Puck of Pook's Hill by Rudyard Kipling
A British-Roman Song (A.D. 406)
My father's father saw it not, And I, belike, shall never come To look on that so-holy spot— The very Rome—
Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might, The equal work of Gods and Man, City beneath whose oldest height— The Race began!
Soon to send forth again a brood, Unshakeable, we pray, that clings To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood— In arduous things. Strong heart with triple armour bound, Beat strongly, for Thy life-blood runs, Age after Age, the Empire round— In us Thy Sons, Who, distant from the Seven Hills, Loving and serving much, require Thee—Thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills The Imperial Fire!
'When I left Rome for Lalage's sake By the Legions' Road to Rimini, She vowed her heart was mine to take With me and my shield to Rimini— (Till the Eagles flew from Rimini!) And I've tramped Britain, and I've tramped Gaul, And the Pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall As white as the neck of Lalage— (As cold as the heart of Lalage!) And I've lost Britain, and I've lost Gaul,'
(the voice seemed very cheerful about it),
'And I've lost Rome, and, worst of all, I've lost Lalage!'