O’er Indian groves,[211] a wanderer wild and free,
Kindling and bearing flames afar from tree to tree!
XXX.
And it is thus with thee! thy lot is cast
On evil days, thou Cæsar!—yet the few,
That set their generous bosom to the blast
Which rocks thy throne—the fearless and the true,
Bear hearts wherein thy glance can still renew
The free devotion of the years gone by,
When from bright dreams th’ ascendant Roman drew