Chapter IV

The nations all their day shall have; Yet each in turn shall rise and fall, As falls the dark brown autumn leaf; Or as those dread sky-kissing tides, Which toss frail barks high upon Some ghastly, frowning storm-beat shore,-- Though slowly, yet quite surely ebb away. --Aye! Egypt fair once spread the Nile, And green-bay-tree-like proudly flourished; Her snowy sails sea-ports bedecked, And deeply ploughed the rolling main, Or clave the placid lakes, as does The gentle swan, when some soft breeze The bulrush stirs, flings its perfume Upon the rippling silver waves! Fair cities dotted here and there Her vast domain. Her royal line Of Pharaohs held the sceptre gold Upon her all-emblazoned throne. Now Egypt fair is wreck and ruin. For, as fled on the flight of years, The unrelenting Hand of time Wiped her sweet visage off the globe! Naught save the grim, grey pyramid, Sublimest work of man, yet stands To greet the rosy morn, with proud Uplifted head, expanded chest-- A death defiant scoff at time! Yet hoary Time in his wild rage Of wreck and ruin, like Jove shall hurl His fiery bolts upon the head Of pyramid with ire, and crush And raze it to its base with scorn!

V

Next Greece, the fairest nymph that trod This belted globe upon, once shone As shines the Morning Orb, long ere The Dawn the rosy East has kissed; High reared her sacred temples in Olympia's shady groves, and built There sacred altars to her gods. Old Zeus and Phoebus oft here sat In council with their fellow gods. And Homer, fiery bard, was first To smite the chords of nature's lyre; Sweet sang he till the earth was filled With rarest strains of rapturous song! Then art and letters blew and blushed, The fairest flowers of ages past, Whose essence, spilled upon the breeze, Is wafted still forever on The twin deft with the flight of years; And man in calm delight inhales The fragrance of pure classic lore! But Greece is gone! Her statues fair Are mingled with the dust; each god Has flown some fairer clime to rule, Or, subdued, walks the dark abyss.

VI

Then Rome, the gaudy Southern Queen, On seven rugged, rock-ribbed hills Securely built her throne. The world Then saw a mighty power rise In splendor great, as does the sun On some young, swift-winged morn of June. A brighter dawning seemed to break; Another life was lived,--for through The Roman vein there coursed a blood, A fiery burning blood of ire, That rose and conquered all the world. Great Cæsar led her legions forth From victory on to victory, And hung her royal pennons high In tower, palace-hall, and throne; The Roman sceptre swayed the globe. Soft music soothed her savage ear, Fine arts and sculptor were her toys, And glory was her "starry crown." But now we read the "Fall of Rome," The doleful lay that tells the tale Of all who thus have passed away.