XLVI.
But ye! that beam'd on Fate's tremendous night,
When the storm burst o'er golden Babylon,
And ye, that sparkled with your wonted light
O'er burning Salem, by the Roman won;
And ye, that calmly viewed the slaughter done
In Rome's own streets, when Alaric's trumpet-blast
Rung through the Capitol; bright spheres! roll on!
Still bright, though empires fall; and bid man cast
XLVII.
For it hath mighty lessons! from the tomb,
And from the ruins of the tomb, and where,
Midst the wreck'd cities in the desert's gloom,
All tameless creatures make their savage lair,
Thence comes its voice, that shakes the midnight air,
And calls up clouds to dim the laughing day,
And thrills the soul;—yet bids us not despair,
But make one rock our shelter and our stay,
