1829. ] Recollections of a Night of Fevers 479 
in Rome, a Roman amongst Romans, with no other- consciousness of 
individual being than what belonged to that moment ; yet memory and 
fancy had strangely wrought together, confounding men and things, 
times and places. War had fixed his throne in the capital, and bound 
his brow with the crown of victory. Men neither thought nor spoke of 
any thing but battle and triumph ; they were the only measure of glory 
—the sole object for which we lived. The wealth of nations was con- 
stantly pouring through the streets, either as tribute or as plunder, to 
satisfy a spirit that was insatiable, and to swell a pride that was already 
towering to the clouds. What were kings, rich with barbaric gold and 
pearl, tothe meanest of us, though our rags were an offence to earth and 
heaven ?—to_us, the citizens of eternal Rome? Our eagles waved over 
them, to defend or to devour ; our senate gave them laws, either as 
slaves or allies. And who lent wings to those eagles, or gave voice to 
that senate, but ourselves—the children of eternal Rome? It was told 
us by our tribunes ; it was repeated by our consuls; it was engraved 
upon our banners, that spoke neither of tribunes nor of consuls, but of 
| the senate and the Roman people ; while the tremendous Cabulz, the 
S.P.Q.R., spread terror amongst the remotest nations of the world. 
We might want for bread, but we never wanted for that food which 
| pampers the spirit, and elevates poor mortality above the level of earth. 
| Slaves in gold and purple might flatter kings, but our flatterers were the 
| conquerors of kings ; they were heroes and demigods, the bravest, and 
the wisest, and the noblest of the earth, and yet were fain to put on the 
garments of humility, shewing their scars and counting their deserts to 
win our favour. Wherever our eyes turned, they were saluted with 
the monuments of our glory—the records of a conquered world. There 
| was no pause, no stagnation of existence with us ; our tide of life rolled 
onward like a torrent, foaming, boiling, and sparkling, amidst the shouts 
of victory, the glitter of triumph, the pageantry of festivals, the elo- 
| quence of the senate, the tumult of the forum, the crowning of one hero, 
the immolation of another ;—amidst crimes that, from their greatness and 
| their motives, shone out like virtues—and virtues which wore the bloody 
| hue of crimes—but both crimes and virtues such as none but a Roman 
| could have had the head to imagine, or the heart to execute. Such was 
our every-day life ; but the present day was one of even more than usual 
| interest. The formidable eagles were passing out at one gate with their 
| mailed legions to distant battle ; while, at another, Pompey, and Scipio, 
| and Camillus, and Cesar, and the conqueror of Corioli, were returning 
ictorious in the midst of rejoicing multitudes. The kings and warriors 
| of many nations, from India to Britain, followed their triumphant wheels; 
| and in the faces of those kings and warriors might be read defeat, and 
shame, and wrath, and captivity.. The masses of human life grew yet 
| denser ; the clamour of triumph swelled louder and louder, peal after 
peal, incessant, like the bursting of astormy sea upon the shore. I saw 
| a king—he who a few days before had ruled a world, who had been the 
i r the terror of more millions than Rome could count thousands—I 
aw him, this mighty one, dash out his brains, in the impatience of 
despair, with his fetters ; and the many around shouted applauses on the 
ble deed, as if it had been a mimic death onthe public stage ; but, in 
@next moment, the glorious suicide was forgotten, the pageant passed. 
and the marching legions trampled with indifference on the corse, 
i it became a portion of the highway. 
