TITY of idol temples and of shrines
Where folly kneels to falsehood—how the pride
Of our humanity is here rebuked!
Man, that aspires to rule the very wind,
And make the sea confess his majesty;
Whose intellect can fill a little scroll
With words that are immortal; who can build
Cities, the mighty and the beautiful:
Yet man, this glorious creature, can debase
His spirit down, to worship wood and stone,
And hold the very beasts which bear his yoke,
And tremble at his eye, for sacred things!
With what unutterable humility
We should bow down, thou blessed One, to thee;
Seeing our vanity and foolishness,
When, to our own devices left, we frame
A shameful creed of craft and cruelty.
39IGH on the stately wall
The spear of Aurad hung;
Through corridor and hall
Gemadin's war-note rung.
Where are they now?-the note is o'er;
Yes! for a thousand years or more
Five fathoms deep beneath the sea
Those halls have lain all silently,—
Nought listing but the mermaid's song,
While rude sea-monsters roam the corridors along.
Far from the wondering East
Tubal and Javan came,
And Araby the blest,
And Kedar, mighty name.
Now on that shore, a lonely guest,
Some dripping fisherman may rest,
Watching, on rock or naked stone,
His dark net spread before the sun,
Unconscious of the dooming lay
That broods o'er that dull spot, and there shall
brood for aye.
IME has but touched, not sealed in gloom,
The turrets of almighty Rome;
The same deep stream which tossed of yore
The infants in their ark ashore, *
Whose power, since deified, has piled
This seven-hilled city in the wild,
Yet in its yellow lustre roves
By marble halls and holy groves.
Yet on its mount the pillared shrine
August, of Jove Capitoline,
Rich with the spoils which war translates,
The plunder of a thousand states,
Though gray with age or thunder's scars,
Looks in proud triumph to the stars;
Its portals passed, its threshold trod,
By white-robed Flamens of the god.
Ascended by its hundred stairs,
The rough Tarpeian yet declares
His fate who freed its fane too well,
Who vainly watched and sternly fell.
Structures of piety and prayer,
Domes towering over temples, there
*Romulus and Remus.-See Plutarch.
The busy Forum overlook,—
The scene where Junius Brutus shook
Fiercely his imprecating sword,
And smiled on liberty restored.
And here the Rostrum, at whose foot
Grief rose to rage, and rage grew mute,
As Pity dropt, or Passion flung,
Honey or gall from Tully's tongue.
There, where the great or glorified
On marble pedestals abide,
With gods that make the skies their home,
The vast Pantheon's pillared dome
Heaves unto heaven. With shout and song,
As rushing cars urge cars along,
There the live circus hums, and spreads
Its gladness o'er ten thousand heads,—
Sons of a race once armed with power,
Omnipotent in danger's day,
And still commanding, though their hour
Of earlier worth has passed away:
Though wronged Camillus wars not now,
Nor Cincinnatus leaves the plough,
Mutius a tyrant's wrath disarms,
Fabricius awes, nor Scipio charms,
Nor Regulus his pangs defies,
Looks back on Rome, and grandly dies.
ROME! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples! Ye,
Whose agonies are evils of a day—
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.
The Niobe of nations,—there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her withered hands,
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.
The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire
Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride;
She saw her glories star by star expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,
Where the car climbed the Capitol; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :—
Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void,
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say,
"Here was, or is," where all is doubly night:
Alas, the lofty city! and alas,
The trebly-hundred triumphs! and the day
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away!
Alas for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay,
And Livy's pictured page!-but these shall be
Her resurrection; all beside-decay.
Alas for Earth! for never shall we see
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free.
AM in Rome! Oft as the morning ray
Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry,
Whence this excess of joy? what has
befallen me?
And from within a thrilling voice replies,
Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts
Rush on my mind, a thousand images;
And I spring up as girt to run a race!
Thou art in Rome! the city that so long
Reigned absolute, the mistress of the world;
The mighty vision that the prophets saw,
And trembled; that from nothing, from the least,
The lowliest village (what but here and there
A reed-roofed cabin by a river side?)
Grew into every thing: and, year by year,
Patiently, fearlessly working her way
O'er brook and field, o'er continent and sea,
Not like the merchant with his merchandise,
Or traveller with staff and scrip exploring,
But ever hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Through nations numberless in battle array,
Each behind each, each, when the other fell,
Up and in arms, at length subdued them all.
Thou art in Rome! the city where the Gauls,
Entering at sunrise through her open gates,
And, through her streets silent and desolate,
Marching to slay, thought they saw gods, not men;
The city that by temperance, fortitude,
And love of glory, towered above the clouds,
Then fell-but, falling, kept the highest seat,
And in her loneliness, her pomp of woe,
Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild,
Still o'er the mind maintains, from age to age,
Her empire undiminished.-There, as though
Grandeur attracted Grandeur, are beheld
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