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   —­Another age!—­The spell of Rome has past
   Transforming all our Britain; Ruthless plough,
   Which plough’d the world, yet o’er the nations cast
   The seed of arts, and law, and all that now
   Has ripen’d into commonwealths:—­Her hand
   With network mile-paths binding plain and hill
      Arterialized the land: 
   The thicket yields:  the soil for use is clear;
Peace with her plastic touch,—­field, farm, and grange are here.

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   Lo, flintwall’d cities, castles stark and square
   Bastion’d with rocks that rival Nature’s own;
   Red-furnaced baths, trim gardens planted fair
   With tree and flower the North ne’er yet had known;
   Long temple-roofs and statues poised on high
   With golden wings outstretch’d for tiptoe flight,
      Quivering in summer sky:—­
   The land had rest, while those stern legions lay
By northern ramparts camp’d, and held the Pict at bay.

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   Imperious Empire!  Thrice-majestic Rome! 
   No later age, as earth’s slow centuries glide,
   Can raze the footprints stamp’d where thou hast come,
   The ne’er-repeated grandeur of thy stride! 
   —­Though now so dense a darkness takes the land,
   Law, peace, wealth, letters, faith,—­all lights are quench’d
      By violent heathen hand:—­
   Vague warrior kings; names writ in fire and wrong;
Aurelius, Urien, Ida;—­shades of ancient song.

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   And Thou—­O whether born of flame and wave,
   Or Gorlois’ son, or Uther’s, blameless lord,
   True knight, who died for those thou couldst not save
   When the Round Table brake their plighted word,—­
   The lord of song hath set thee in thy grace
   And glory, rescued from the phantom world,
      Before us face to face;
   No more Avilion bowers the King detain;
The mystic child returns; the Arthur reigns again!

8

   —­Now, as some cloud that hides a mountain bulk
   Thins to white smoke, and mounts in lighten’d air,
   And through the veil the gray enormous hulk
   Burns, and the summit, last, is keen and bare,—­
   From wasted Britain so the gloaming clears;
   Another birth of time breaks eager out,
      And England fair appears:—­
   Imperial youth sign’d on her golden brow,
While the prophetic eyes with hope and promise glow.

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   Then from the wasted places of the land,
   Charr’d skeletons of cities, circling walls
   Of Roman might, and towers that shatter’d stand
   Of that lost world survivors, forth she calls
   Her new creation:—­O’er the land is wrought
   The happy villagedom by English tribes
      From Elbe and Baltic brought;
   Red kine light up with life the ravaged plain;
The forest glooms are pierced; the plough-land laughs again.

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