On an olive-crested steep
Hanging o’er the dusty road,
Lieth in his last abode,
Wrapped in everlasting sleep,
He who in the days of yore
Sang of pastures, sang of farms,
Sang of heroes and their arms,
Sang of passion, sang of war.
When the lark at dawning tells,
Herald like, the coming day,
And...
[Written at the request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil’s death, B.C. 19.]
I.
ROMAN Virgil, thou that singest
Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire,
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s pyre;
II.
Landscape-lover, lord of language
more than he that sang the Works and...
Now cease these tears, lay gentle Vigil by,
Let recent sorrows dim the pausing eye:
Shall Æneas for lost Creusa mourn,
And tears be wanting on Abella's urn?
Like him I lost my fair one in my flight
From cruel foes---and in the dead of night.
Shall he lament the fall of Illion's tow'rs,...
