midnight
We were offered a job lot of `` relics '' for five florins , which included a piece of the true cross , a bit of the rope that hung Judas , a couple of hairs from the head of the Virgin Mary , a peeling from the apple of Mother Eve , a part of the toe nail of Saint Thomas , a finger of Saint John , a thigh bone of Saint Paul , a tooth of Saint Antony , and a feather of the cock of Saint Peter , but we persistently declined the proffered honors and true `` relics of antiquity , '' spending the five florins for a `` night liner '' to wheel us about the grand architectural sights of the city of the Cæsars . 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 .