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Though scarce the shallow soil and scant domain
Could tempt the avarice of the haughty train.
Then Carthaginian darts in wrath were hurl'd,
'Till Rome's proud sceptre nodded o'er the world;
And rising from her throne she bound with care
This little gem to grace her flowing hair.
But soon her regal arm was bent and broke,
And changing pow'rs enforc'd a changing yoke,
Rough on her temples fell the Gothic rod,
And Norman lords in stern dominion trod,
'Till o'er her head an host was seen to wield
The knightly sword, and shake the trophied shield.
When later times with wondering eye beheld
High crested valour guard her tented field;
While the trumps clanging sound, and thundering shocks
Of warlike weapons, rent her vaulted rocks,
And round her walls the Turkish crescent gleam'd,
And Turkish blood in ceaseless torrents stream'd,
And sunk with shame the faint besieging band
Fled few, and feeble, to their native land.
Once o'er these foaming floods and billows hoar,
The tempest's wing a lonely vessel bore;
The mountain waves in awful fury rose,
And cleaving gulphs the secret deeps disclose,
The lightning's pointed shafts like darts were driven,
