^i l^ 
 
 \ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 / " 
 
 Of 
 
 li UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
zz 
 
 
'HE 
 
 MARTYRDOM 
 
 OF 
 
 ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL; 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 / 
 BY GEORGE BURGESS, A. M. 
 
 MINISTER OF CHRIST CHURCH, HARTI^ORD, CON. 
 
 PROVIDENCE: 
 
 MARSHALL, BROWN AND COMPANY, 
 
 18 34. 
 
 : :mz 
 
 'iry'r'-^ -^ 
 
Entered according to Act o( Congress, in the year J834, by Marshall, Brown and Co. in the Clerk'i 
 Office of the District Court of the District of Rhode-Island. 
 
 Providence: 
 
 WEEDEN & CORY, PRINTERS, 
 
 No. 9, Market-square. 
 
This Poem was recited before the Rhode-Island Alpha, of the 
 Phi Beta Kappa Society, at their Anniversary, September 3d, 
 1834, with the following introductory observations : — 
 
 Gentlemen of the Phi Beta Kappa Society — 
 
 In offering to you on such an occasion such a poem as that which 
 I now present, one remark becomes important. When, a few months 
 since, I had the honor to be appointed your poet for this anniversary, 
 it was already too late for me, under the engagements which I was re- 
 quired to assume, to attempt the composition of any thing new and 
 especially appropriate. Under these circumstances, the only way in 
 which it remained possible for me to discharge that duty which every 
 man, on these occasions, owes to his Alma Mater, was by laying be- 
 fore you some fruit of earlier leisure. The following poem was pro- 
 jected and begun during a short residence at Rome. Around that 
 mighty metropolis of the earth, the history of all ages seems to have 
 revolved ; and one is there continually discovering some link of con- 
 nection between the ancient and the modern, the Pagan and the 
 Christian world. Such a link [ thought I saw in the tradition of the 
 martyrdom of St. Peter and St. Paul ; and this is the foundation of a 
 poem which, viewed from this point, may not seem altogether unsuita- 
 ble to this occasion. 
 
MARTYRDOM 
 
 OF 
 
 ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 
 
 The mom was high in heav'n, the morn of Spring ; ^ 
 
 Bask'd in its joyous blaze each living thing : 
 
 Through bovv'r and grove came down the golden beam, 
 
 It bath'd the hills, it glitter'd on the stream ; 
 
 Just breath'd a wind the olive's leaves to stir, 
 
 And touch on high the crests of Northern fir ; 
 
 Mid laurel walks the budding orange hung ; 
 
 Round the young holm the vine's soft promise clung ; 
 
 Loud was the voice of song from bush and tree; 
 
 On his blithe errand hied the wakeful bee; 
 
 The sportive lamb leap'd lighter on the plain ; 
 
 Strong trod the ox beneath the massy wain; 
 
 Laugh'd the gay boy, he knew not wherefore gay. 
 
 Shook his bright locks, and ran to merrier play; 
 
THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 And bending age, amidst some sunny spot, 
 Laid by its staff, and half its woes forgot: 
 Smiling on all, the gorgeous morn arose, 
 All but the victim woke from brief repose 
 O'er the fair scene to fling a parting eye. 
 And then in torture and in shame to die. 
 Yet e'en of such there were to whom the night 
 Pass'd with that dawn forever into light. 
 
 The morn was high in heav'n, the Latian morn; 
 What glorious hues the landscape fam'd adorn, 
 Where the long hills from lone Soracte sweep, ^ 
 And the far plain spreads onward to the deep! 
 There is no cloud to veil th' enchanting view, 
 Earth's richest green, and heav'n's serenest blue: 
 Here nature's hand luxuriant bounty gave, 
 To ev'ry hope whate'er that hope could crave; 
 And here each pow'r of cult'ring man was tried. 
 Toil, wisdom, taste, and wealth, and might, and prid( 
 Mid cheerful farms, and vineyard's opening bloom, 
 And gardens scatt'ring all a world's perfume, 
 By arch, and tomb, and column's tall array, ^ 
 Lo, tow'rds each land the host's majestic Way; 
 Far as around the kindling eye may roam, 
 Rests its fond glance on classic porch and dome; 
 O'er hill and vale, from yon dim mountain's side. 
 Brings the long stream of art its healthful tide;"* 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 
 
 See, on each height an ancient city's towers, '- 
 
 So might have built the Titan's fabled pjw'rs; 
 
 Bright in the sun, and open to the breeze. 
 
 Here the fair villa woos to health and ease; 
 
 There, deep beneath the grotto's solemn shade, 
 
 Pours rapid Anio many a white cascade;^ 
 
 While southward far, amidst the mighty throng, 
 
 From slothful Tiber sounds the boatman's song. 
 
 Oh, not a rood, and not a spot, is there, 
 
 But he who passes breathes of glory's air: 
 
 'T is Alba's lake, and old Prajneste's hill, ' 
 
 And the soft flow of meek Egeria's rill ; 
 
 'T is Flaccus' walk, 'tis wise Mecsenas' grove, 
 
 'T is the cool path where TuUy lov'd to rove; 
 
 These plains have heard the Fabii's martial tread ; s 
 
 Here rest the Scipios, rest with all their dead; 
 
 Here all was won that man might win alone, 
 
 Knowledge and skill, the laurel and the throne; 
 
 Won but to teach, alike through rise and fall. 
 
 How great, how poor, how strange, that human all; 
 
 Won; but e'en now, long, long the height is pass'd,^ 
 
 Down whirls the car, each hour more fierce and fast; 
 
 Though prouder deck'd, tiie madd'ning courser springs, 
 
 Unseen the vulture flaps impatient wings. 
 
 Palace and shrine and fortress glitt'ring high, 
 Ridge over ridge pil'd upward to the sky, 
 
10 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Like frowning Juno, stately in her charms. 
 
 The seven-hilled city spreads her queenly arms. 
 
 Not now in joy! from Jove's illustrious dome, '" 
 
 Looks the sad burgher o'er his wasted home: 
 
 Where, wide around, hot ruins mark the path 
 
 Op'd by the whirling flame's insatiate wrath; 
 
 And thinks on those stern nights and sterner days 
 
 When sleep and hope fled far before the blaze, 
 
 When houseless thousands flock 'd to fane by fane, 
 
 That, one by one, went down, ador'd in vain, 
 
 And as the Ceesar's halls of glory fell, 
 
 Seem'd as the gods of Rome had call'd farewell; 
 
 Thinks how on yon tall tow'r the monarch stood. 
 
 Mid his loose train indulg'd his mimic mood, 
 
 Gaz'd, like a painter, on the horrid glare, 
 
 And pour'd poetic sorrows on the air; 
 
 Thinks, and his eye has sunk to deadly rest, 
 
 And all the soul of Cherea fills his breast. " 
 
 Tyi-ant and fool ! and could'st thou madly trust. 
 
 The guiltless blood that stain'd th' arena's dust, 
 
 ^tain'd the dread rack, the cross, the fiery stake. 
 
 Should lull the vengeance guilt had rous'd to wake ? 
 
 And could'st thou dream, thy golden pomp should blind '^ 
 
 That judge of kings, the future's fearless mind ? 
 
 In that lone hour when thou shalt hide thy head, 
 
 A trembling slave, beneath a freedman's shed, ^^ 
 
 Shalt poise the blade, yet check the mortal blow» 
 
 Afraid to slrijce, afraid to wait the foe. 
 
ST. PETJ2R AND ST PAUL. 1 1 
 
 Tlien shall that guilt the fierce pursuer steel. 
 Shall from the tomb its awful summons peal; 
 And when the walls thou rear'st are sunk in clay. 
 Thy race, thy works, thy empire, swept away. 
 Then, if perchance one more on earth shall spring 
 With all that blots a son, a man, a king. 
 Till crime shall shrink, and hist'ry drop the pen. 
 And words be faint that men have fram'd for men. 
 Then shall each child recall thy matchless shame, 
 And give the monster Nero's hated name. 
 
 Behold, the forum's throng, the murm'ring street. 
 
 The bath, the bridge, the scenes where millions meet! 
 
 Each land has exiles there, for none is free; 
 
 All loathe the lords, as all have bow'd the knee; 
 
 Numidia's swarthy son, subdued at length; 
 
 The blue-ey'd German with his giant strength; 
 
 The graceful chiefs of some devoted host 
 
 That bled to guard their Britain's lovely coast; 
 
 The crouching form where lurks a bitter heart 
 
 That yet may teach how true the Parthian dart; 
 
 The Hebrew, doom'd a tenfold scorn to brook, 
 
 A tenfold anguish writhing in his look ; 
 
 All, all are here: nor their's the pride to share, 
 
 Wak'd by this pomp of fam'd, and grand, and fair: 
 
 Their's but to plod the way of wily gain. 
 
 Or curse the arts that forg'd and deck'd the chain, 
 
12 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 And wish one equal day, one equal field, 
 
 Where naught should win, but lance, and sword, and shield 
 
 In joy return'd from wars of distant lands, 
 
 Mark'd by his scars, the legion's vet'ran stands; 
 
 The tall praetorian nods his helm of pride, 
 
 The massy pavement ringing to his stride; 
 
 Solemn and slow the stately priests ascend, 
 
 In worship not their own to strike or bend ; 
 
 The patient sculptor wakes to gradual view 
 
 Ideal forms, and dreams not all untrue; 
 
 Th' expecting crowd surround the patron's gate; 
 
 The morning chariot rolls in gilded state; 
 
 The light buffoon, with idle gibe and jest. 
 
 Scans the nerv'd athlct's mighty arm and chest; 
 
 The girded slave resumes his daily task. 
 
 Nor deems his lord's a lot the wise should ask; 
 
 Morn warms with life the city's utmost vein. 
 
 And every passion holds its wonted reign. 
 
 Such sight is here: nor seek to lift the veil. 
 Nor bid more secret scenes disclose their tale; 
 Wish not to know what princely roofs may hide. 
 Nor ask where humbler worth and peace abide. 
 Though in patrician robes all crime be dressed, 
 Though through the meaner crowd sweep on the pest, 
 Till each old image looks in mourning down, 
 And that stern Cato's wears a deeper frown; 
 
ST. FETER AND ST. PAUL. 13 
 
 Still, still, may live some ancient Roman truth, 
 
 Live, if in chains, in exile, or in youth: 
 
 E'en yet, perhaps, some hardy breasts remain '•* 
 
 Where hoary Galba leads the arms of Spain; 
 
 Yet its bright rays may omen'd glory shed 
 
 Around some stripling Titus' modest head;^^ 
 
 Yet private worth with good Virginius bloom, '" 
 
 Reject a crown, and win a peaceful tomb; 
 
 And still, perchance, all woman's faith and grace, "^ 
 
 E'en as of late, Massilia's walls embrace, 
 
 That saw a mother, with a mother's fear, 
 
 Thy future conqu'ror, Caledonia, rear. 
 
 So lifts the bow of heav'n its radiant form, 
 
 When troubled day goes down with cloud and storm , 
 
 So draws the beams in fading splendor cast, 
 
 And gives them back, the loveliest and the last. 
 
 There is a stir of mast'ring crowds to-day: 
 
 E'en such precedes the triumph's long array; 
 
 Such greets the hour, when, match'd in desp'rate strife, 
 
 The victim swordsman strikes, and strikes for life. 
 
 Group after group they come, and waiting seem 
 
 With cautious words to touch the gen'ral theme; 
 
 The gossip brings his tale, forever new; 
 
 The honor'd sire unfolds his deeper view; 
 
 With pausing breath, and fix'd, though tim'rous eye. 
 
 Women and gentle youths stand list'ning by; <' 
 
14 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 But uone may freely speak, or boldly hear, 
 Lest the cloak'd form of treach'ry linger near. 
 Of fearful dooms for secret deeds they tell, 
 Wrath that perchance with causeless fury fell. 
 When on a race that shunn'd each lighter blame. 
 It heap'd the guilt of that wild midnight flame; 
 Of a new faith in Eastern lands that rose. 
 Lands, to the gods and Rome unchanging foes; 
 Of wonders wrought by one who guiltless bled, 
 Of whose rent tomb mysterious tales were spread; 
 His name afar his wand 'ring foll'wers bore. 
 And fix'd triumphant feet on ev'ry shore; 
 In that high name, 't was said, the blind had seen. 
 The lame had walk'd, the leper's flesh was clean; 
 But though the bad had turn'd, the good believ'd, 
 Nor priest, nor sage, nor lord, the signs receiv'd; 
 The gods, the gods, their jealous wrath declare;^'* 
 Th' imperial lion rouses from his lair; 
 With their strange love of sin, and contrite woe, 
 And hidden truths the wise could never know. 
 Their bigot zeal, that fain would break the shrine, 
 Nor holds e'en Jove's or Caesar's name divine,'^ 
 On their own heads th' avenging blow they call— 
 On with the rest, this hour to see it fall ! 
 
 Come to the spot where Roman glory rears ^^ 
 The storied piles of twice four hundred years, 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 15 
 
 Where for her sons her proudest wreath she wove, 
 By the high altar of Feretrian Jove; 
 Where o'er the steep her victor's chariot came. 
 While mourning captives brought the spoils to fame; 
 Where on the kindling words her thousands hung, 
 Till up in arms the rous'd republic sprung: 
 Here at this hour th' assembled gazers wait. 
 And two chain'd men move onward to their fate. 
 There is a dungeon, deep, alas, how deep'.^^ 
 Beneath yon ancient wall's tremendous heap, 
 As close, as dark, as ocean's hollow rock. 
 Where howls above the billow's ceaseless shock; 
 One chasm alone its lattice and its way, 
 That to the victim's bed of stone convey 
 Naught but the bread that lengthens out his breath, 
 Naught but the doom that calls him forth to death: 
 Few fathoms off, the crowd is shouting round, 
 Ne'er wins his ear the farthest, faintest sound; 
 Few fathoms off, the dazzling sunbeams fall. 
 Not one can steal within his solid wall: 
 Not e'en the reptile's crawling touch is there; 
 Sense, feeling, life, all bow to slow despair. 
 There Afric's guilty prince in mis'ry lay, 
 An iron heart, of iron hearts the prey: 
 Hour after hour, day after day, he pin'd, 
 Nor fear'd, nor hop'd, enduring, not resign'd; 
 Till hunger's mighty pangs could bear no more, 
 And its last anguish drew the living gore. 
 
16 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Thence were they brought: thtit niurd'rous den liad runt 
 With sounds that come not oft fiom captive's tongue; 
 And judgment's voice had made their bondage sweet. 
 When, for a while, she gave them there to meet. 
 Since once they met on Syria's distant soil, 
 Long years had flown, in suff'ring and in toil: 
 One, with the fire that knew no earthly rest,"^ 
 Pierc'd to the seas that gird the utmost West; 
 One, to his narr'wer call as warmly true, 
 Sought his own people, scatter'd far and few: 
 Alike their aim, alike their heav'n-born strength. 
 Alike the hope that led them here at length, 
 One, to the field his hand in bonds had sown. 
 One, to that reaper joying but alone. 
 They saw on high, in art's most sov'reign skill, 
 Each imag'd godhead threat'ning, cold, and still; 
 They mark'd the whirling throngs that fain would hide 
 That mighty want, which brings all want beside; 
 They knew how soon, to trample truth in dust. 
 Pride stoops to shame, and av'rice creeps for lust, 
 IIow, leagu'd they stand, the common realm to save. 
 Atheist and priest, the tyrant and the slave; 
 They knew what unseen pow'rs of darker might 
 Wag'd desp'rate war, and curs'd the arms of light: 
 They knew, and paus'd not: one resistless voice 
 Still bade them toil, and in that toil rejoice. 
 And triumph in that joy; and now 'twas done. 
 The first, the worthiest, hardest vantage won* 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 17 
 
 For God and man their willing lives they gave, 
 And seal'd their hallow'd vict'ry at the grave. 
 
 Few were the prison hours, and small the trace ^ 
 
 Of aught that mars the form of strength or grace: 
 
 Look on them now; behold that rev'rend head. 
 
 With the thin frosts of green old age o'erspread, ^3 
 
 That calm, clear eye, that broad, unruffled brow. 
 
 That lofty frame, unwont for naught to bow. 
 
 That soul they paint, so solemn, yet so mild. 
 
 Firm as a warrior, peaceful as a child. 
 
 The hardiest wretch who fasten'd on his bands, 
 
 Touch 'd, but with awe, those stretch'd, defenceless hands: 
 
 The crowd, inur'd to terrors, heav'd the sigh, 
 
 " So like a god, and such a death to die!" 
 
 Not that they mark'd the lines of princely birth, 
 
 His was a peasant sire, a peasant's hearth; 
 
 Long in his youth he plied the boldest oar. 
 
 Where break the waves on rough Bethsaida's shore: 
 
 Not that his name had fiU'd the school, the field. 
 
 Far other arms and arts 't was his to wield, 
 
 Since from on high the rushing glory came. 
 
 And ting'd his spirit and his tongue with flame. 
 
 The manly beauty nature's mould impress'd, 
 
 Stamp of the gifts, her noblest and her best. 
 
 Health, courage, fire, and wisdom never taught, 
 
 From that high flash immortal radiance caught: 
 
 2* 
 
18 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 And while asound he turn'd his pitying view, 
 Love, mercy, peace, beam'd all divinely through. 
 Yet he had stood where falsehood's daring tongue 
 Twice in the face of heav'n defiance flung, 
 And while, constrain'd, the awful doom he said, 
 Sank at his feet the apostates pale and dead. 
 Angels that love perchance afar to keep 
 Danger and fear from childhood's gentle sleep. 
 Angels, that swell their song to loftier praise. 
 When one lost sinner turns him from his ways, 
 Have not a tear, when, down to ruin hurl'd, 
 A tyrant falls, and falling frees the world; 
 Or when, while conscience stirs its slumb'ring fires, 
 The hoar blasphemer shudders and expires. 
 
 Younger is he who bears beside his chains. 
 Younger, though less of youthful fire remains. 
 His eye is piercing, but his cheek is pale;""* 
 Erect he moves; erect, but worn and frail; 
 Hardship, and toil, and days of anxious care 
 Have mark'd his mien, and blanch'd his sable hair, 
 Without, within, each pain the guiltless weep. 
 Troubles by land, and perils on the deep. 
 The scourge, the chain, the snares relentless spread. 
 And the keen pang when recreant friendship fled. 
 His is a light that trembles while we gaze, 
 But never fades or falls its heav'nly blaze: 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 19 
 
 'i'here shines the spirit born with ills lo cope. 
 
 Still hoping on when fails all human hope; 
 
 Knowing what doubt to mortal wisdom cleaves, 
 
 Yet fast believing, for the heart believes: 
 
 From his own race a hunted outcast driv'n, 
 
 Forgiving all; to him was much forgiv'n. 
 
 Chosen, and call'd, and on his message sent, 
 
 His Master's voice was with him as he went; 
 
 Mid pains and tears, he pray'd, and wrote, and spoke, 
 
 And smote the fetters, till the fetters broke: 
 
 His fight is fought, his faith has reach 'd the end. 
 
 Firm to the heav'ns his glance, his heart ascend; 
 
 There with the Judge he sees his crown remain, 
 
 And if to live be Christ, to die is gain. 
 
 In that last night his eyes no slumber clos'd; 
 
 The morning found him sleepless, yet repos'd: 
 
 Ne'er from his race for ease he turn'd aside, 
 
 Nor nature ask'd what mightier zeal deniedi 
 
 Now, when he almost panted at the goal. 
 
 Rest more than sleep's descended on his soul. 
 
 Sleep flies the warrior, ere the morning light 
 
 Of the last battle for a nation's right; 
 
 Sleep flies the bridegroom, ere the purple ray 
 
 Proclaims to happy love its nuptial day. 
 
 Might he but write for ev'ry scatt'ring flock 
 
 That mourns, but shall not always mourn, the shock, 
 
*-0 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Oh, to the words of such immortal page 
 
 Should cling the bleeding breasts of ev'ry age! 
 
 It might not be: yet from that prison wall 
 
 Soar'd high and far the chainless heart of Saul, 
 
 O'er the vast work that, ere the world, began. 
 
 The wondrous doom that judg'd and ransom'd man, 
 
 The sev'ring barriers, prostrate at a stroke. 
 
 The nations bowing to Messiah's yoke: 
 
 On the hard dungeon stone he bow'd his knee, 
 
 And thank'd that Lord who makes the pris'ners free. 
 
 The elder slept, and passed in freshen'd dreams 
 Back to his own Judea's vales and streams: 
 Again his vessel touch'd Tiberias' strand; 
 Again he heard the Master's mild command; 
 Again he walk'd by Cedron's waters still. 
 And climb'd, in ev'ning's calm, the olive hill; 
 Again on Tabor's shining summit saw ^^ 
 Unveil'd the seer, unveii'd the fading law; 
 At the high words again his bosom thrilled, 
 "On this firm rock my conqu'ring church I build;" 
 Once more he plung'd, mid winds' and billows' roar. 
 And sank, and clasp'd the rescuing hand once more. 
 Not with its shame return 'd that judgment hall, 
 Where nature's strength was weakness in its fall, 
 Where chosen faith blasphem'd whom all forsook, 
 Till bow'd in tears bv one resistless look: 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 21 
 
 Not on such thoughts, save love's warm tide to swell, 
 Not on such thoughts the parting saint may dwell. 
 For whom their cords the hard tormentors hold, 
 And fix the cross of death, so long foretold. 
 
 Came there no arm from heav'n mid silent night, 
 
 To touch the bonds with touch of seraph might. 
 
 Ope, as in Sion once, each iron gate. 
 
 And snatch the tried apostle from his fate? 
 
 Was there no povv'r its aiding bolt to send. 
 
 The tow'rs to shake, the solid earth to rend, 
 
 Till deeper dungeons than Philippi's heav'd. 
 
 And prouder bosoms trembled and believ'd? 
 
 None: but serene as Eden's breeze of balm 
 
 Rose to the soldier's ear their morning psalm; 
 
 So high, so pure, its distant chorus fell. 
 
 It wak'd each string that yet remains to tell, 
 
 In solemn hours, to man's most secret breast, 
 
 News of the spirit's home of perfect rest. 
 
 They sang, they pray'd; the last of many pray'rs; 
 
 Past was the reign of wishes and of cares: 
 
 And if a grief bedew'd the younger's face. 
 
 Mid the close folding of the last embrace, 
 
 'T was but to think what pangs the day must blend 
 
 On his lov'd brother's passage, till the end. 
 
 The end is nigh: on rolls the mighty crowd. 
 Around them still, behind more fierce and loud: 
 
^•22 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Not one of all believ'd the guilty deed, 
 
 But they had learn'd to see the guiltless bleed; 
 
 And there were there the tyrant's countless spies, 
 
 Dreaded and loath'd, the men of threats and lies, 
 
 Pois'ning with wilder tales the startled ear, 
 
 Tales of black lust and midnight feasts of fear: ^e 
 
 And thus, as on the train of slaughter wind, 
 
 The frequent cry of insult rings behind. 
 
 The faithful flock were hidden, or were fled; 
 
 Some lay in chains, and some for Christ had bled; 
 
 Some from the throng their tim'rous glances cast. 
 
 And bless'd the honor'd martyrs as they pass'd: 
 
 One man alone beside the victims stands, " 
 
 Moves as they move, and hears their last commands; 
 
 Oh, for one page from his recording pen. 
 
 To give each treasur'd word to future men; 
 
 That pen that once, so simple, graceful, wise. 
 
 Of heav'n's bright kingdom told th' unfolding rise, 
 
 From that first day when, high in Salem's shrine. 
 
 Shone on the aged priest the form divine. 
 
 Till, falsehood's realm fast trembling tow'rds its full, 
 
 The Ca3sars' city heard the voice of Paul ! 
 
 Downward they pass'd, by many a prostrate pile, 
 To Tiber's bank, and o'er his sacred isle, =« 
 And stood beneath the mount, where often high 
 The augur watched the birds of omen fly: 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 23 
 
 Slow and more slow the cohort led along, 
 
 For close and closer urg'd the circling throng; 
 
 When through the midst a panting stranger press'd, ^^ 
 
 And fell on Paul's stretch'd arms and throbbing breast; 
 
 " Father," he speaks, and lifts his anguish'd brow, 
 
 " Our Israel's chariot and her horsemen thou!" 
 
 And grief and joy suffuse the martyr's eyes, 
 
 " And thou art come, my son, my son," he cries. 
 
 It vyas the man whose meek and gifted youth 
 
 He found in pureness, and he led in truth: 
 
 The partner giv'n, his ways, his toils to share. 
 
 To know his heart, and feel its ev'ry care: 
 
 Now from Ephesian shores, in summon'd haste, 
 
 O'er sea and land his distant way he trac'd; 
 
 Still in each church fresh tidings met his ear. 
 
 And still the last were dark with heaviest fear; 
 
 He reach'd the gate, he heard the sounds of dread, 
 
 He saw the train, and onward, onward sped; 
 
 To pierce the throng, to pass the spears he dar'd, 
 
 Brav'd all, and saw his master, and was spar'd. 
 
 For so much love a few short moments more; 
 
 A few short moments, and those few are o'er; 
 
 No scroll is left, no voice of man to tell 
 
 What tears, what counsels, mark'd the last farewell; 
 
 And yet perchance that hour ofparting life 
 
 vSpread o'er the church a sway that melted strife. 
 
24 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 And rising nations felt through future years 
 How gently wrought those counsels and those tears. 
 Now at the place of death the victims pause; 
 Around the ring of guards and lictors draws: 
 See, at his post the gloomy headsman stands, 
 The axe of vengeance glittering in his hands; 
 And its rough arms the cross extends on high, 
 Where, like the Lord, the servant true must die; 
 All waits for blood; and, eager for the shock. 
 Ten thousand eyes are gazing tow'rds the block. 
 
 Then spake the Tarsian, and his words were clear; 
 " Men, Romans, brethren, yet a moment hear; 
 Let no man turn from hence, at home to say, 
 Naught hath he known of them who died to-day : 
 Might but all nations hear our lips confess 
 Why thus we suffer, and in suff'ring bless. 
 Not that we strove to rouse a rebel land; 
 Not that we flung destruction's midnight brand ; 
 Not that in scorn of laws or lawful powers, 
 A deed, a word, a silent wish, was ours: 
 Ye men of Rome, we die for what we teach. 
 Truths that must speak with life's fast failing speech ; 
 How God, who made the world, hath sent his Son, 
 In him his realm of grace and peace begun; 
 He died for all, he rose and pass'd the skies, 
 And he shall judge the dead when all shall rise. 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 25 
 
 Wonders and signs by us his pow'r hath wrought, 
 Confirming thus the mighty call we brought, 
 That ye should turn from pride and worldly lust, 
 And from the gods that mock your erring trust ;" — 
 More had he said, but loud the murmurs sprung; 
 And the bold accents died upon his tongue; 
 And one fierce ruffian, hardier than the rest. 
 With his steel gauntlet smote his cheek and breast: 
 A look of love on all the martyr shed. 
 Turned to his friends, and nobly bow'd his head^ 
 Swift falls the blade; it streams the spouting gore, ^^ 
 And soars to God one ransora'd spirit more. 
 
 O'er the vast throng a brief, deep silence sank; 
 
 From her fall'n prey astonish'd vengeance shrank; 
 
 Then, hoarse and faint, arose the heartless call, 
 
 " So let the foes of Rome and Caesar fall!" 
 
 Alone stood Simon; and with lifted eye. 
 
 Like the first martyr when he saw on high 
 
 Heav'n in its glory, and, at God's right hand, 
 
 As once on earth, his ris'n Redeemer stand, 
 
 *« My Lord," he said, " for whom T joy to bleed. 
 
 Be with thy servant in his hour of need: 
 
 Let all in me, as in my brother, own 
 
 The peace thou giv'st in death, and thou alone." 
 
 Round his torn limbs the sev'n-fold bands they wound. 
 
 And his swoli'n forehead almost press'd the ground; 
 3 
 
26 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 They strain'd each cord, they cleft each gushing vein, 
 They plied each weapon of distracting pain: 
 Each pang's, each torture's work, amaz'd they view'dj 
 Each pang, each torture pierc'd, but none subdued: 
 But ere the hammer heav'd its closing blow, 
 Chill, chill and falt'ring roll'd the life blood slow; 
 Ere half their bootless rage the torments spent. 
 On angel wings the sweet release was sent. 
 
 Oh, saints of God! when dropp'd this mortal screen, 
 And on ye gaz'd to all that boundless scene. 
 Where worlds of worlds their mighty voy'ges keep, 
 The barks of joy on yon blue, glorious deep; 
 When the long course of ages lay in light, 
 And what ye here believ'd was turn'd to sight; 
 When on that scatter'd throng ye look'd behind, 
 On Rome, Italia, Europe, earth, mankind. 
 And saw the cause whose conqu'ring^front ye led 
 O'er tower and fane its snow-white banners spread. 
 Bearing o'er all, in vict'ry sure if late, 
 Peace to the household, virtue to the state, 
 Love to the lord, and freedom to the slave, 
 And grace in life, and triumph at the grave; 
 Saw, far as e'er your kindling vision soar'd, 
 The bliss of man, of man redeem'd, restored; 
 Then miglU ye feel how care and woe and pain. 
 And prayer and conflict, naught had pass'd in vain; 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 
 
 And hope's soft strain that cheer'd your prison hours, 
 Pour'd its full music there in Eden's bow'rs. 
 
 The crowd depart; the guarding band has cross 'd; 
 
 la the vast city's tumult all are lost: 
 
 And friendship now may come with pious care, 
 
 And to the graves those honor'd relics bear; 
 
 The nameless graves, where o'er their still repose ^^ 
 
 No hand as yet may drop the palm or rose, 
 
 But where the breeze that comes from ocean sighs. 
 
 And the lone fountain's murm'ring fall replies. 
 
 The crowd depart; each goes his sev'ral way; 
 
 The night may hide the mem'ry of the day: 
 
 Some seek, with equal eye, the shouting ring, 
 
 Where o'er the sands the rival coursers spring; 
 
 Some gaze where one who bears a Roman name 
 
 Wastes in wild pomp the wealth he bought with shame; 
 
 Some track the milk-white victim to the fane; 
 
 Some join the revel's loudest, meanest strain; 
 
 Some win with sluggish toil a scanty bread, 
 
 Forforc'd content by tim'rous tyrants fed; 
 
 Some rush where wants, and some where pleasures call. 
 
 And some to darker deeds: and this is all ? 
 
 No! for the dying martyrs' ev'ry word. 
 
 Some breast was there where fires unconscious stirr'd; 
 
 And, for each drop that stain'd the groaning earth. 
 
 Some phosnix spirit rose in heav'nlier birth. 
 
28 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 A soldier stood, to view th' nnvvonted sight ;32 
 
 A soldier, worn with many a distant fight; 
 
 One of the hard, stern hearts, whom marshall'd forth 
 
 The world's proud queen to bend the stubborn North: 
 
 A stranger long to pain's or pity's tear. 
 
 The shudd'ring pause of conscience as of fear; 
 
 Who all of vice, except its softness, tried, 
 
 And all of battles, but their patriot pride: 
 
 With his sharp sword, in Rome's degen'rate age, 
 
 He hew'd his way from war's ignoblest stage; 
 
 Till o'er his forehead blaz'd a tribune's casque, 
 
 And here he ruled the scene, nor shunn'd his task. 
 
 Death he had mark'd in many a form of dread, 
 
 On the red field, and on the dungeon bed. 
 
 Sinking with doubts, with woes, with terror's groan. 
 
 But ne'er till now with that victorious tone: 
 
 O'er his dark soul an unknown light was flung. 
 
 Like that which first on formless chaos sprung; 
 
 The vulture trembled like the gentle dove, 
 
 While boding thunders murmur'd far above. 
 
 'Twas a new world, whose distant voice he felt; 
 
 He sought th' assemblies where the pious knelt; 
 
 He pray'd, he wept; and ere its earliest bloom 
 
 Spread the green sod around yon humble tomb» 
 
 They saw the chief mid veteran foll'wers bow. 
 
 And mystic waters sign'd each warrior brow 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 29 
 
 Drawn by that thirst of Athens' sagest sage,*-^ 
 Which breathes along his Plato's silvery page, 
 That thirst, which, panting for the fuller flow 
 Of all that wisdom knew or long'd to know, 
 From breast to breast, while nations liv'd and died, 
 Burn'd, till it drank at truth's eternal tide; 
 Drawn by the spreading doctrine's various fame, 
 Amidst the throng a bearded scholar came. 
 His search was o'er. When half a cent'ry's flight 
 Had found him faithful in his Master's sight. 
 While his lov'd truth sustain'd her steadfast friend, 
 And those his life had won beheld his end, 
 Thinking on yon bright martyr forms he slept, 
 And the vast flock their blameless bishop wept. 
 
 From a fair house on Marius' northern side,34 
 Morning's soft breeze alluring to the ride. 
 Yet by the hand on high in secret led, 
 Tow'rds the long Appian Way a chariot sped. 
 There sat a maiden, one whose high-born line 
 In the sad tale of struggling freedom shine; 
 One who had seen whate'er of pleasures sport. 
 Hand link'd in hand with guilt, at slav'ry's court, 
 Gaz'd with a Roman virgin's redd'ning mien, 
 And turn'd to nature, sick'ning from the scene. 
 Sick of a world, where, tainting ev'ry clime, 
 RoU'd high the whelming flood of lordly crime; 
 3* 
 
30 THE MAKTYEDOM OF 
 
 Sick of a heav'n, that, playful fancy's birth, 
 But cloth'd in light the flilse, frail joy of earth. 
 Must the soft heart that inly weeps and bleeds, 
 Silent and lone, and feels how much it needs, 
 Then drinks the cup immortal nature gives. 
 And beats in swelling love for all that lives, 
 Oh, must it come where slaughter's work is don© 
 By man on man, beneath yon glorious sun? 
 Enough, enough! the words have caught her ear: 
 'T is bliss to speak, 't is life, 't is heav'n to hear! 
 Lo, years have fled; behold her sit and smile, 
 Where the blue waters gird that narrow isle,^^ 
 On whose low shore Vespasian's hard aw'ard 
 Bound to his grave her heart's still youthful lord: 
 The treach'rous gale has poison in its breath, 
 Th' envenom'd exile is but tardier death; 
 Yet she is there: they walk the sandy beach. 
 O'er wave and sky she bids his spirit reach, 
 Stays his weak frame, his weary sufF'rings cheers, 
 And if he weeps, oh, those are joyful tears; 
 In their poor tent she reads from that dear scroll. 
 Of faith, and glory, and the deathless soul: 
 Swift and more swift his brighten'd days decline. 
 Long won and prov'd, he hopes the sacred sign; 
 Alone, she must, she may; behold her there. 
 Like a fair angel trampling on despair, 
 With her pale hand his paler forehead lave. 
 And point and follow o'er the conquer 'd grave. 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 81 
 
 So speeds the work of God. From son to sire. 
 From spouse to spouse, it spreads th' immortal fire, 
 Friend teaches friend; age leads the eyes of youth; 
 The path is op'd, the path of grace and truth; 
 Op'd for the broken heart, the longing breast, 
 The searching spirit, happy here to rest. 
 O'er earth, o'er sea, on love's unfailing wing, 
 Their call of peace the bride, the Spirit bring; 
 And he who hears repeats the glorious sound; 
 And he who thirsts that living stream has found : 
 In vain the steel, in vain the monster's den, 
 Pride's impious scoff, and error's pois'ning pen; 
 Springs from the martyr's blood the seed divine; 
 The exile's joy lights up his dreary mine; ^s 
 The wise has arm'd him for the holy strife; 
 The humbler champion gives his death or life; 
 Village and town and camp and court obey; 
 And the fierce tyrant owns his baffled sway.^^ 
 By Sion's dust the spreading flock remains; 
 High Antioch sees them round her subject plains; 
 In Egypt's schools the depths of truth are read; 
 And ancient Carthage rears a hallo w'd head: 
 An empire's idols fall from ev'ry dome, 
 An hundred crosses rise o'er Christian Rome. 
 Earth reels beneath the rough barbarians' flood; 
 Still shines the day above that sea of blood: 
 Scourges of God, they know the hand that wields; 
 To Caesar's faith, see, Cesar's conqu'ror yields; 
 
Jl'2 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 And still that day, with pale and troubled beams, 
 O'er each wild land a hope, a glory streams. 
 Such was the sight that fir'd the seraph gaze; 
 So spread the church her march of future days: 
 Alas, not so alone! with wasting sweep 
 Came night, came midnight, long and dark and deep; 
 How fades the twilight, sinks each nobler star; 
 The watchman shouts, but still the morn is far; 
 High and more high, the waves of falsehood dash; 
 Fn warring din impetuous passions clash; 
 Now, all is hush'd, the spirit's silent tomb, 
 Save yon high temple flashing through the gloom; 
 For there, ten thousand torches blazing round, 
 Mid banners spread, and music's magic sound, 
 Pride rears his throne, his trampled captives brings. 
 Beneath his footstool binds the necks of kings; 
 Seals the bless'd page that heav'n has op'd for all, 
 Obedient error hast'ning at his call; 
 Frames for his countless hosts their wily plan; 
 Spurns the free heart and soul of struggling man; 
 Drives still devotion from her household shrine, 
 In cells, in wastes, without a sigh to pine; 
 From mercy's stream, so rich, so deep, so wide, 
 Gives, drop by drop, a stain'd and mingled tide; 
 In God's own seat aspires his pomp to hold, 
 Awards each realm redemption bought and sold, 
 With gilded state his idol pageant bears, 
 And bids the throng adore, and mocks their pray'rs. 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 33 
 
 Yet might e'en then the apostle's piercing eye 
 The heav'nly walk of faith's meek step descry; 
 Where, on the deeper heart that mus'd alone, 
 Through the thin veil bright gleams of glory shone; 
 Where, to the truth of elder ages true, 
 From that pure source the patient student drew, 
 Where in the wild th' undaunted. preacher trod, 
 And list'ning nations bless'd the man of God; 
 Where the mild prelate stood mid ravag'd lands, 
 Peace on his lips, and bounty in his hands; 
 Where, glad a world of storms and snares to shun. 
 Plied her still work of love the sainted nun; 
 Where the true champion, battling for the Cross, 
 Laid down his life, nor felt that life a loss; 
 Where many, many, scorn'd and driv'n of men, 
 Woke the free hymn along some rocky glen; 
 And many, many, trod the ancient fane, 
 And trembling, erring knelt, nor knelt in vain. 
 
 And lo! it comes, it comes, th' appointed hour: 
 Who, who shall stay the word's own living pow'r? 
 The pray'r of anguish rises from the stake; 
 From troubled sleep the swords of empires wake; 
 The banish 'd household seek a kindlier air; 
 The work must tarry: but the work is there. 
 Long bleeds the church, by struggling factions rent; 
 Long sleeps the church, in slothful peace content; 
 
34 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Long; but perhaps not always: unforgot 
 
 Springs to her inmost soul her destin'd lot, 
 
 In the white robes that pour resplendent light, 
 
 From Calv'ry's crimson stream forever white, 
 
 T.ove in her eye's high sweetness beaming fair, 
 
 And hope's fresh wreath twin'd round her golden hair, 
 
 In the pure beauty of a virgin bride. 
 
 To win the nations to her Saviour's side. 
 
 Till earth once more its pristine life begin. 
 
 This glorious earth, so glorious e'en in sin! 
 
 Perhaps, the years of darker conllict past. 
 
 Came yet a scene, the brightest, longest, last; 
 
 Its dawning told by yon prophetic ray. 
 
 Its close dissolving in eternal day. 
 
 Perhaps they saw, and earth such sight shall see. 
 
 All realms, all princes, bend the willing knee. 
 
 And, like Arabia's guided sages, bring 
 
 Their gifts, their treasures, to the promis'd King; 
 
 Gifts, where the sov'reign Father's image rests, 
 
 And, for that image, dear to filial breasts. 
 
 The hallow'd genius, knowledge, fancy, art. 
 
 The hallow'd land, and throne, and hearth, and heart. 
 
 Perhaps they saw th' imperial city tow'r 
 
 In other splendor than her crowns of pow'r; 
 
 To all her temples pour'd the pious throng, 
 
 Pure swell'd to heav'n Italia's melting song; 
 
 In Christ's pure truth, his brethren's saintly guide, 
 
 Stood the meek foU'wer of those men of pride; 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 35 
 
 Where soft Campania's shore the zephyrs kiss, 
 
 Spread a bright landscape of untainted bliss; 
 
 And thou, lov'd Venice, with thy smiling train. 
 
 How bless'd, how peerless, look'd'st thou o'er the main! 
 
 On golden isles and sunny hills of Greece 
 
 The olive rose, of wisdom and of peace; 
 
 The churches, water'd by apostles' tears, 
 
 Bloom'd up in freshness from their lonely years, 
 
 On Nubian altars woke forgotten fire; 
 
 Liv'd in the Arab's breast his patriarch sire; 
 
 Mid Indian palms, from Tigris' ancient side. 
 
 Where China flung her thousand portals wide, 
 
 Where hardy virtue tow'r'd o'er Northern snows, 
 
 Where desert Afric blossom 'd like the rose. 
 
 Where, soaring on, Teutonia's eagle mind 
 
 Still grasp'd some loftier wisdom for mankind. 
 
 Where Britain's fleets, all scattered o'er the deep, 
 
 Found none but brethren, far as sail could sweep. 
 
 Where in wide lands, beyond the Roman's dream, 
 
 Nations on nations pour'd their happy stream. 
 
 Where Sion's wand'rers yet once more were won, 
 
 And heav'n's glad household hail'd the rescued son, 
 
 From scenes of thought and sport, of toil and rest. 
 
 Of joy and grief, but grief was joy more bless'd, 
 
 Like the high praise that all the rolling spheres 
 
 Send in still music to immortal ears, 
 
 A breath, a voice, a chorus pass'd above. 
 
 And all the burthen of its song was love. 
 
36 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 No worthy deed for one alone is done; 
 No hullo w'd life may bloom alone for one; 
 The humblest good man works on later times; 
 The loneliest virtue spreads to distant climes: 
 Through rolling ages winds the heav'nly chain, 
 Where all are links, and not a link is vain: 
 And happy spirits, watching from on high 
 The coming kingdom nigher and more nigh, 
 See where their labor scoop'd some bubbling well, 
 A mighty stream along the desert swell; 
 Till earth's last hour its sacred flow endures: 
 Firstlings of faith, how rich a tide was yours! 
 
 But thou, who com'st from thine own Northern land 
 On Roman dust in mem'ry's trance to stand, 
 When thine enchanted feet have learn'd to stray 
 Through all this classic waste of old decay. 
 Imperial halls half hid mid lowly vines, 
 Fair imag'd saints that smile o'er conquer'd vines; 
 Arch far o'er arch, where moss and ivy grow, 
 Columns that stood while empires died below. 
 The walks where fable's morning shadows spread. 
 The graves and trophies of the mighty dead; 
 When thou hast wander'd, art's impassion'd slave, 
 And own'd what might to man the Maker gave; 
 When o'er thy soul the spirit of the past 
 All its thick cloud of solemn dreams hath cast; 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 37 
 
 Then seek, with me, some spot where fancy's ear 
 
 Th' apostle martyr's echoing voice may hear; 
 
 And from that spot behold, behind, before, 
 
 As round a rock, the sea of ages roar. 
 
 Thou hast a bark to cross the stormy tide; 
 
 Thou too must follow, and perchance may'st guide: 
 
 From first to last one sov'reign pow'r extends. 
 
 And all the light, the worth, the glory blends; 
 
 It fill'd those breasts, it center'd in that hour, 
 
 It crown'd that spot: know'st thou that sov'reign pow'r ? 
 
 Hast thou not felt, oh, feel its presence now: 
 
 And hast thou felt, in meek devotion bow: 
 
 And when thy words, in home's delighted hall, 
 
 The tale, the scenes, the dreams of Rome recall. 
 
 Then be thou strong to walk where such have led ; 
 
 Arm for the field where worthier bosoms bled; 
 
 And find thy bliss to see amidst thy sphere, 
 
 In life, in death, the closing conquest near. 
 
NOTE 8. 
 
 Note 1. — Pago vii. 
 The. morn was high in heaven, the morn of spring. 
 There is here a variation from the tradition, unless the spring be 
 allowed, in the latitude of a poetical expression, to include the kindred 
 month of June. The twenty-ninth of that month, is the day assigned 
 by all the various forms of the tradition, to the martyrdom of the two 
 apostles; though, while the accounts concur in this, one of them sup- 
 poses that they died in two successive years, on the same day of the 
 same month. So Prndentius, the Christian poet: 
 
 Unus u'.rMmrjue dies, pleno tamen innovalus anno, 
 Vidit superba morte laureatum. — Peristepli. Hymn. 1?. 
 
 So also Augustine de sanct. serm. 28. A large majority, however, of 
 the ancient writers, maintain that they suffered at the same time, in 
 one of the last years of the reign of Nero, probably A. D. 69. P>ishop 
 Pearson, in his Annales Paulini, mentions the twenty-second of Feb- 
 ruary as the day of the martyrdom, and refers to Sylvius in Calendario 
 VIII. Kal. Martiis. All the particulars of the several traditions, wheth- 
 er true or false, may be found in the Annals of Cardinal Beronius. Ey 
 the adoption or omission of any of them in this poem, it is not designed 
 either to maintain or to deny their authenticity. 
 
 Note 2. — Page viii. 
 
 Where the long hills from lone Soracte sweeps 
 And the far plain spreads onward to the deep! 
 
 Mount Soracte, rising above the other hills, and separated from 
 them, is, perhaps, the most prominent natural object, to one who looks 
 from Rome over the surrounding Campagna. If it be in winter, he 
 will be reminded of the eighth ode of the first book of Horace: 
 
40 NOTES. 
 
 Vides ut alta stet nive caiididura 
 Soracte. 
 
 The range of the Alban hills and the adjacent extremities of the Appe- 
 nines, stretch towards the southward till they terminate about Terra- 
 cina, the 
 
 Impositum saxis lale candentibus Anxur. 
 
 Note 3. — Page viii. 
 
 By arch, ayid to?tib, and column's tall array, 
 Lo, towards each land the host^s majestic Way. 
 
 How conspicuous were the tombs upon some of the Vice, we may 
 judge from the still remaining mausoleum of Caius Cestius and the wife 
 of Crassus, and from the complaint of Cicero, that the Appian Way 
 was so lined with sepulchres, that there was scarcely room for the 
 erection of country-houses. 
 
 Note 4. — Page viii. 
 Brings the long stream of art its healthful tide. 
 The remains of the aqueducts, which conveyed their water a dis- 
 tance of many miles to Rome, are, as is well known, among the most 
 astonishing ruins of the Campagna. 
 
 Note 5. — Page ix. 
 Set, on each height an ancient city's tow'rs. 
 In many parts of Italy, the old cities are almost uniformly situated 
 on the very summits of steep hills; a kind of sites as picturesque as 
 inaccessible. 
 
 Note 6. — Page ix. 
 Pours rapid A?iio ma7iy a ivhite cascade. 
 Without referring to the artificial cascades at Tivoli, the natural fall 
 will perhaps justify this line. The Cascatelle, however, in which 
 human labor has made the waters of the Teverone dash, ia several 
 places, down declivities of a hundred feet, may almost match the work 
 of nature, though they possess a gentler beauty than that of ihe "prge- 
 ceps Anio" itself. 
 
NOTES. 41 
 
 Note 7. — Page ix. 
 Atid old Prceneste^s hill. 
 
 (Juique ahum Piaiieste viri, quiciue arva Gabiiia 
 Junonis, gelidumque Anitnem, el roscida rivis 
 Hernica saxa coliml. — Virs- Est. Lib. vii. v. 682. 
 
 Note 8 . — Page ix. 
 These jilains have heard the Fabii's martial tread. 
 The three hundred and six of that name, who, except one man, fell 
 together in battle. From the only survivor descended the family of 
 the celebrated Dictator. 
 
 Note 9. — Page ix. 
 TVon; hut e^en now, long, long the height is passed. 
 The Roman historians, from Livy downwards, lament and denounce 
 the vices of their age, and the degeneracy from the ancient hardihood. 
 Those vices, indeed, had reached a height of which it is, perhaps, im- 
 possible for modern, at least for American minds, to form a conception. 
 It is a most interesting speculation to consider the precise state of man- 
 kind when Christianity appeared; and the moral ruin to which, without 
 Christianity, the Roman Empire, and, what is almost synonymous, the 
 world, was rapidly approaching. 
 
 Note 10. — Page x. 
 
 A^ot now 171 joy! from Jove's illustrious dome. 
 Looks the sad burgher o'er his wasted home. 
 
 The fire, and the consequent persecution of the Christians, took 
 place A. D. G4, and the common voice of antiquity sets the death of 
 the two Apostles A. D, 68 or 69; so that, if historical truth were a 
 high object in poetry, the anachronism would be inexcusable. We 
 may be allowed, however, to suppose that the ruins of so vast a con- 
 flagration were still visible at the distance of so few years, and that an 
 old accusation might be joined with others in fomenting popular resent- 
 ment. The imperial palace on Mount Palatine was destroyed by the 
 
42 NOTES. 
 
 flames. It is scarcely necessary to allude to tlie conduct of Nero on 
 this occasion. 
 
 Note 11. — Page x. 
 And all the soul of Cherea fills his breast. 
 Cherea, the courageous assassin of Caligula. 
 
 Note 12. — Page x- 
 Tht/ golden pomp. 
 The celebrated palace of Nero, called from its splendor the Golden 
 House, and of which scarcely a vestige remains, was built upon a por- 
 tion of the city which had been prostrated by the conflagration. 
 
 Note 13. — Page x. 
 j2 trembling slave beneath a freedjnan^s shed. 
 
 The narrative of the death of Nero, given by Suetonious, is minute 
 and vivid. He had fled to the villa of his freedman Phaon, which was 
 near the fourth mile-stone from the city, between the Via Salaria and 
 the Via Nomentana. The account proceeds: 
 
 " Leaving the road, and dismissing the horses amongst the bushes, 
 he escaped by a foot-path through the reeds, not without difficulty, and 
 being even obliged to spread his garments under his feet, to the wall of 
 the villa. Here Phaon advised that he should retire for a while into an 
 excavation made by the removal of sand; but he refused, saying that 
 he would never go under ground alive. During the short delay, 
 while a clandestine entrance into the villa was prepared, he took in the 
 hollow of his hand a little water from the ditch below, and drank it, 
 saying, this is the boiled water of JVero." [Allusion is here made 
 to a luxurious device of his mentioned by Pliny.] *' With his cloak 
 torn by the thorns, he crept on his hands and feet through a narrow 
 hole into an adjoining cell, and there lay down upon a miserable bed, 
 covered with an old mantle. Hungry and thirsty, he yet refused some 
 vile bread which was offered him: but drank a little warm water. — 
 
NOTES. 43 
 
 Then, while every one exhorted him to snatch himself from impending 
 disgrace, he ordered a trench to be made before him, after the measure 
 of his body, and pieces of marble, if any were at hand, together with 
 wood and water, to be brought, for the purposes of sepulture, weeping 
 at each preparation, and repeating. Quails artifex pereo! In the 
 midst of these delays, the courier of Phaon came in, and, seizing from 
 him his papers, Nero read that the Senate had declared him an ene- 
 my^ and condemned him to he punished after the ancient custom. 
 Inquiring what was that kind of punishment, and finding that the head 
 of the naked criminal was to be placed within the stocks, and his body 
 beaten with rods till he died, he grasped in alarm two daggers which 
 he had brought with him, and, having tried the edge of each, laid them 
 by, saying that the fatal hour luas not yet corne. Then he would 
 call upon Sporiis to weep and lament, and again, he would beseech 
 that some one would show him, by example, how to die; and some- 
 times would reproach his own slowness with the words, / live dishon- 
 orably and vilely; and in Greek, it becomes not JVero, it becomes 
 him not thus to toait: come, arouse thyself. The horsemen now 
 approached, who were commanded to take him alive. Perceiving this, 
 he said tremblingly, 
 
 " Methinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear." — Horn. 11. Book x. v. 535. 
 
 and thrust the blade into his throat, with the assistance of Epaphroditus, 
 his Secretary. While he was yet alive, the centurion rushed in, and 
 applied his cloak to the wound, as if he had come to his assistance. 
 Nero only answered. Too late, and. This is fidelity. With that 
 word he died, his eyes standing out and staring to the horror of the 
 spectators." — Suet. Lib. vi. Cap. 48, 49. 
 
 Note 14. — Page xiii. 
 
 jG'en yet, perchance, some hardy breasts remain 
 Where hoary Galba leads the arms of Spain. 
 
 Sergius Sulpicius Galba was called to the empire by his army, at the 
 age of seventy-two, while commanding in Hispania Terraconensis. — 
 
44 NOTES, 
 
 Suetonius thus describes him: "acer, vehemens, et in coercendis quidem 
 delictis vol iniinodicus." — Lib. viii. Cap. 1. 
 
 Note 15. — Page xiii. 
 Around some stripling Titus'' modest head. 
 
 Titus Vespasian, " amor ac deliciai generis humani," was born A. D. 
 41, and was therefore at this time twenty-seven or eight years old. 
 
 Note 16. — Page xiii. 
 
 Yet private worth with good Virginius hloom. 
 Reject a croivn and ivi?! a peaceful tomb. 
 
 Rufus Virginius, who twice rejected the imperial purple, during the 
 civil wars that preceded the accession of Vespasian. 
 
 Note 17. — Page xiii. 
 
 And still, perchance, all woman'' s faith and grace. 
 E'en as of late Massilia's walls embrace. 
 That saw a mother, with a ?nother''s fear. 
 Thy future conq'ror, Caledonia, rear. 
 
 The mother of Agricola is thus mentioned by his son-in-law and 
 biograplier. " Mater Julia Procilla fuit, raroe castitatis: in hujus sinu 
 indulgentiaque eductus, per omnem honestarum artium cultum pueritiam 
 adolescentiamque transegit. Arcebat eum ab illecebris peccantium, 
 prttter ipsius bonam integramque naturam, quod statim parvulus sedem 
 ac nuigistram stadiorum Massiliam habuerit, locum Gra^ca comitate et 
 provinciali parsimonia mistum ac bene compositum." — Tacit. Vit. 
 Agric. Cup. 4. 
 
 Note 18.— Page xiv. 
 
 The godsy the gods, their jealous wrath declare. 
 
 The Christians were often made to bear the guilt of drawing down 
 
 public calamities, as judgments from the gods. Augustine quotes the 
 
 proverb "non pluit Deus, due ad Christianos:" and even Porphyry 
 
 finds the cause of the continuance of an infectious disease, in the anger 
 
NOTES. 45 
 
 of Esculapius against the new and successful religion. (See Neander's 
 Church History, Vol. i., pp. 87, 88. 
 
 Note 19. — Page xiv. 
 JVor holds e'en Jove^s or CcBsar^s name divine. 
 The Christians were termed " irreligiosi in Caesares," for refusing to 
 worship the imperial image. 
 
 Note 20.— Page 14. 
 
 Come to the spot where Roman glory rears 
 The storied piles of twice four hundred years. 
 
 The Forum, immediately below the Capitol. Under the Capitol 
 were the Mamertine prisons. 
 
 Note 21. — Page xv. 
 
 There is a dungeon, deep, alas, how deep! 
 Beneath yon ancient pile^s tremendous heap. 
 
 This description is literally true of the cell which is shown as their 
 place of confinement, and in which Jugurtha is said to have been left 
 to perish with hunger. 
 
 Note 22. — Page xvi. 
 
 One with the fire that knew no earthly rest. 
 Pierced to the seas that gird the utmost West. 
 
 That St. Paul really executed his intention of visiting Spain, (Rom. 
 15, 24,) or at least preached in regions west of Italy, is conclusively 
 proved by the assertion of Clement, Bishop of Rome, in his first Epistle 
 to the Corinthians, § 5. For the rest, his return to Rome and meeting 
 with his brother Apostle, are matters on which all authentic history is 
 silent. 
 
 Note 23. — Page xvii. 
 
 Behold that reverend head. 
 With the thin locks of green old age overspread. 
 
 Nicephorus, no authority certainly in the matter, gives this descrip^ 
 ion of the person of St. Peter: " Petrus quidern baud crassa corporis 
 
46 NOTES. 
 
 statura fuit, sed quce aliquantum esset erectior, facie subpallida et alba 
 admodum." — Lih. ii. Cap. 37. 
 
 Note 24. — Page xviii. 
 His eye is piercing, but his cheek is pale. 
 St. Paul is represented by the same author as "corpore parvo et con- 
 Iracto atque incurvo et paululum inflexo, facie Candida annosque plures 
 prse se ferente, et capite modico." — Lib. ii. Cap. 37. 
 
 Note 25. — Page xx. 
 
 Again on Tabor^s shining summit saw 
 UnveiVd the seer, unveiPd the fading law. 
 
 .Mount Tabor is usually supposed to have been the scene of the 
 Transfiguration. 
 
 Note 26.— Page xxii. 
 Tales of black lusts and midnight feasts of fear. 
 Popular fanaticism attributed to the early Christians, in their assem- 
 blies, the same outrages and unnatural practices, such as the devouring 
 of children, which in the middle ages were charged upon the Templars, 
 the Jews, and other persecuted classes of men. 
 
 Note 27. — Page xxii. 
 One man alone beside the victims stands. 
 St. Luke was with the Apostle Paul, when he wrote his second epis- 
 tle to Timothy, which was probably in the early part of his last im- 
 prisonment. See 2 Timothy, iv, 11. He might have remained to the 
 last. 
 
 Note 28.. — Page xxii. 
 
 To Tiber's bank, and o'er his sacred isle. 
 
 This would have been the direct course from the Mamertine prison to 
 
 Mount Janiculus, where St Peter is said to have suffered, on the spot 
 
 now covered by the most stupendous pile on earth. Baronius labors 
 
 diligently to prove, that this place was embraced within both the gene- 
 
NOTES. 47 
 
 ral names, Janiculus and Valicanus. The tradition supposes tliat St 
 Paul was put to death, although at the same time, yet at a different 
 place, without the gate, upon the road to Ostia, on the spot where 
 stood the rich church of St. Paul, ruined by fire within a few years. 
 For the sake of unity, it was thought expedient to depart from the tra- 
 dition. 
 
 Note 29, — Page xxiii. 
 When through the midst a panting stranger pressed. 
 The presence of Timothy, like that of Luke, ia not supported by any 
 tradition; but it may be judged not improbable, from the fact that the 
 last letter of the apostle had requested him to "do his diligence to 
 come shortly unto him." — 2 Timothy, iv, 9. 
 
 Note 30. — Page xxv. 
 
 Swift falls the blade : it streams, the spouting gore. 
 
 There is an insipid story that milk, and not blood alone, flowed from 
 
 the veins. 
 
 Note 31. — Page xxvii. 
 
 The nameless grave where o'er their still repose, 
 JVo hand as yet may drop the palm or rose. 
 
 This may be imagined to have been "ad Aquas Salvias," three miles 
 from Rome, where St. Paul was said to have been buried. The 
 graves of the martyrs were certainly honored at a very early period; at 
 first, without any superstitious reverence: but it was a practice that led 
 to some of the earliest superstitions. 
 
 Prudentius says. Hymn, de Defunct. 
 
 Nos tuta fovebimus osia 
 Violis ac fronde frequenti, 
 Titulumque et frigida gaxa 
 Liquido spargemus odore. 
 
 Note 32. — Page xxviii. 
 A soldier stood to view th^ unwonted sight. 
 The tradition says that three of the guards of St. Paul, whom it 
 
48 NOTES. 
 
 names Longinus, Acastus, and Megistus, were converted on this occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Note 33. — Page xxix. 
 
 Which breathes along his Plato^s silvery page. 
 
 That there was a greater affinity between the sentiments of the Pla- 
 
 tonists and Christianity, than between the latter and any other of the 
 
 philosophical systems, is as little to be doubted, as that the attempt to 
 
 unite Platonism with Christianity, brought much evil into the church. 
 
 Note 34. — Page xxix. 
 From a fair house on Marius^ northern side. 
 Mount Marius, immediately to the north of the city. 
 
 Note 35.— Page xxx. 
 Where the blue waters gird that narrow isle. 
 The practice, under the Emperors, of sending political exiles to islands 
 in the Mediterranean, was so common, that Tacitus, describing the un- 
 happy times with which his History begins, uses the strongest express- 
 ion : " plenum exiliis mare." — Hist. lib. i, cap. 2. 
 
 Note 36. — Page xxxi. 
 The exile's joy lights up his dreary mine. 
 To be condemned to perpetual labor in the mines was one of the 
 most common, and not one of the lightest punishments, inflicted on the 
 persecuted Christians. 
 
 Note 37. — Page xxxi. 
 And the fierce tyrant owns his baffled sway. 
 The edict of the cruel Galerius, issued A. D. 311, seems to acknowl- 
 edge that he gave up the persecution, because he found it impossible to 
 check the progress of Christianity.