"In his cool hall, with haggard eyes,
The Roman noble lay;
He drove abroad, in furious guise,
Along the Appian Way.
"He made a feast, drank fierce and fast,
And crowned his hair with flowers;
No easier nor no quicker passed
The impracticable hours.
"The brooding East with awe beheld
Her impious younger world.
The Roman tempest swelled and swelled,
And on her head was hurled.
"The East bowed low before the blast
In patient, deep disdain;
She let the legions thunder past,
And plunged in thought again.
"So well she mused, a morning broke
Across her spirit gray;
A conquering, new-born joy awoke,
And filled her life with day.
"'Poor world!' she cried, 'so deep accurst,
That runn'st from pole to pole
To seek a draught to slake thy thirst.—
Go, seek it in thy soul!'
"She heard it, the victorious West,
In crown and sword arrayed;
She felt the void which mined her breast,
She shivered and obeyed.
"She vailed her eagles, snapped her sword,
