Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Cumae.
Where hath thy spell , O Goddess dread ! Through winding glens thy votary led ? 'Mid thy vast cavern ' s murky hue , Thy frantic priestess meets my view ; Wildly her locks dishevell'd flow , No word her quivering lips bestow . Fear-struck she waits th' approaching hour
Of Inspiration ' s magic poiver . It comes—it comes : within her breast Rages the Deity confest ; Before her sight successive rise Visions of future destinies ; With meteor light her eyeballs glance , Her labouring bosom , ' mid the trance ,
Sway'd with approaching Fate ' s control , Proclaims the tempest of her soul . The frenzy smites : —her madden'd breast Heaves with tumultuous thoughts opprest ; Dire is each limb ' s convulsive strain , And mighty conflict rocks the brain . Hark ! from her lips , ' mid struggling moans , Forth issue the prophetic tones ; Rocks , caves , and woodland echoes , round
Reverberate the startling sound . 'Tis done—th' infuriate spell is past : No voice , but of the fitful blast , Throughout that dreary cave hath birth , And the worn priestess sinks to earth . Ill-fated sibyl ! raise thine head—E ' en Pity ' s tear for thee we shed . Though wrinkled with loathsome mien
age In every feature may be seen , And Life's unwonted span hath now With grisly tresses veil'd thy brow ; Still from thy dark prophetic shrine , Rome heard of old a voice divine , Learn'd from thy lips the vast renown , Foredoom'd her favour'd land to crown ;
By conquest rais'd from limits rude , Sole mistress of a world subdued . Yes—at thy word , in prosperous hour , Th' Imperial City soar'd to power ; Jove ' s lofty fane in grandeur rose , " Rich with ihe spoils of conquer'd foes ; And subject nations kiss'd the rod , In trembling awe of Cums ' s God . N . L . TORRE . 2 d Nov . 1838 . D . P . G . M . for Warwickshire
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Cumae.
Where hath thy spell , O Goddess dread ! Through winding glens thy votary led ? 'Mid thy vast cavern ' s murky hue , Thy frantic priestess meets my view ; Wildly her locks dishevell'd flow , No word her quivering lips bestow . Fear-struck she waits th' approaching hour
Of Inspiration ' s magic poiver . It comes—it comes : within her breast Rages the Deity confest ; Before her sight successive rise Visions of future destinies ; With meteor light her eyeballs glance , Her labouring bosom , ' mid the trance ,
Sway'd with approaching Fate ' s control , Proclaims the tempest of her soul . The frenzy smites : —her madden'd breast Heaves with tumultuous thoughts opprest ; Dire is each limb ' s convulsive strain , And mighty conflict rocks the brain . Hark ! from her lips , ' mid struggling moans , Forth issue the prophetic tones ; Rocks , caves , and woodland echoes , round
Reverberate the startling sound . 'Tis done—th' infuriate spell is past : No voice , but of the fitful blast , Throughout that dreary cave hath birth , And the worn priestess sinks to earth . Ill-fated sibyl ! raise thine head—E ' en Pity ' s tear for thee we shed . Though wrinkled with loathsome mien
age In every feature may be seen , And Life's unwonted span hath now With grisly tresses veil'd thy brow ; Still from thy dark prophetic shrine , Rome heard of old a voice divine , Learn'd from thy lips the vast renown , Foredoom'd her favour'd land to crown ;
By conquest rais'd from limits rude , Sole mistress of a world subdued . Yes—at thy word , in prosperous hour , Th' Imperial City soar'd to power ; Jove ' s lofty fane in grandeur rose , " Rich with ihe spoils of conquer'd foes ; And subject nations kiss'd the rod , In trembling awe of Cums ' s God . N . L . TORRE . 2 d Nov . 1838 . D . P . G . M . for Warwickshire