 | The bird and the bell, with other poems |  |
XXXII.
Rome, paralyzed and dumb,—who sat a queenAmong the nations, now thy abject slave;
Yet muttering in her cell, where gaunt and lean
Thy priests have kept her pining! Who shall save
And lift the captive from her living grave?
Is there no justice left to avert her doom,
Where monarchs sit and play their chess-games on her tomb?
| The bird and the bell, with other poems | |