But 't is the gaudiest flower is soonest plucked; The sturdiest oak first feels the builder's axe. Palmyra's rising greatness had awaked The jealousy of Rome, and Fortune looked On her prosperity with envious eye. Under the golden eagles of the empire, Aurelian's soldiers swept the thirsty sands, And poured into Palmyra's palmy plains, A mighty host hot for the battle-field. Borne on her gallant steed, the warrior queen The conflict sought, and led her eager troops Into the stern encounter. Like the storm Of their own desert plain, innumerable, They rushed upon the foe, and courted danger. Amid the serried ranks, whose steel array Glowed in the noonday sun, and threw a flood Of wavy sheen into the fragrant air, Zenobia rode; and, like an angry spirit, Commissioned from above to chastise men, Where'er she moved was death. There was a flash Of scorn that lighted up her fiery eye, A glance of wrath upon her countenance-- There was a terror in her frenzied arm That struck dismay into the boldest heart. Alas for her, Fortune was unpropitious! Her fearless valor found an overmatch In the experienced prudence of Aurelian; And scarcely could the desert's hardy sons Cope with the practiced legions of the empire. The battle gained, Palmyra taken, sacked-- Its queen a captive, hurled from off a throne, Stripped of her wide possessions, forced to sue In humblest attitude for even life-- The haughty victor led his weary legions Back to Italia's shores, and in his train His fallen rival, loaded with chains of gold, Forged from the bullion of her treasury. 'T was holyday in Rome. The morning sun, Emerging from the palace-crested hills Of the Campagna, poured a flood of light Upon the slumbering city, summoning Its teeming thousands to the festival. A playful breeze, rich-laden with perfume From groves of orange, gently stirred the leaves, And curled the ripples on the Tiber's breast, Bearing to seaward o'er the flowery plain The rising peans' joyful melodies. Flung to the wind, high from the swelling dome That crowned the Capitol, the imperial banner, Broidered with gold and glittering with gems, Unfurled its azure field; and, as it caught The sunbeams and flashed down upon the throng That filled the forum, there arose a shout Deep as the murmur of the cataract. In that spontaneous outburst of applause _Rome spoke_; and as the echo smote the hills It woke the slumbering memory of a time When Rome was _free_.