Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/101

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THE RUINS OF ITALICA.
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And hoarse lamentings on the breezes die;So doth the mighty ruin cast its spell   On those who near it dwell.   And under night's still sky,   As awe-struck peasants tell,A melancholy voice is heard to cry,"Italica is fallen; the echoes thenMournfully shout "Italica" again.  The leafy alleys of the forest nigh Murmur "Italica," and all around, A troop of mighty shadows, at the soundOf that illustrious name, repeat the call,"Italica!" from ruined tower and wall.
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