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14 Its monologue eternal, its bright bars The terminus of this stupendous work, Which here stood vast and awful ’neath the stars; A splendid structure! which nor spear nor dirk, But the strong hand of time at last threw down. The tale in stone of these old nations’ wars, Of all the Roman works the head and crown. This is a scene of beauty, soft and still, Thy noises hushed by the prevenient space: Thou liest across the river, street and mill Behind the nobler features of thy face, Thy fair cathedral and thy castle’s tower– From hence most fitly seen, its towering grace, And massive ramparts, bringing back the hour Of thy past triumphs, when this very place, Loud with the artillery of war and death, Flashed out their fearful flames, where now the flower Gladdens the wanderer with its easeful breath. O pleasant are these haunts, not less, but more I love them for the past that here has been; The life that ebbed out here in days of yore Will keep these hills and vales for ever green In human interest, brightening them all o’er To days far distant, with the imagined scene Of the great peaceless past, steeped to the core In broils and turmoils, all its blazing sheen Now dimmed and darkened, and its reeking roar Silenced for ever by a hand serene.
 * Tales are there many of this Border Land,

And of this Border city fair and free; Tradition’s subtle tongue, and time’s dim hand, Have woven about them things of mystery;