L UR'D by thy verse, behold once more
Thy friend fair I TALY explore!
And though, by suffering taught, I shun
Her unrelenting summer-sun,
Yet now I woo his beams, to cheer
The gloom of an expiring year:
Where, 'mid the ruins round her spread,
R OME lifts on high her mitred head,
Once circled by the imperial crown,
To which a subject-world bow'd down.
Now weak tho' reverend, in decay
She scarcely claims her ancient sway;
But begs a little homage, paid
Less to the living than the dead,
Whose honour'd tombs, now mouldering round,
Can consecrate the very ground.
Palace and dome scarce heeded rise,
More sees the memory than the eyes.
Yet here (the work of modern hands)
In state, the noblest temple stands,
That to his great Creator's praise
The piety of man could raise:
Here too, like breathing nature warm,
Dwells many a bright, angelic Form,
Hewn from the rock by matchless skill,
Once Gods, and almost worshipp'd still!
And here the pencil's magic hues
Their spells along the walls diffuse,
Calling saints, heroes, from the grave,
Again to teach, again to save.
Th' eternal city as I trace
The present to the past gives place:
The Spirits of the Dead appear,
And sounds divine transport my ear;
I listen, heedless of the throng,
To T ULLY'S speech, or M ARO'S song.
Now, winding through the sculptur'd arch
Behold the long triumphal march:
Or mark the warrior-horseman leap
Fearlessly down the yawning deep;
Or him, who, singly, dares oppose
(Striding the bridge) a host of foes.
Now, shuddering, the stern consul see
His rebel sons to death decree;
Or, in the Senate, hail the blow,
That lays the great Usurper low.
But who, on thrones, in robes of state
Silently sit, and smile at Fate?
The Conscript-sires — though fierce and rude
The Conqueror is himself subdued,
Drops the red spear, and bends the knee,
Esteeming each a Deity!
Oh! how in latter life it cheers
To triumph o'er the power of years!
Calm'd not exhausted to perceive
That we can feel, admire, believe
E'en to the last, as in our prime,
Spite of the malice of old Time.
Not more our joy, than pride, to know
That the chill'd blood again can glow;
That Fancy still has wings to soar
High as she oft was wont before:
And Hope still listens to her song,
As erst when credulous and young:
That there are vales, where smiling Spring
Is lovelier than the poets sing;
And Nature's bright realities
Transcend what Painting can devise:
Where May can trust, in field and bower,
Her blossoms to the morning-hour,
Nor dreads the venomous East should breathe,
To blight the flowerets in her wreath;
Where scarcely swells a bud in vain
Of blushing fruit, or golden grain.
Alas! fair Land! that thy rich dower,
Should ever be the prize of power.
Yielded to Vandal, Moor, or Gaul,
Or Bigot-sloth, far worse than all!
Oh Grief! that blessings too profuse
Should turn to curses by th' abuse;
That Virtue, Freedom, still must fly
For shelter to a frozen sky!
Like gold all Good requires alloy,
We learn by suffering to enjoy.
Once thy possessors, great in arms,
Defended, and deserv'd thy charms,
Well taught (alas! in times gone by)
Bravely to conquer, or to die.
Then the rude Hun rough welcome found,
And with his bones manur'd the ground,
Though now his haughty banner waves
High o'er his vanquish'd fathers' graves.
Now must thy humbled sons regret,
The present bear, the past forget,
Blush when they hear their fathers' fame,
And hide in smiles their grief and shame;
Not long — soon shall the smouldering fire,
Explode in thunder, or expire;
Oh! not the last! — in vain they dare
(The crown'd conspirators) to share
The earth between them, as their prey
Willing to suffer and obey.
As soon shall they forbid the sun,
Save at their will, his course to run,
Arrest the ocean-tides, or bind
The pinions of the wandering wind.
What though of much the Land's bereft,
Enough to regain all is left!
Art, Science, Letters still survive
The Liberty that bade them thrive:
And many a poet of high name
Upholds his country's former fame.
Thy latest theme; well chos'n by thee
The bard inspir'd by Memory!
And greatly shall thy lasting lay
Her hospitality o'erpay:
Long long the rival to remain
Ev'n of her noblest native strain.
Thy friend fair I TALY explore!
And though, by suffering taught, I shun
Her unrelenting summer-sun,
Yet now I woo his beams, to cheer
The gloom of an expiring year:
Where, 'mid the ruins round her spread,
R OME lifts on high her mitred head,
Once circled by the imperial crown,
To which a subject-world bow'd down.
Now weak tho' reverend, in decay
She scarcely claims her ancient sway;
But begs a little homage, paid
Less to the living than the dead,
Whose honour'd tombs, now mouldering round,
Can consecrate the very ground.
Palace and dome scarce heeded rise,
More sees the memory than the eyes.
Yet here (the work of modern hands)
In state, the noblest temple stands,
That to his great Creator's praise
The piety of man could raise:
Here too, like breathing nature warm,
Dwells many a bright, angelic Form,
Hewn from the rock by matchless skill,
Once Gods, and almost worshipp'd still!
And here the pencil's magic hues
Their spells along the walls diffuse,
Calling saints, heroes, from the grave,
Again to teach, again to save.
Th' eternal city as I trace
The present to the past gives place:
The Spirits of the Dead appear,
And sounds divine transport my ear;
I listen, heedless of the throng,
To T ULLY'S speech, or M ARO'S song.
Now, winding through the sculptur'd arch
Behold the long triumphal march:
Or mark the warrior-horseman leap
Fearlessly down the yawning deep;
Or him, who, singly, dares oppose
(Striding the bridge) a host of foes.
Now, shuddering, the stern consul see
His rebel sons to death decree;
Or, in the Senate, hail the blow,
That lays the great Usurper low.
But who, on thrones, in robes of state
Silently sit, and smile at Fate?
The Conscript-sires — though fierce and rude
The Conqueror is himself subdued,
Drops the red spear, and bends the knee,
Esteeming each a Deity!
Oh! how in latter life it cheers
To triumph o'er the power of years!
Calm'd not exhausted to perceive
That we can feel, admire, believe
E'en to the last, as in our prime,
Spite of the malice of old Time.
Not more our joy, than pride, to know
That the chill'd blood again can glow;
That Fancy still has wings to soar
High as she oft was wont before:
And Hope still listens to her song,
As erst when credulous and young:
That there are vales, where smiling Spring
Is lovelier than the poets sing;
And Nature's bright realities
Transcend what Painting can devise:
Where May can trust, in field and bower,
Her blossoms to the morning-hour,
Nor dreads the venomous East should breathe,
To blight the flowerets in her wreath;
Where scarcely swells a bud in vain
Of blushing fruit, or golden grain.
Alas! fair Land! that thy rich dower,
Should ever be the prize of power.
Yielded to Vandal, Moor, or Gaul,
Or Bigot-sloth, far worse than all!
Oh Grief! that blessings too profuse
Should turn to curses by th' abuse;
That Virtue, Freedom, still must fly
For shelter to a frozen sky!
Like gold all Good requires alloy,
We learn by suffering to enjoy.
Once thy possessors, great in arms,
Defended, and deserv'd thy charms,
Well taught (alas! in times gone by)
Bravely to conquer, or to die.
Then the rude Hun rough welcome found,
And with his bones manur'd the ground,
Though now his haughty banner waves
High o'er his vanquish'd fathers' graves.
Now must thy humbled sons regret,
The present bear, the past forget,
Blush when they hear their fathers' fame,
And hide in smiles their grief and shame;
Not long — soon shall the smouldering fire,
Explode in thunder, or expire;
Oh! not the last! — in vain they dare
(The crown'd conspirators) to share
The earth between them, as their prey
Willing to suffer and obey.
As soon shall they forbid the sun,
Save at their will, his course to run,
Arrest the ocean-tides, or bind
The pinions of the wandering wind.
What though of much the Land's bereft,
Enough to regain all is left!
Art, Science, Letters still survive
The Liberty that bade them thrive:
And many a poet of high name
Upholds his country's former fame.
Thy latest theme; well chos'n by thee
The bard inspir'd by Memory!
And greatly shall thy lasting lay
Her hospitality o'erpay:
Long long the rival to remain
Ev'n of her noblest native strain.