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Rh Strong in his inmost soul, even while he spake Salvation's message to the forest-child. —His work of mercy done, the white sail spreads From that broad city's queenly breast, which bears The filial impress of the Man of Peace, Who on the blended rivers bas'd her throne, And grav'd upon his signet-ring her name Of love fraternal. But behold! a throng In uncouth garments, and with savage port Invade the parting scene. With wondering eye, But lip immoveable, they scan the domes, And groves, and gardens. Native pride restrain'd The voice of admiration, but the seal Of abject wretchedness seem'd deeper stamp'd Upon their forehead, as they mark'd a pomp Ill understood, and felt in their own realm Their sceptre broken. Not more wildly gleam'd The tangled elf-locks of the astonish'd Gauls, Who, trampling on the majesty of Rome, Saw her grave 10 Senate in their curule chairs, And deem'd them demi-gods. The red-brow'd sires, And the sad mothers with their little ones Fast by their side, and on their shoulders bound Their helpless infants, throng'd to deprecate The Teacher's absence, and with tears implore A parting blessing. Kneeling on the strand His tender supplication, by their sobs Oft interrupted, sought the ear of heaven. —Long with despairing eye, they watch'd the bark Cutting its watery path. Methought their brows