That swelled the northern torrents, and brought down,
Yearly, the volumed avalanche on Rome,
Have sunk beneath my arm, until secure
She sat aloft in majesty, seven-throned,
And knew or feared no foe. This was my work —
Nor this alone; from the patrician sway,
That used her as the creature of his will,
I plucked her eagles, casting down his power
Beneath plebeian footstep. For long years
Of cruellest oppression and misrule,