Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/296

258 Of the departed, and then go their way;

But those, the human savages, explore

All paths of torture, and insatiate yet,

With Ugolino hunger prowl for more.

Nine moons shall rise o'er scenes like this and set;

The chiefless army of the dead, which late

Beneath the traitor Prince's banner met,

Hath left its leader's ashes at the gate;

Had but the royal Rebel lived, perchance

Thou hadst been spared, but his involved thy fate.

Oh! Rome, the Spoiler or the spoil of France,

From Brennus to the Bourbon, never, never

Shall foreign standard to thy walls advance,

But Tiber shall become a mournful river.

Oh! when the strangers pass the Alps and Po,

Crush them, ye Rocks! Floods whelm them, and for ever!

Why sleep the idle Avalanches so,

To topple on the lonely pilgrim's head?

Why doth Eridanus but overflow

The peasant's harvest from his turbid bed?

Were not each barbarous horde a nobler prey?