| |
| THE SUN-BROWNED girl, whose limbs recline | |
| When noon her languid hand has laid | |
| Hot on the green flakes of the pine, | |
| Beneath its narrow disk of shade; | |
| |
| As, through the flickering noontide glare, | 5 |
| She gazes on the rainbow chain | |
| Of arches, lifting once in air | |
| The rivers of the Roman’s plain;— | |
| |
| Say, does her wandering eye recall | |
| The mountain-current’s icy wave, | 10 |
| Or for the dead one tear let fall, | |
| Whose founts are broken by their grave? | |
| |
| From stone to stone the ivy weaves | |
| Her braided tracery’s winding veil, | |
| And lacing stalks and tangled leaves | 15 |
| Nod heavy in the drowsy gale. | |
| |
| And lightly floats the pendent vine, | |
| That swings beneath her slender bow, | |
| Arch answering arch,—whose rounded line | |
| Seems mirrored in the wreath below. | 20 |
| |
| How patient Nature smiles at Fame! | |
| The weeds, that strewed the victor’s way, | |
| Feed on his dust to shroud his name, | |
| Green where his proudest towers decay. | |
| |
| See, through that channel, empty now, | 25 |
| The scanty rain its tribute pours,— | |
| Which cooled the lip and laved the brow | |
| Of conquerors from a hundred shores. | |
| |
| Thus bending o’er the nation’s bier, | |
| Whose wants the captive earth supplied, | 30 |
| The dew of Memory’s passing tear | |
| Falls on the arches of her pride! | |
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