Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/101
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THE RUINS OF ITALICA.
95
And hoarse lamentings on the breezes die;
So doth the mighty ruin cast its spell
On those who near it dwell.
And under night's still sky,
As awe-struck peasants tell,
A melancholy voice is heard to cry,
"Italica is fallen; the echoes then
Mournfully shout "Italica" again.
The leafy alleys of the forest nigh
Murmur "Italica," and all around,
A troop of mighty shadows, at the sound
Of that illustrious name, repeat the call,
"Italica!" from ruined tower and wall.
So doth the mighty ruin cast its spell
On those who near it dwell.
And under night's still sky,
As awe-struck peasants tell,
A melancholy voice is heard to cry,
"Italica is fallen; the echoes then
Mournfully shout "Italica" again.
The leafy alleys of the forest nigh
Murmur "Italica," and all around,
A troop of mighty shadows, at the sound
Of that illustrious name, repeat the call,
"Italica!" from ruined tower and wall.