1861
over the dumb campagna-sea,
Out in the offing through mist and rain,
Saint Peter’s Church heaves silently
Like a mighty ship in pain,
Facing the tempest with struggle and strain.
Motionless waifs of ruined towers,
Soundless breakers of desolate land!
The sullen surf of the mist devours
That mountain-range...
From “Catiline,” Act V. Sc. 2.
SOUND all to arms! (A flourish of trumpets.)
Call in the captains,—(To an officer.)
I would speak with them!
(The officer goes.)Now, Hope! away,—and welcome gallant Death!
Welcome the clanging shield, the trumpet’s yell,—
Welcome the fever of the mounting blood,
That makes...
