MARTHON (coldly).
To what thou hast compar'd it to,—How is't?
Art thou not from the walls?
OTHUS.
MARTHON.
Open'd its brazen mouth and spoke to us?
How brook'd thine ears that deep tremendous sound?
The coasts of Asia and th' Olympian heights,
Our land-begirded seas, and distant isles,
Spoke back to him again, in his own voice,
A deep and surly answer; but our city,
This last imperial seat of Roman greatness:
This head of the world, this superb successor
Of the earth's mistress, where so many Cæsars
In proud successive lines have held their sway,
What answer sent she back?
OTHUS.
Methinks thou hast a pleasure in the thought.
This head o' the world—this superb successor
Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speak'st,
Stands midst these ages as in the wide ocean
The last spar'd fragment of a spacious land
