the hour of twelve
The night before leaving Rome William and myself climbed upon the topmost rim of the crumbling Coliseum and gazed down upon the sleeping moonlit capital with entranced admiration . The night was almost as bright as day , and the mystic rays from the realm of Luna , shining on gate , arch , column , spire , tower , temple and dome , revealed to us the ghosts of vanished centuries , and from the depths of the Coliseum there seemed to rise the shouts of a hundred thousand voices , cheering the gladiator from Gaul , who had just slain a Numidian lion in the arena , when , with `` thumbs up , '' he was proclaimed the victor , decorated with a crown of laurel and given his freedom forever . Shakspere could not resist his natural gift of exuberant poetry to sound these chunks of eloquence to the midnight air , while I listened with enraptured enthusiasm to the elocution of the Bard : _ Hark ! Saint Peter , with his brazen tongue Voices the hour of twelve ; The wizard tones of tireless Time Thrills the silvery air ; The multitudinous world sleeps , Pope and beggar alike -- In the land of lingering dreams -- Oblivious of glory , Poverty , or war , destructive ; Sleep , the daily death of all Throws her mesmeric mantle Over prince and pauper ; And care , vulture of fleeting life Folds her bedraggled wings To rest a space , 'till first cock crow Hails the glimmering dawn With piercing tones triumphant ; Father Tiber , roaring , moves along Under rude stony arches And chafes the wrinkled , rocky shores As when Romulus and Remus Suckled wolf of Apennines ! Vain are all the triumphs of man . These temples and palaces , Reaching up to the brilliant stars In soaring grandeur , vast -- Shall pass away like morning mist , Leaving a wilderness of ruins . And , where now sits pride , wealth and fraud Pampered in purpled power -- The lizard , the bat and the wolf Shall hold their habitation ; And the vine and the rag-weed Swaying in the whistling winds Shall sing their mournful requiem .