Behold how fought the chief whose conquering sword
Stretched far as earth might own a single lord;
In the delight of moral prudence schooled,
How feelingly at home the sovereign ruled;
Best of the good, in pagan faith allied
To more than man, by virtue deified.

Memorial pillar! 'mid the wrecks of time
Preserve thy charge with confidence sublime,
The exultations, pomps, and cares of Rome,
Whence half the breathing world received its doom;
Things that recoil from language; that, if shown
By apter pencil, from the light had flown.
A pontiff, Trajan here the Gods implores,
There greets an embassy from Indian shores;
Lo! he harangues his cohorts, there the storm
Of battle meets him in authentic form!

Unharnessed, naked, troops of Moorish horse
Sweep to the charge; more high, the Dacian force,
To hoof and finger mailed; yet, high or low,
None bleed, and none lie prostrate but the foe;
In every Roman, through all turns of fate,
Is Roman dignity inviolate;

Spirit in him pre-eminent, who guides,
Supports, adorns, and over all presides ;
Distinguished only by inherent state

From honoured instruments that round him wait;
Rise as he may, his grandeur scorns the test
Of outward symbol, nor will deign to rest
On aught by which another is deprest.
Alas! that one thus disciplined could toil
To enslave whole nations on their native soil;
So emulous of Macedonian fame,

That, when his age was measured with his aim,
He drooped, 'mid else unclouded victories,
And turned his eagles back with deep-drawn sighs:
O weakness of the great! O folly of the wise!

Where now the haughty empire that was spread With such fond hope? her very speech is dead;

Yet glorious Art the power of time defies,
And Trajan still, through various enterprise,
Mounts, in this fine illusion, toward the skies
Still are we present with the imperial chief,
Nor cease to gaze upon the bold relief
Till Rome, to silent marble unconfined,
Becomes with all her years a vision of the mind.

THE RIVER DUDDON

A SERIES OF SONNETS

The river Duddon rises upon Wrynose fell, on the confines of Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Lancashire; and, having served as a boundary to the two last counties for the space of about twenty-five miles, enters the Irish Sea, between the Isle of Walney and the Lordship of Millum.

THE RIVER DUDDON

A SERIES OF SONNETS

TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH (WITH THE SONNETS TO THE RIVER DUDDON, AND OTHER POEMS IN THIS COLLECTION, 1820)

THE minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,

The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings :
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;

So stout and hardy were the band

That scraped the chords with strenuous hand!

And who but listened? till was paid
Respect to every Inmate's claim :
The greeting given, the music played,
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And

Merry Christmas" wished to all!

O Brother! I revere the choice
That took thee from thy native hills;
And it is given thee to rejoice:
Though public care full often tills

(Heaven only witness of the toil)
A barren and ungrateful soil.