25 APRIL 1885, Page 13

POETRY.

ROME.

WHERE are the footprints of the ancient dead Who dwelt and wrought in Rome and made mankind ?

What memory have the mighty left behind In this imperial place where they were bred ?

Like minute-sands the centuries have sped To cover nations with their dust-cloud blind ; Fragments of beauty past are all we find, Whose purpose, with the flying years, is fled.

In this vast universe is left no place For that fleet breath that fleeting man calls "Fame."

These stones, that mind us of some fading name, And watched the passing of earth's strongest race, Will vanish too ; the long years hold no grace For earth's memorials of praise and blame. A. D. G.