Classic Poem

AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER ;

I S this the Consul , whose electric look,
And vocal thunder, the wide Senate shook?
Flash'd from that tearful eye the flame divine,
That rent the stubborn soul of C ATILINE ?
Ah! could those silent, trembling lips, impart
Conviction, C LODIUS , to thy guilty heart?
Or, A NTONY , of half the world possest,
Feel their sweet venom rankling in his breast?
'Tis H E , but ah! how chang'd; — the laureate bow'r,
No more, relieves his solitary hour;
Philosophy, with ardent eye, no more,
Drops on his bosom'd wound her balmy lore;
Bland T USCULUM itself can, now, bestow
No shaded shelter from resistless woe.
His T ULLIA 's name the murm'ring echoes breathe;
In ev'ry breeze is heard the wail of death;
And, wringing sore his desolated hands,
The poor, forlorn, dejected F ATHER stands;
Whose plaint not rolling Ages can consume,
Superior to the wreck of boastful Rome!