Selected Poems (101 page)

880

But the sap lasts, and still the seed we find

Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North;

So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth.

XCIX

There is a stern round tower of other days,

Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone,

885

Such as an army’s baffled strength delays,

Standing with half its battlements alone,

And with two thousand years of ivy grown,

The garland of eternity, where wave

The green leaves over all by time o’erthrown; -

890

What was this tower of strength? within its cave

What treasure lay so lock’d, so hid? – A woman’s grave.

C

But who was she, the lady of the dead,

Tomb’d in a palace? Was she chaste and fair?

Worthy a king’s – or more – a Roman’s bed?

895

What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear?

What daughter of her beauties was the heir?

How lived – how loved – how died she? Was she not

So honour’d – and conspicuously there,

Where meaner relics must not dare to rot,

900

Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot?

CI

Was she as those who love their lords, or they

Who love the lords of others? such have been

Even in the olden time, Rome’s annals say.

Was she a matron of Cornelia’s mien,

905

Or the light air of Egypt’s graceful queen,

Profuse of joy – or ’gainst it did she war,

Inveterate in virtue? Did she lean

To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar

Love from amongst her griefs? — for such the affections are.

CII

910

Perchance she died in youth: it may be, bow’d

With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb

That weigh’d upon her gentle dust, a cloud

Might gather o’er her beauty, and a gloom

In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom

915

Heaven gives its favourites – early death; yet shed

A sunset charm around her, and illume

With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead,

Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red.

CIII

Perchance she died in age – surviving all,

920

Charms, kindred, children – with the silver gray

On her long tresses, which might yet recal,

It may be, still a something of the day

When they were braided, and her proud array

And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed

925

By Rome – but whither would Conjecture stray?

Thus much alone we know – Metella died,

The wealthiest Roman’s wife: Behold his love or pride!

CIV

I know not why – but standing thus by thee

It seems as if I had thine inmate known,

930

Thou tomb! and other days come back on me

With recollected music, though the tone

Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan

Of dying thunder on the distant wind;

Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone

935

Till I had bodied forth the heated mind

Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves behind;

CV

And from the planks, far shatter’d o’er the rocks,

Built me a little bark of hope, once more

To battle with the ocean and the shocks

940

Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar

Which rushes on the solitary shore

Where all lies founder’d that was ever dear:

But could I gather from the wave-worn store

Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer?

945

There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here.

CVI

Then let the winds howl on! their harmony

Shall henceforth be my music, and the night

The sound shall temper with the owlets’ cry,

As I now hear them, in the fading light

950

Dim o’er the bird of darkness’ native site,

Answering each other on the Palatine,

With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright,

And sailing pinions. – Upon such a shrine

What are our petty griefs? – let me not number mine.

CVII

955

Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown

Matted and mass’d together, hillocks heap’d

On what were chambers, arch crush’d, column strown

In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep’d

In subterranean damps, where the owl peep’d,

960

Deeming it midnight: – Temples, baths, or halls?

Pronounce who can; for all that Learning reap’d

From her research hath been, that these are walls—

Behold the Imperial Mount! ’tis thus the mighty falls.
¹

CVIII

There is the moral of all human tales;

965

Tis but the same rehearsal of the past,

First Freedom and then Glory – when that fails,

Wealth, vice, corruption, – barbarism at last.

And History, with all her volumes vast,

Hath but
one
page, – ’tis better written here,

970

Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amass’d

All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear,

Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask – Away with words! draw near,

CIX

Admire, exult – despise – laugh, weep, – for here

There is such matter for all feeling: – Man!

975

Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear,

Ages and realms are crowded in this span,

This mountain, whose obliterated plan

The pyramid of empires pinnacled,

Of Glory’s gewgaws shining in the van

980

Till the sun’s rays with added flame were fill’d!

Where are its golden roofs! where those who dared to build?

CX

Tully was not so eloquent as thou,

Thou nameless column with the buried base!

What are the laurels of the Cæsar’s brow?

985

Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place.

Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face,

Titus or Trajan’s? No – ’tis that of Time:

Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace

Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb

990

To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime,

CXI

Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome,

And looking to the stars: they had contain’d

A spirit which with these would find a home,

The last of those who o’er the whole earth reign’d,

995

The Roman globe, for after none sustain’d,

But yielded back his conquests: – he was more

Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain’d

With household blood and wine, serenely wore

His sovereign virtues – still we Trajan’s name adore.

CXII

1000

Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place

Where Rome embraced her heroes? where the steep

Tarpeian? fittest goal of Treason’s race,

The promontory whence the Traitor’s Leap

Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap

1005

Their spoils here? Yes; and in yon field below,

A thousand years of silenced factions sleep —

The Forum, where the immortal accents glow,

And still the eloquent air breathes – burns with Cicero!

CXIII

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood:

1010

Here a proud people’s passions were exhaled,

From the first hour of empire in the bud

To that when further worlds to conquer fail’d;

But long before had Freedom’s face been veil’d,

And Anarchy assumed her attributes;

1015

Till every lawless soldier who assail’d

Trod on the trembling senate’s slavish mutes,

Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes.

CXIV

Then turn we to her latest tribune’s name,

From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee,

1020

Redeemer of dark centuries of shame –

The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy –

Rienzi! last of Romans! While the tree

Of freedom’s wither’d trunk puts forth a leaf

Even for thy tomb a garland let it be -

1025

The forum’s champion, and the people’s chief–