Unchain her eagle’s wing, and guide his flight
To bathe his plumage in the fount of light!
Vain dream! Degraded Rome! thy noon is o’er;
Once lost, thy spirit shall revive no more.
It sleeps with those, the sons of other days,
Who fix’d on thee the world’s adoring gaze;
Those, blest to live, while yet thy star was high,
More blest, ere darkness quench’d its beam, to die!
Yet, though thy faithless tutelary powers
Have fled thy shrines, left desolate thy towers,