Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
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With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:-
Rome, Rome, thou art no more
As thou hast been.
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RGB: 54 63 72
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RGB: 242 110 33
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RGB: 255 214 2
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RGB: 45 131 158
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RGB: 101 204 169
But like thine own eagle that soars to the sun
Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind thee
A name which before thee no mortal hath won.
