Sir John Hanmer Poems

Thus said the young Alexowitz, by Danube's sweeping side,
A hundred chiefs their vassals rule, in pomp and power, and pride;
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Clear shines the sun, but yet the cloud is grey,
And the fresh breeze comes scented with the spray
Of the wild billow, that with thundering fall,
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'Credite me vobis folium recitare Sibyllæ.'

What, shall nought e'er be sacred, nought evade
The prying imp that pierces every shade,
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Last night our Abbot blessed his saint
As he knelt before his tomb,
And tapers from the altar quaint,
Looked out o'er the cloister's gloom;
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From Venice, while the moonlight falls
Brightest o'er her porphyry halls,
Gilding with unearthly ray,
Dome and column, worn and grey,
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Haste! mother, haste! smoke blackens the blue sky,
Pescara comes, oh, whither shall we fly?
I see his band beyond those olive trees,
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The devil he marshalled his legions gay,
That he hoped would rule the world,
He dressed them all in bright array,
And then his flag unfurled.
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Where thy fane, time-riven,
Crowns the marble hill,
And sailing up the heaven,
Thy crescent decks it still;
...