University of Virginia Library

A woful night! My sleep was storm not rest:
The death-cry of great Rome rang over it.
Ten years are past; yet still I hear that cry,
And loudest oft in sleep. Who comes? 'Tis Paula!
I know that voice; I know that hand. In mine
The hot, hard bones and ropy veins grow cool
Touched by its snows. Paula! I see thee not:
Mine eyes are dazzled by the matin beam:
Those Hebrew scrolls, those characters minute
Have somewhat tasked them. All night long in fire
They glared upon me. ‘Sedet Civitas’—
Incipit Jeremiæ Lamentatio:
‘Lo, solitary sitteth now the City:’—
As dead men in the streets, so lie her sons.
I dictated in dream: I dreamed my scribe
Dropped on the parchment down his youthful head;
I laid my hand thereon and sent him forth
With blessing to his couch. His rest was sweet:
But I—my bed is watered with my tears,
For night by night I hear the self-same cry,
‘Esuriunt Parvuli: the suckling's tongue
Cleaves to the small roof of the suckling's mouth
Because his drought is sore.’ That Hebrew Seer
Lamented Salem's downfall. Rome, great Rome!
I that rebuked thy wanderings was thy son.
Dalmatia called me by that name: I heard;
But, even in childhood, standing by her waves,
And gazing on her mountains near the sea
For me my Rome beyond them rose, seven-hilled
Fane-crowned. I cried, ‘My Mother!’