Chapter XXIV

The Roman, whose resistless hand
Spread war to Britain’s distant land;
Bade Rome’s brave eagles, proudly sweep
O’er every strand, o’er every deep,
And after thousand perils brav’d,
His country’s liberties enslaved:--
Count not the nations he subdued;
Count not the toils his strength withstood;
Count not his honest martial fame,
To fix a stamp to Cæsar’s name!
Mark but the moral of his end,
Beneath the poinard of his friend.