I STOOD beneath the Arch of Titus long; On Hebrew forms there sculptured long I pored; Till fancy, by a distant clarion stung, Woke; and methought there moved that arch toward A Roman triumph. Lance and helm and sword Glittered; white coursers tramped and trumpets rung: Last came, car-borne amid a captive throng, The laurelled son of Rome's imperial lord. As though by wings of unseen eagles fanned The Conqueror's cheek, when first that arch he saw, Burned with the flush he strove in vain to quell. Titus! a loftier arch than thine hath spanned Rome and the world with empery and law; Thereof each stone was hewn from Israel! |