength in thee.

In vain for thee State praises flow From lofty-sounding Cicero; Vainly Marcellus prates thy cause, And Cato, true to parchment laws,
 * Protests with rigid hands:

The echo of a by-gone fame, The shadow of a mighty name,
 * The far-praised Pompey stands.

Lift tip thine eyes, and see! Sheer down, From where the Alps tremendous frown,
 * Strides War, which Julius leads:

Eager to follow, to pursue— Sleepless, to one high purpose true,
 * The prosperous soldier speeds.

He comes, all eye to scan, all hand To do, the instinct of command; With firm-set tread, and pointed will, And harden'd courage, practised skill,
 * And anger-whetted sword:

A man to seize, and firmly hold— To his own use a world to mould—
 * Rome's not unworthy lord!

The little Rubicon doth brim Its purple tide—a check for him
 * Hinted, how vainly! He

All bounds and marks, the world's dull wonder, Calmly o'erleaps, and snaps asunder
 * All reverend ties that be!

The soldier carries in his sword The primal right by bridge or ford To pass. Shall kingly Cæsar fall And kiss the ground the Senate's thrall
 * And boastful Pompey's drudge?

Forthwith, with one bold plunge, is pass'd The fateful flood—the is ;
 * Let Fortune be the judge!"