"Or, oh, prince's daughter, if In some proud street, leaning 'twixt night and day From out thy palace balcony to meet The breeze--that tempted by the hush of eve, Steals from the fields about a city's shows, And like a lost child, scared with wondering, flies, From side to side in touching trust and terror, Crying sweet country names and dropping flowers-- Leaning to meet that breeze, and looking down To the so silent city, if below, With dress disordered, and disheveled passions Streaming from desperate eyes that flash and flicker Like corpse-lights (eyes that once were known on high Morning and night, as welcome there as thine), And brow of trodden snow, and form majestic That might have walked unchallenged through the skies. And reckless feet, fitful with wine and woe, And songs of revel that fall dead about Her ruined beauty--sadder than a wail-- (As if the sweet maternal eve for pity Took out the joy, and, with a blush of twilight, Uncrowned the Bacchanal)--some outraged sister Passeth, be patient, think upon yon heaven, Where angels hail the Magdalen, look down Upon that life in death, and say, 'My country!'" P. 36. Take, for its wondrous pathos and truth, the description of "Infancy:" "Thou little child, Thy mother's joy, thy father's hope--thou bright Pure dwelling where two fond hearts keep their gladness-- Thou little potentate of love, who comest With solemn sweet dominion to the old, Who see thee in thy merry fancies charged With the grave embassage of that dear past, When they were young like thee--thou vindication Of God--thou living witness against all men Who have been babes--thou everlasting promise Which no man keeps--thou portrait of our nature, Which in despair and pride we scorn and worship." P. 71, 72. But time would fail us to quote, or even indicate a tithe of the beautiful, melting, and magnificent passages in this noble "Roman." We would merely request the reader's attention to the whole of the sixth scene; to the ballad, a most exquisite and pathetic one, entitled the "Winter's Night;" to the "Vision of Quirinus," a piece of powerful and condensed imagination; and, best of all, to the "Dream of the Coliseum," in scene viii.--a dream which will not suffer by comparison with that of Sardanapalus.