And as I mused on all we call our own,
And (in the words their passionate hope had taught
Expressing this late world for which they fought
And prayed) said, lifting up my head to the sun,
'Ne quibus diis immortalibus,'-one
Ran with fear's feet, and lo! a voice distraught
'The Prince' and 'Dead.' And at the sound methought
The bulwark of my great house thunder'd down.
And, for an instant,-as some spell were sapping
All place-the hilly billows and billowy hills
Heaved through my breast the lapping wave that kills
The heart; around me the floor rises and falls
And jabbling stones of the unsteady walls
Ebb and flow together, lapping, lapping.

More verses by Sydney Thompson Dobell