XLI

Silent Ravenna! through thy desolate streets
Flits the dim shadow of departed power,
Felt on the heart which thy great tale repeats;
Thou that did'st prop Rome's empire for an hour,
Shade of a Shadow! yet is thine the dower
That as with rays of light hath thee arrayed:
Thou hold'st the dust of Dante; in that tower
His bones, by Florence begged in vain, are laid,
His passionate appeal to her as vainly made.

XLII

Behold the Pass of Furlo! earth upheaved,
thee giant range of mountains rent asunder,
While through their gorge Metaurus' waters cleaved,
Flashing in foamy light, or buried under
Huge fragments hurled from high, its voice of thunder
Heard, while on sweeping its resistless way.
Yet not alone claims Nature our mute wonder;
Here the foiled Roman made his wild essay
To crush his foe, and rule with undivided sway.

XLIII

Who knows not Nero, he whose lyre was strung,
To the red fires and shrieks of burning Rome?
When has not fame the deeds of monsters sung?
When shall the greater of that name assume
As wide renown, engraven on his tomb,
The conqueror of Asdrubal? whose arm
Here, fate-like falling, shadowed Carthage' doom;
Who, wresting victory from her, broke the charm
Of him whose name filled Rome with ever-waked alarm.

XLIV

Here in the toils were Afric's legions led,
O'ertrampled, powerless or to fight or fly,
Hewn down while they like sacrifices bled;
Here, visibly-embodied Destiny
The scales of empire turned with victory.
No record now remains, save yon grey hill,
Where fought the Punic hero but to die;
There now the shepherd sleeps beside the rill;
The stream glides murmuring on, the cave and crag are still!

XLV

Onward we pass; a vein-like rivulet
Glides gushingly along, whose azure threads
Disparted scarce their shrunken channel wet;
Here swelling to a river such as heads
The steed slow wading through its pebbled beds;
Its name has passed a household word with men,
Moral for him who late or early treads
Life's fortunate path, who grasps that moment when
The good or ill are offered, ne'er to come again;

XLVI

That tide which leads to happiness, or fame,
But leaves, for aye, in shallows if withstood;
Lo, where yon red banks tell the water's name,
The Rubicon; and here the arch-rebel stood,
Whose name is ever linked with that wild flood,
Spoiled child of Rome and Fortune; he who chained
Victory to his car; in changeful mood
An ever-varying Proteus, the unreined
Impulse, his law of will, obeyed as fate ordained.

XLVII

With an unsettled eye and brow perturbed
He looked on, but saw not, the river's course:
Earth seemed as if she rose and palpably curbed
Reinless ambition; wailings of remorse
Rose from that stream her mandate to enforce;
The Roman Mother stood before his thought;
Life opening flashed on him from its first source,
All or of good or ill, or shunned or sought,
The past before his eyes in that brief moment brought.

XLVIII

Here Caesar paused, the working influence
Of the stern circumstance that rules us still,
The inward prescience of right, the sense
Of conscience stifled but immutable,
The warring impulses of good and ill
Strove here for mastery, the balance hung
By the faint hands of vacillating will;
Strength, faith, hope, confidence behind him clung,
Before, his foe's cold smile, — pride conquered, and he sprung.

XLIX

For oh, what loves or memories ever slaked,
Country, or fame, or gods, the undying thirst
Of feverish ambition once awaked?
Thine was of loftier essence, to be first
Thy aim; Rome was not by thy tyranny cursed,
She loved, yet marvelled at thee; and the fear
Of thy dread eagles which, by victory nursed,
Came, saw, and conquered, vanished when more near,
For thy unbroken faith taught foemen to revere.

L

Thou wast Rome's sacrifice, her greatest, last;
The throne upreared by thee a lesser took,
Yet fitter, so thy aim of life surpassed;
He, wiser, turned the sword into a crook;
But who on thy bald laurelled brow could look,
Nor fear the heights ambition might attain?
Hate struck, the blow for freedom's he mistook;
But thou didst leave, on thy own altar slain,
A warning to earth's tyrants rendered not in vain.

LI

For thou wast stamped by Nature one of those
Whose fiery spirits must ascend or die;
Conquering or falling, aught save life's repose
Thou couldst endure; thine the sublimity
Of an undying nature, and thy sigh
To be the first, the world's sole oracle,
Its grand but misdirected energy;
For when thy least wish fortune did fulfil,
What respite gave it thee, thou man of restless will?

LII

And thou, Ariminum! wast first to hail
The immortal rebel on his march, when sprang
Thy citizens from morning slumbers pale,
As the shrill trumpets through thy forum rang;
The wild shouts of the soldiery, the clang
Of shields that bore above the legion's tide,
Caesar, enthroned, forgot remorse's pang,
His brow inflamed with mingled wrath and pride,
Standing like War let loose with Ate by his side.

LIII

The passionate harangue, the answering wrath,
Wrung from the fierce excitement of the hour;
The cohorts rushing on in their wild path,
Whose rage is reason and whose law is power;
The consciousness of dangers such as lower
O'er him who dares against his country rear
The rebel's standard, cursed alike his dower,
Failure, or triumph; vengeance, hate, and fear,
Discord's wild elements, met in warring chaos here.

LIV

And now a northern wanderer from that isle
Which the soft Roman shivered but to name,
Stands here, while ardent thoughts of him beguile
Of whom all now is dream-like save his fame!
Oh, more than breath recording is the flame
Of the Promethean soul that shapes from years
The aspiring thought that points ambition's aim;
The hope prophetic that the spirit cheers
To climb life's ardent steep, and crush unworthy fears.