Sæpe etiam plures nominis hujus habe.
Et quoties steteris domito sublimis in orbe,
Omnia sint humeris inferiora tuis.
How different the strains which, in a distant age, and in another clime, were to flow from the lyre of a brother bard, and how appropriate to the present condition of the deserted Borcovicus!—
Where is Rome?
She lives but in the tale of other times;
Her proud pavilions are the hermit’s home,
And her long colonnades, her public walks
Now faintly echo to the pilgrim’s feet,
Who comes to muse in solitude, and trace,