The trees which grew along the broken arches
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar
The watchdog bayed beyond the Tiber; and
More near from out the Cæsars' palace came
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,

Of distant sentinels the fitful song
Begun and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach
Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
Within a bowshot-where the Cæsars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
A grove which springs through levell'd battlements,
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,

Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth;

But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands,

A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!

While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls,

Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.—

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which soften'd down the hoar austerity

Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up,

As 'twere, anew, the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,

And making that which was not, till the place
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er

With silent worship of the great of old !—

The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule

Our spirits from their urns.—

'Twas such a night!

'Tis strange that I recall it at this time;

But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight

Even at the moment when they should array

Themselves in pensive order.

Enter the Аввот.

Аввот.

My good Lord!

I crave a second grace for this approach ;
But yet let not my humble zeal offend
By its abruptness-all it hath of ill

Recoils on me; its good in the effect

May light upon your head-could I say heart

Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I should Recall a noble spirit which hath wandered;

But is not yet all lost.

ΜΑΝ.

Thou know'st me not;

My days are numbered, and my deeds recorded:

Retire, or 'twill be dangerous-Away!

ABBOT. Thou dost not mean to menace me?

MAN.

I simply tell thee peril is at hand,

And would preserve thee.

Not I;

Аврот.

What dost mean ?

And steadfastly ;-now tell me what thou seest?

ABBOT. That which should shake me,-but I fear

it not

I see a dusk and awful figure rise

Like an infernal god from out the earth;

His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form

Robed as with angry clouds; he stands between
Thyself and me-but I do fear him not.

MAN. Thou hast no cause-he shall not harm

thee-but

His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy.

I say to thee-Retire!

Аввот.

And I reply

Never-till I have battled with this fiend

What doth he here?

ΜΑΝ.

Why-ay-what doth he here?

I did not send for him, he is unbidden.

ABBOT. Alas! lost mortal! what with guests like

these

Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake;

Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on him?

Ah! he unveils his aspect; on his brow

The thunder-scars are graven; from his eye
Glares forth the immortality of hell-

Avaunt!

ΜΑΝ.

SPIRIT.

Pronounce-what is thy mission?

Come!

ABBOT. What art thou, unknown being? answer!

-speak!

SPIRIT. The genius of this mortal.-Come! 'tis

time.