Lo! to the gates of long forgotten Rome Active as flame, the gallic legions come, While pale with fear to their despotic wastes On shorten'd wing the Austrian army hastes. Where, consecrated to the pagan god The silent vestal graced his dark abode, Where Cæsars, once, in awful grandeur reign'd, Or, Vandals ruin'd what of Rome remain'd, Or where, excresence of a later age, The mitred pontiff trod religion's stage, There march the heroic bands that bring defeat, Or bring reform on superstition's seat. And may their march to honor's purpose tend, May each new conquest all the past transcend, Still may those hosts their first great plan pursue, And honor, freedom, virtue keep in view. Thus taught; and still propitious heaven their trust, All past mis-rule shall crumble to the dust, Nor will saint Peter, more, their cause regard, Lost are his keys and every gate unbarr'd, No sacred reliques from some saintly grave, No saint Sebastian shall from ruin save: All, all must yield; submissive to the dart Of Gaul's firm legions led by Bonaparte, Who, sent by heaven, to Rome's disastrous walls Loud and more loud for his last victim calls; While superstition's dark inveterate train Turns pale, and sickens at their blasted reign, And hosts reviving, round the standard throng, Exult, and wonder how they slept so long. [99] From the edition of 1815. ON THE DEATH OF CATHARINE II[100] Empress of all the Russias Confusion to that iron sway Which bids the brute, not man, obey, And dooms him to Siberian soil, Chains, whips, and vassalage, and toil. This female wolf, whom wolves did nurse, So long of polar worlds the curse, This Catharine, skill'd in royal arts, To the dark world at last departs. In style, the second of her name, She to the crown by treason came; To Peter, drowsy, royal drone, She gave a prison for a throne. She would have sent her Tartar bands To waste and ravage gallic lands, She would have sent her legions o'er, Columbia! to invade your shore!-- But, even in conquest, she foresaw Destruction to despotic law; She fear'd, in hordes returning home, That liberty would with them come. She fear'd the savage from the den Would see and learn the rights of men; And hence, in time, destruction bring To hell's vicegerents--queen and king. No thanks to her! she fear'd her beasts, Enslaved by kings, enslaved by priests, Even if all freedom they o'er ran, Would learn the dignity of man; And kept them home, and held them there, Oppression's iron reign to bear; And never meet a beam of light, Involved in worse than Zembla's night. Now she is dead, and Paul will rise As fierce as she, but not as wise; He may his barbarous millions send, He may the fall of France intend;