Comes a long train of underlings that bear
Imperial robes that kings no more may wear;
With truncheons, helmets, thunder-bolts and casks
Of snow and lightning—bucklers, foils and masks.
As tow’rd the steep of Capitolian Jove
When chiefs victorious through the rabble strove,
With all their conquests in their trophies told,
And every battle mark’d with plundered gold;
When the whole glory of the war rolled by,
And gaping Rome seemed all one mighty eye,