Content to honor where they could not shame,
And praise the worth they could not rob of fame.
How, with these memories gathering in his breast,
Of all the labors that denied him rest —
Of all the triumphs that his country bore
To heights of fame she had not won before —
Broods he, the exile from his state and home,
On what awaits thee and himself, O Rome!
Of what thy hate deserves, and his decrees,
Whom thou hast brought unwilling to his knees.