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There lives the marble, wrought by art.
That clime the youth would gain; he braves
The ocean's fury, and his heart
Leaps in him, like the sunny waves
That bear him onward; and the light
Of hope within his bosom beams,
Like the phosphoric ray at night
That round the prow so cheerly gleams.
But still his eye would backward turn,
And still his bosom warmly burn,
As towards new worlds he 'gan to roam,
With love for Freedom's Western home.
This is the opening poem; the closing words of the book, at the end of the final “Pictures of
Rome,” are in a distinctly patriotic strain:--
Farewell to Rome; how lovely in distress;
How sweet her gloom; how proud her wilderness!
Farewell to all that won my youthful heart,
And waked fond longings after fame.
We part.
The weary pilgrim to his home returns;
For Freedom's air, for Western climes he burns;
Where dwell the brave, the generous, and the free,
O! there is Rome; no other Rome for me.
It was in order to train these young children of the
Republic--“the brave, the generous, and the free” --that
Bancroft entered upon the “
Round Hill” enterprise.
This celebrated school belonged to that class of undertakings which are so successful as
