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 'Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,

J Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues.

Rome shall perish, write that word

In the blood that she has spilt; Perish hopeless and abhorred,

Deep in ruin as in guilt.

Rome, for empire far renowned,

Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,

Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates !

Other Romans shall arise

Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,

Harmony the path to fame.

Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings,

Shall a wider world command.

Regions Caesar never knew

Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they.'

Such the bard's prophetic words,

Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords

Of his sweet but awful lyre.

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