Page:Tales and Historic Scenes.pdf/123

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He seeks no friend, but shuns the train Of courtiers with a proud disdain; And, save when Otho bids his lay Its half unearthly power essay, In hall or bower the heart to thrill, His haunts are wild and lonely still. Far distant from the heedless throng, He roves old Tiber's banks along, Where Empire's desolate remains Lie scatter'd o'er the silent plains: Or, lingering midst each ruin'd shrine That strews the desert Palatine, With mournful, yet commanding mien, Like the sad genius of the scene, Entranced in awful thought appears To commune with departed years. Or at the dead of night, when Rome Seems of heroic shades the home; When Tiber's murmuring voice recalls The mighty to their ancient halls; When hush'd is every meaner sound, And the deep moonlight-calm around Leaves to the solemn scene alone The majesty of ages flown;