neither always joins herself to the good, nor does she make good men of
those to whom she is united.'



SONG VI.

NERO'S INFAMY.


We know what mischief dire he wrought--
Rome fired, the Fathers slain--
Whose hand with brother's slaughter wet
A mother's blood did stain.

No pitying tear his cheek bedewed,
As on the corse he gazed;
That mother's beauty, once so fair,
A critic's voice appraised.

Yet far and wide, from East to West,
His sway the nations own;
And scorching South and icy North
Obey his will alone.

Did, then, high power a curb impose
On Nero's phrenzied will?
Ah, woe when to the evil heart
Is joined the sword to kill!