University of Virginia Library


116

ON THE RUINED PALACE OF RIENZI.

Wreck'd Palace! where, confus'dly joined,
Sad emblem of thy master's mind,
The Roman and the Goth hath lent
Forms of discordant ornament:
Tho' lowly in th' abandon'd spot,
By Rome, and her slave-sons forgot,
Thou moulder in unsightly gloom,
Half buried in Oblivion's tomb:
Yet, might lay like mine prevail,
Thy dust should live, and spread the tale,
And call from Pleasure's festive round
A Briton's foot to haunt that ground.
That Palace—was Rienzi's home—
Rienzi—pride, and scorn of Rome:

117

Whose arm—alone—awhile upbore
Her column in its strength of yore.
'Tis rumour'd yet, his spell had pow'r
To summon to that ruin'd tow'r
Spirits, that to his eye of flame,
Rome's arm'd avengers—nightly came.
Metellus—either Scipio—there—
And either Brutus wav'd in air,
His blade—'mid these, Rienzi stood,
And grasp'd each dagger dark with blood.
That time, from Tyber's shouting shore
A voice went forth far regions o'er;
The voice that rous'd by Sorga's stream
Lone Petrarch from his Laura dream,
And silencing Love's gifted lyre,
Drew from its chords Alcæus' fire.