XXX

As the sown field its fresh greenness shows,
From that greenness the green shoot is born,
From the shoot there flowers an ear of corn,
From the ear, yellow grain, sun-ripened glows:

And as, in due season, the farmer mows
The waving locks, from the gold furrow shorn
Lays them in lines, and to the light of dawn
On the bare field, a thousand sheaves he shows:

So the Roman Empire grew by degrees,
Till barbarous power brought it to its knees,
Leaving only these ancient ruins behind,

That all and sundry pillage: as those who glean,
Following step by step, the leavings find,
That after the farmer’s passage may be seen.