Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/43

By the sunk roof.—O'er which, in distant view,
Th' Etruscan mountains swell, with ruins crown'd
Of ancient towns; and blue Soracte spires, 300
Wrapping his sides in tempests. Eastward hence,
Nigh where the Cestian pyramid divides
The mould'ring wall, behold yon' fabric huge,
Whose dust the solemn antiquarian turns,
And thence, in broken sculptures cast abroad, 305
Like Sibyl's leaves, collects the builder's name
Rejoic'd, and the green medals frequent found
Doom Caracalla to perpetual fame:
The stately pines, that spread their branches wide
In the dun ruins of its ample halls, 310
Appear but tufts, as may whate'er is high
Sink in comparison, minute and vile.
These and unnumber'd, yet their brows uplift,
Rent of their graces; as Britannia's oaks
On Merlin's mount, or Snowden's rugged sides, 315
Stand in the clouds, their branches scatter'd round
After the tempest; Mausoleums, Cirques,
Naumachios, Forums; Trajan's column tall,
From whose low base the sculptures wind aloft,
And lead thro' various toils up the rough steep 320
Its hero to the skies; and his dark tow'r
Whose execrable hand the City fir'd,
And while the dreadful conflagration blaz'd
Play'd to the flames; and Phœbus' letter'd dome;
And the rough relics of Carinas's street, 325
Where now the shepherd to his nibbling sheep
Sits piping with his oaten reed, as erst
There pip'd the shepherd to his nibbling sheep,
When th' humble roof Anchises' son explor'd
Of good Evander, wealth-despising king! 330
Amid the thickets: so revolves the scene;
So Time ordains, who rolls the things of pride