CXII. Where is the rock of Triumph,[490] the high place Where Rome embraced her heroes?--where the steep Tarpeian?--fittest goal of Treason's race, The Promontory whence the Traitor's Leap[oj] Cured all ambition?[491] Did the conquerors heap Their spoils here? Yes; and in yon field below, A thousand years of silenced factions sleep-- The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes-burns with Cicero![ok][492] CXIII. The field of Freedom--Faction--Fame--and Blood: Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, From the first hour of Empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer failed; But long before had Freedom's face been veiled, And Anarchy assumed her attributes; Till every lawless soldier who assailed Trod on the trembling Senate's slavish mutes, Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. CXIV. Then turn we to her latest Tribune's name, From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, Redeemer of dark centuries of shame-- The friend of Petrarch--hope of Italy-- Rienzi! last of Romans![493] While the tree Of Freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, Even for thy tomb a garland let it be-- The Forum's champion, and the people's chief-- Her new-born Numa thou--with reign, alas! too brief. CXV. Egeria! sweet creation of some heart[27.H.] Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art Or wert,--a young Aurora of the air, The nympholepsy[494] of some fond despair--[ol] Or--it might be--a Beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common Votary there Too much adoring--whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful Thought, and softly bodied forth. CXVI. The mosses of thy Fountain[495] still are sprinkled With thine Elysian water-drops; the face Of thy cave-guarded Spring, with years unwrinkled, Reflects the meek-eyed Genius of the place, Whose green, wild margin now no more erase Art's works; nor must the delicate waters sleep Prisoned in marble--bubbling from the base Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap The rill runs o'er--and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creep CXVII. Fantastically tangled: the green hills Are clothed with early blossoms--through the grass The quick-eyed lizard rustles--and the bills Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; The sweetness of the Violet's deep blue eyes, Kissed by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its skies.[496]