'Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
J Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues.
Rome shall perish, write that word
In the blood that she has spilt; Perish hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
Rome, for empire far renowned,
Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,
Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates !
Other Romans shall arise
Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.
Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.
Regions Caesar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.'
Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.
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