And a voice came howling, hissing up, like a thousand whirlwinds now:
“This gulf will close—no, never! till in Rome the rarest thing,
The rarest and most wondrous, a sacrifice you bring.”
O! great was the lamenting, when these fearful facts were known,
The mothers weep and wring their hands, the grandames groan “Ochone;”
And the little boys no longer their flying hoops pursue,
Nor chaunt of “Ole Virginny,” as they were wont to do.
And the men in moody silence pace slowly to and fro,
With pallid lip, and frowning brow, and countenance of woe;
And the Fathers of the City—the Aldermen and Mayor—