While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
THE PATRIOT.
AN OLD STORY.
I.
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad,
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
AN OLD STORY.
I.
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad,
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,