Cope with the practiced legions of the empire.
The battle gained, Palmyra taken, sacked--
Its queen a captive, hurled from off a throne,
Stripped of her wide possessions, forced to sue
In humblest attitude for even life--
The haughty victor led his weary legions
Back to Italia's shores, and in his train
His fallen rival, loaded with chains of gold,
Forged from the bullion of her treasury.

'T was holyday in Rome. The morning sun,
Emerging from the palace-crested hills
Of the Campagna, poured a flood of light
Upon the slumbering city, summoning
Its teeming thousands to the festival.
A playful breeze, rich-laden with perfume
From groves of orange, gently stirred the leaves,
And curled the ripples on the Tiber's breast,
Bearing to seaward o'er the flowery plain
The rising peans' joyful melodies.
Flung to the wind, high from the swelling dome
That crowned the Capitol, the imperial banner,
Broidered with gold and glittering with gems,
Unfurled its azure field; and, as it caught
The sunbeams and flashed down upon the throng
That filled the forum, there arose a shout
Deep as the murmur of the cataract.
In that spontaneous outburst of applause
_Rome spoke_; and as the echo smote the hills
It woke the slumbering memory of a time
When Rome was _free_.

A trumpet from the walls
Proclaimed the day's festivities begun.
Preceded by musicians and sweet singers,
A long procession passed the city-gate,
And, traversing the winding maze of streets,
Climbed to the Capitol. Choice victims, dressed
With pictured ornaments and wreaths of flowers,
An offering to the tutelary gods,
Led the advance. Then followed spoils immense,
Baskets of jewels, vases of wrought gold,
Paintings and statuary, cloths and wares,
Of costliest manufacture, close succeeded
By the rich symbols of Palmyra's glory,
Torn from her temples and her palaces,
To grace a triumph in the streets of Rome.
With toilsome step next walked the captive queen;
And then the victor, in his car of state,
With milk-white horses of Thessalian breed,
And in his retinue a splendid train
Of Rome's nobility. In one long line
The army last appeared in bright array,
With banners high displayed, filling the air
With songs of victory. The pageant proud
Quicken