Seems melting into Tiber’s stream,
And softly tints each Roman hill
With glowing light, as clear and still
As if, unstain’d by crime or woe,
Its hours had pass’d in silent flow.
The day sets calmly—it hath been
Mark’d with a strange and awful scene:
One guilty bosom throbs no more,
And Otho’s pangs and life are o’er.
And thou, ere yet another sun