350 LELIA. 



Well might they weep for all his humbled pride ; 



Well might they weep for one his widow 'd bride ; 260 



Well might they weep, that thus his once-loved name 



Was now a mere reproach, a word of shame. 



The maidens wept, not as when hope is lost, 

 And when the mind in wild despair is toss'd ; 



For hope still lived, and had the blessed power, '265 



To fling its brightness on the passing shower. 

 Hope has, like love, an alchemy divine, 

 To still our fears, and all our thoughts refine ; 

 And like the sun, when clouds are darkly driven, 

 In every break it shows the face of heaven. 270 



They knew the curse that hung o'er Aza's birth, 

 And more than this, they knew her gentle worth ; 

 They knew the dreadful wrath the gods sent down 

 On those who dared the faith of Christ to own. 



Yet Aza was so pure, so nobly meek, 275 



That not one chiding word they wish'd to speak. 

 No dark suspicion could their minds invade, 

 For innocence had there her altar made ; 



And frank simplicity that knows no fear, 

 Nor thinks of danger, till it felt it 



anger, till it felt it near. 



'Twas thus the Romans played the parent's part,. 

 And kept from vice youth's pure and angel heart : 

 Cornelia's boast a mother's noblest fame, 

 Its brightest wreath has given the Roman name. 

 Not purer did the lamp of Vesta burn 285 



Not purer was the Vestal's sacred urn, 

 Than the strict discipline Rome taught her youth, 

 To make their minds the home of stainless truth. 



O God ! what humble ranks the agents fill, 



To whom is given the power to work Thy will : 290 



Man plans his little hour, and blindly thinks 

 That his vain thoughts are the connecting links 

 Which hold and govern states ; and in his pride 

 The palm of glory would with Thee divide : 



Without Thine aid his plans are air-drawn schemes, 295 



Delusive fancies, and a dreamer's dreams ; 

 Yet, in all ages, these possess man's faith 

 Nor is Thy strength acknowledged, but in death : 

 To thee, O God ! alone belongs the power, 



To rule events, and guide the coming hour: 300 



To thee, O God ! belongs this potent sway ; 

 'Tis ours alone to worship and obey. 



Disease and death, with stern unpitying tread, 

 Amidst Rome's crowded streets their havoc spread : 

 Borne on the Siroc's wing, nursed by its blast, 305 



O'er Rome's proud walls the pestilence had pass'd. 

 In vain the lustral water drench'd the door ; 

 In vain the incense smoked upon the floor ; 

 In vain the augurs shed the heifer's blood, 



Whilst round expectant crowds in terror stood. 310 



Apollo's aid now vainly was invoked ; 

 In vain burnt-offerings on his altars smoked : 



