ROME.
———
BY R. H. STODDARD.
———
In the heart of Rome eternal, the Coliseum stands sublime,
Lofty in the midst of ruins, like a temple built to Time.
Vast, colossal, ’tis with piles of broken arches reared on high,
But the dome is gone, and nothing roofs it but the summer sky.
And the walls are rent, and gaping wide, and crumbling fast away,
And the columns waste, but moss and grasses cover their decay.