Byron.    

	When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;
	And when Rome falls—the world.

Byron.    

	See the wild waste of all-devouring years!
	How Rome her own sad sepulchre appears,
	With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
	The very tombs now vanished like their dead!

Pope.    

	I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray
	Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry,
	Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me?
	And from within a thrilling voice replies,
	Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts
	Rush on my mind, a thousand images;
	And I spring up as girt to run a race!

Sam’l Rogers.    

	It was the calm and silent night!
	Seven hundred years and fifty-three
	Had Rome been growing up to might
	And now was queen of land and sea.
	No sound was heard of clashing wars,
	Peace brooded o’er the hushed domain.
	Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars,
	Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
	In the solemn midnight,
	Centuries ago.

Alfred Domett.    

	Rome, Rome, thou art no more
	As thou hast been!
	On thy seven hills of yore
	Thou sat’st a queen.

Mrs. Hemans.