Your fathers' guilt you still must pay,Till, Roman, you restore each shrine,Each temple, 'mouldering in decay,And smoke-grimed statue, scarce divine.Revering Heaven, you rule below;Be that your base, your coping still;'Tis Heaven neglected bids o'erflowThe measure of Italian ill.Now Pacorus and Monaeses twiceHave given our unblest arms the foil;Their necklaces, of mean device;Smiling they deck with Roman spoil.Our city, torn by faction's throes,Dacian and Ethiop well-nigh razed,These with their dreadful navy, thoseFor archer-prowess rather praised.An evil age erewhile debasedThe marriage-bed, the race, the home;Thence rose the flood whose waters wasteThe nation and the name of Rome.