He slept—and darkly, on his brief repose,
Th’ indignant genius of the scene arose.
Clouds robed his dim unearthly form, and spread
Mysterious gloom around his crownless head,
Crownless, but regal still. With stern disdain,
The kingly shadow seem’d to lift his chain,
Gazed on the palm, his ancient sceptre torn,
And his eye kindled with immortal scorn!
“And sleep’st thou, Roman?” cried his voice austere;
“Shall son of Latium find a refuge here?