396 Prose by a Versifier, and Verse by a Proser : [Oct. 



Glared down upon them from the glassy wall. 

 And sea snakes glided onward, watching them 

 Out of the piled-up waves. The solid darkness 



Closes behind ! This is the gate of Death ! 



***** 



In life, the guilty fly with winged feet 



From slow remorse — the field — the chase— the ocean — 



Sceptres, and crowns, and globes, the jewelled toys 



Of grey-beard children — 



Soft loving arms, the goblet, all afford 



Sweet brief oblivion to the conscience-stricken ; 



But'sleepless Memory holds her vigil here. 



The mortal veil, forgetfulness, is lifted. 



And each beholds his deeds, as in a mirror. 



Before his eyes for ever and for ever. 



The busy din of life is heard no more. 



The glittering rush of battles — the swift dance— 



The lulling voice of music, come not near 



This place of rest, and silence, and deep thought. 



— 'Mid the sad gloom I see two sightless forms 



Seated as on a throne ; before their feet 



The phantom race bow down as unto gods, — 



Wavering, and indistinct, their ghastly features 



For ever shift and change as in a dream ; 



Dim crowns arc on their heads, and mighty whigs. 



Like folded clouds, shadow their dusky shoulders. 



— Blind though they be, they are an awful pair, 



War, and his brother Pestilence — many a realm 



Will tremble when yon wings are spread for flight. 



And many a haughty brow and cheek turn pale 



Before their headlong fury. 



Who is he 

 Standing apart, nor mingling with the throng, 

 With eye that flashes lightning, and pale cheek. 

 And dark hair curling o'er a haughty brow. 

 And parted lips, that breathe deep scorn and hate 

 Hiding despair? 



'Tis cruel Catiline, 

 Whose impious hand and parricidal steel 

 Were raised against the sleeping majesty 

 Of his imperial INIother, mighty Rome. 

 Reclined upon her seven-hilled throne she layi. 



Haughtily trusting in her awful name 



As in a spell, while stealthy Treason crept 



Close to her heart, to strike the fatal blow. 



— Oh Rome ! fallen Mistress of a guilty world. 



Parent of crima and glory, giants both, 



Semiramis of nations, why did fate 



And mindful Nemesis avert that blow ? 



Sparing thee then to meet a heavier doom. 



Sparing thee then to fill the bitter cup 



Of sin, and shame, and ruin to the brim. 



Did the imperial circle bind thy brow, 



Wert thou uplifted to thy giddy height, 



To stain thy downfall with a deeper shame ? 



Severe in youthful virtue, didst thou hoard 



Thine evil passions to disgrace thy years 



With wrinkled lust, and feeble cruelty. 



And gray-haired drunkenness ? Thy withered hand 



