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A bird rose up—it was the owl, Abroad at close of day; The wind it brought a sullen howl, The wolf is on his way; The ivy o'er yon turret clings, And there the wild bee toils and sings.

And yet these once were battlements, With watchers proud and bold, Who slept in war-time under tents Of purple and of gold! This is the city with whose power Rome battled for earth's sovereign hour!

That hour it now was Rome's, and he   Who sat desponding there, Had he not aim'd the soul to be   Of all that she could dare; The will that led that mighty state, The greatest, too—where all were great?

An exile and a fugitive, The Roman leant alone; All round him might those lessons give The past has ever shown, With which is all experience fraught, Still teaching those who are not taught.

He saw and felt wealth, glory, mind Are given but for a day; No star but hath in time declined, No power but pass'd away! He witness'd how all things were vain, And then went forth to war again!