'Well, you are jolly late,' said Una. 'Couldn't you get away before?'
'I did,' said Dan. 'I got away in lots of time, but—but I didn't know it was so late. Where've you been?'
'In Volaterrae—waiting for you.'
'Sorry,' said Dan. 'It was all that beastly Latin.'
A BRITISH-ROMAN SONG (A.D. 406)
My father's father saw it not, And I, belike, shall never come, To look on that so-holy spot— The very Rome—
Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might, The equal work of Gods and Man, City beneath whose oldest height— The Race began!
Soon to send forth again a brood, Unshakeable, we pray, that clings, To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood— In arduous things.