Chapter 1 No.1

'Tis the morn, but dim and dark.[do]

Whither flies the silent lark?

Whither shrinks the clouded sun?

Is the day indeed begun?

Nature's eye is melancholy

O'er the city high and holy:

But without there is a din

Should arouse the saints within,

And revive the heroic ashes

Round which yellow Tiber dashes.10

Oh, ye seven hills! awaken,

Ere your very base be shaken!