berkeleyN LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA d /^^, /■/. J? LOAN STACK EDINBUKGH : PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND (jOliPANY, PAUL'S WORK. /uo f ittle miimt /HAXa} THIS IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR, TO THE MEMORY OF STEPHANA FUSSELL BAYLY, A DEARLY LOVED DAUGHTER, WHO DIED AT NAPLES ON THE 28TH JANUARY 1850, IN THE NINETEENTH YEAR OF HER AGF. Cleve Hili>, Bath, January 28, 1860. 76-? «tJ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/descriptiveotherOObaylrich CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION, . NICE, OR NIZZA, IN PIEDMONT, THE SISTERS AT FLORENCE, ROME, VIRGIL S TOMB, NEAR NAPLES, POMPEII — A DRAMA, POESTUM, JERUSALEM, HOREB, . TO LIEUT. -GEN. SIR CHARLES NAPIER, EXTRACT FROM A LETTER WRITTEN BY NAPIER, IN REPLY, . SIR CHARLES PAGE 1 5 31 41 127 130 133 195 200 201 202 204 CONTENTS. STANZAS TO GIOBERTI, TO THE BARON DE WEISS, TO THE BARONNE DE WEISS, TO MISS NEVILL, TO CAPTAIN AND MRS SAUNDERS, LINES TO MY DAUGHTER, TO MY DAUGHTER M , god's PROVIDENCE, TO A MOTH, VALLIS-VALE, SOMERSETSHIRE, THOUGHTS, TO MY FLOWERS, THE SPRING, ON THE DEATH OF A CANARY, THE VIOLET, TO MY CHILDREN, HYMN FOR CHILDREN, ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED BROTHER, CONTENTS. Vll IMMOKTALITY, .... 275 LINES ON BEADING A POEM, 277 TO THE FEIEND OF MY BOSOM, 27S IMPROMPTU SONG, 280 SONG, ..... 281 FAREWELL TO LOCH-LOMOND, 282 PLEASURE, .... 284 " TRUST IN GOD," 286 TO MISS W , .... 287 EARLY LONGING TO TRAVEL, 288 THE SEA BY MOONLIGHT, 290 TO MARY, .... 291 THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER HORN, 296 OLD JEFFRIES, THE STONEBREAKER, 304 AN EVENING HYMN, 309 HYMN, ..... 310 PSALM xcvn., .... 311 HYMN, ..... 314 Vlll CONTENTS. TO SUMMER, . . . . THE STORM, .... LINES ON THE CHIMING OF THE CHURCH BELLS, LOVE, . . . . DISSIMULATION, .... AN EVENING HYMN, TO THE SUN, .... PAGE 315 317 319 321 322 323 325 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. EKRATA. Page 89, Hue G, for " With tender care; heedless of winter's frosts," read '• With tender care, heedless of winter's frosts ; " Page 224, line 26, for " Too beauteous," read " Too beautiful." „ 249, „ 2d, for "the gaudy flowers," read "their gaudy plumes." „ 249,, „ 24, for "silvery forest," read "bending forest." jlow many yuui.g a^^.^..^^ The tempting wreaths of Fame decoy ! With beating hearts aloft they soar, Then stricken sink, unheard of more. Ah ! Uttle does the critic know How keenly are his satires felt ; How many bards his shafts lay low, Who at the shrine of Fame have knelt Minds trusting, elegant-though free From practised rules of poesy. viii CONTENTS. TO SUMMER, PAGE 315 317 THE STORM, ..... LINES ON THE CHIMING OF THE CHURCH BELLS, . 319 LO^ . . 321 DESCEIPTIVE AND OTHEE POEMS. INTRODUCTION. Why shrink from public gaze, my Muse ? What though thy strains may humble be, And some thy numbers may abuse, And coldly smile or frown at thee ? While valued friends approve thy lays, Thou needest not the cynic's praise. How many flowers the chilling winds And biting frosts of spring destroy ; How many young aspiring minds The tempting wreaths of Fame decoy ! With beating hearts aloft they soar, Then stricken sink, unheard of more. Ah ! little does the critic know How keenly are his satires felt ; How many bards his shafts lay low, Who at the shrine of Fame have knelt : Minds trusting, elegant — though free From practised rules of poesy. DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. The wayward bard, who wildly sings, Nor neatly turns his periods smooth, May haply gain for praises, stings. Which taste nor talent can remove ; And wounded Genius bend her head, Upon the lyre whose strains have fled. Oh, few are those whose sterner souls. Back on the tasteless mind can cast The bitter shafts their hand controls. Yet nobly profit by the past, And string anew the prostrate lute, Nor let its chasten'd chords be mute ! Yet some there are whose friendly aid The inexperienced bard will cheer, And round his simple numbers braid Bright thoughts, expressive, sweet, and clear Who scatter flowers around his feet, And every new-tried eflbi't greet. I envy not the listless mind That dreams away its fleeting hours. That nothing in this world can find To exercise its latent powers : The heavens, the earth, the restless sea, To all, a source of thought should be. And surely we may contemplate, With daily profit and delight. These glorious works, and man's estate, As wonders of the Infinite ; And note our thoughts, though weak they be, In humble prose or poesy ! INTRODUCTION. Then cease, my fears ; and thou, my Muse, Lift up again thy drooping head, Nor longer thy wild notes refuse To him who fondly thou hast wed : Thy simple strains are only meant For those with humble notes content. Nice, 1848. NICE, OR NIZZA, IN PIEDMONT. NICE, OR NIZZA, IN PIEDMONT. Nice ! lovely daughter of the dark blue sea, Whose rolling breakers dash their foam at thee ; Thy Alpine barriers stay the northern blast, And round thy peaceful walls protection cast ! Oh ! 'tis a glorious sight, at silent eve. On thy tall cliffs to gain a short reprieve From the gay flutter of the idle crowd, Who throng thy terraced beach, in converse loud. And thence to watch the setting sun expire. Tinging the distant waters with his fire ; To trace thy fragile barks, as, gliding by. Like passing spectres, beautiful they fly — Their graceful sails outspread to woo the air. Which fans thy fragrant atmosphere so rare ; As, booming from thy time-worn, rocky shore, We hear the mighty waves incessant roar. And, at short intervals, melodious strains Of new-born Italy's aspiring swains, Or, not less stirring, th' untutor'd lays Of native sailors chanting loud thy praise — Whose crimson caps in unison appear With Nature's glowing blushes far and near. O DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. •How gloriously the lovely moon ascends, Who from the deep her nightly journey wends, And on the slumbering world her light bestows, Smiling in conscious beauty as she goes ; Her glory trailing on the outspread sea, Whose heaving bosom bears it gallantly ! Beautiful planet ! sailing through the sky, Before thy face the shades of evening fly ; Dress'd in thy virgin light. Creation smiles, And many an aching heart of care beguiles. When raging tempests rouse the angry sea, The sailor lifts his troubled eyes to thee ; Thee he invokes to shed thy welcome light. And guide him safely through the depths of night. Here sits the lonely nightingale, awake, And sings her lays within the silent brake ; As sweetly trilling from some neighbouring tree, Her partner echoes back the melody. Who has not felt, in some such spot as this. His spirit drooping with excess of bliss ; Wish'd for a kindred mind, whose fervent soul Could with him silently his voice control. Share his emotions, realise the hour. And bear upon his heart its magic power ; Yet deem'd it better far to be alone. Than have one thought intruded on his own ? There is a mystic feeling, undefined. Within the deep recesses of the mind ; A chain electric, stretching throughout space, Pervading, and connecting all our race With things unknown to us — things infinite NIZZA. And material ; — the undying soul Dwells in the body, and pervades the whole, And one fine chord, invisible, extends From mind to mind, and each with other blends ; One casual touch delight or pain imparts, And Nature with the sudden impulse starts. Who has not felt, when far from some dear friend, His spirit with that absent loved one's blend. That he, with sympathetic mind, could tell The thoughts of one so distant, loved so well ? The bright moon smiling, with her shining train, When gazed on from the land, or fickle main, Excites the same emotions, thoughts, and prayers, In absent minds, as those he fondly shares. Such soothing intercourse imparts new bliss To pleasures, in a world still bright as this ; For oh, this world is fair and beautiful. Though madly we its purest joys annul ! God form'd it in its glory, fair and bright, That man might in its loveliness delight. From hence, how grand, how stirring to behold, At morning dawn, the sea one bed of gold ! When from the watery waste the awaken'd sun, In strength array'd his daily race to run. Darts forth his new-born glory on the waves, And, giant-like, their restless turmoil braves; — The startled petrel from the billow springs, And screaming curlews flap their lazy wings ; — The sylvan tribes commence their morning lays, And varied notes proclaim their Maker's praise, The awaken'd throstle pecks his sleeping mate, Who plumes her outstretch'd wings in silent state, 10 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. And soon they ponr their melody around, In thrilling notes, with which the woods resound. Ye slumbering sons of men, shake off your sleep, And gently to this spot sequester'd creep, Here emulate these grateful songs sublime, Primeval music of created Time ! See in the farmost distance faintly rise The shores of Corsica, against the skies. Like threatening clouds on the horizon piled, With gilded peaks, on which the sun has smiled. O Corsica ! Napoleon, whose proud soul Would not an empire, but a world control, On thy bright soil first started into life. For deeds of arms and desolation rife ! Had that stern, active mind been better train'd. And his right hand by violence unstain'd, Nobly the Gallic sceptre he had sway'd, With native majesty her throne array'd, And grateful nations smiling had beheld The demon Discord by his valour quell'd. Say, what is earthly glory, what is fame, Ye who aspire to earn an honour d name ? Glory's bright halo shines for patriots' brows, Whom unjust deeds and violence arouse. Nobly to stay the oppressor's vengeful course, And from his grasp ill-gotten powers to force. Mild Virtue deprecates the giant War, Dragging his victims at his red-wheel'd car ! Will glory light on men who, in their pride. The rights of others scornfully deride 1 NIZZA. 11 Who, to accomplish selfish ends, will dare Nor youth, nor age, nor either sex to spare ? Who cruelly ravage with devouring fires The homes of mourning widows and their sires ? Who in destructive carnage take delight, And madly revel in the horrid fight ? If wrongfully the sword be drawn, each blow That kills is murder, though it kills a foe. Yet, mighty conqueror, we mourn thy fate. And ponder on the fall of one so great. Yes, thou wert great — whate'er thy genius plann'd Rose as by magic at thy firm command ! Thy ceaseless energy bore down at will All human obstacles, for good or ill ; Thine eagle eye the mountain peaks survey'd, And deep ravines where never man had stray'd ; — The stubborn mountain bends its hoary head, And o'er its neck thy countless legions tread, And yawning glens uprise with arches high, To bear thee proudly on to victory ! O'er hills and valleys, from the rippling Var, Along the Kiviera, stretching far, Skirting the coast, to Genoa's stately walls, Piercing the cliffs, and spanning mountain falls, The Corniche road, a monument of fame, Adds yet its tribute to Napoleon's name ! Along the dangerous path which erst was there, The toiling mules their heavy burdens bare ; Lash'd to their sides the vintage barrels hung, And muleteers astride them gaily sung. While deep below the foaming ocean roar'd, And o'er their track the mountain torrent pour'd — 12 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POE^S. Oh, 'tis a dizzy glance from those steep heights, To look beneath and watch the sea-gull's flights ! Here let me rest, and contemplate a scene Replete with beauty. There is not, I ween. Aught more affecting to the human mind Than Nature's lovely works ; by God design'd To elevate our thoughts, and let us see Faint traces of His own immensity. The towering mountains, mantled by the clouds, Which wrap their snowy heads in silken shrouds, Reverberate the angry ocean's roar, In muffled peals along the sea-worn shore. The rugged cliffs, with vines and olives clad. Make Nature smile, in sylvan beauty glad ; The solemn pines and cedars proudly rise, \ And lift their naked branches to the skies, > Bearing aloft their dark green canopies ; J The stately palms their sacred foliage spread In graceful beauty, o'er the pilgrim's head, As from the scorching sun he hither hies. And at his ease beneath their shadow lies ; The giant aloes, springing from the ground. Stretch forth their length en' d stalks, with blossoms crown'd ; The golden orange, lusciously array' d, With dark green leaves and clustering blossom s< spray'd. And lowly myrtles, spangled o'er with spars. Lovely as Venus 'midst the far-off stars. With various flowers, that to the balmy air. Add scents to those of others, sweet and rare : NIZZA, 1 3 The gorgeous cactus revels in his pride, With drooping hare-bells, trembling at his side, And smiling violets, whose modest flowers Recall to memory my boyhood's hours — When, idly roaming through the dewy fields Which happy England in abundance yields, I hail'd with heartfelt joy their welcome sight, And pluck'd their fragrant petals with delight. Oh, 'tis a glorious thought, most dear to me — However lovely other climes may be, However bright their sun, their verdure gay, England must bear the golden prize away ! England, the loved, the honour'd, brave and free. Claims first her children's love deservedly ! But list ! what thrilling music steals along, Now loudly swelling, as in martial song. Now dying on the breeze in fainter tones. Like fabled music of aerial zones 1 A nation's anthem, in harmonious notes. Delights the listening mountains as it floats. Where is the soul by melody unmoved — That melody by heaven's high hosts approved ? I would not for a world forego the love Of strains delighted in by hosts above : Well might the Monarch by its charms be moved, And find his troubled spirit gently soothed ! The wild waves' turmoil mingles with the strain, Forcing attention to the angry Main, Who ceaselessly his mighty work pursues. His restless waters deck'd in various hues ; From shore to shore his troubled billows send, And on alternate coasts their fury spend : 14 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Nor since from chaos broke the mighty deep, Has Nature lull'd it into tranquil sleep. Reviving odours float around my head, As ou the mountain top I slowly tread ; Breathing delicious scents from orange groves. Where loving Zephyrus with Flora roves. The snow-clad Alps, that kiss the azure skies. Become more pure the higher that they rise : Then mount, my soul, spread out thy eager wings. And greet the highest seraph as he sings ; Catch from his lips each sweet ecstatic strain, And with the precious prize the earth regain — Restring thy lute, and let the sacred fire Beam on each chord, and every note inspire ! Oh, there are pages in the book of life Glowing with beauty, and with pleasure rife ! And as I read its varied records o'er. And Memory yields again her hidden store. Past hours return, and spread before my view Scenes which had bade my gladden'd heart adieu. How bright the day, when lately wandering far From Nizza's busy town, where pleasures mar Enjoyment — blest with those who sweeten life, The fond, confiding, ever-anxious wife. And lovely children, walking by her side, Smiling with pleasure on the landscape wide ! How beautiful the scenes we gazed upon ! The snowy Alps, on which the bright sun shone ; The slightly rippled sea, whose azure face Gave to its charms a more than magic grace ; The distant hamlets, scatter'd on the shore. Which all the garb of 2)eace and beauty wore ; NIZZA. 15 And Nizza, lovely daughter of the sea, Spread 'neath our feet in calm serenity ; The jutting headland, stretching to the main, 'Gainst which indignant breakers dash'd in vain ; Near us, Cimella's lonely convent stood. Whose surplus stores supply the poor with food, Where, crowding round the hospitable gate Each noon, some wretched mendicants await. Beneath the arched front, in colours gay, Tableaux of saints are open to the day ; For there no humid atmosphere destroys The limner's work, nor man, nor brute annoys ! Wandering through gardens, where, perchance, have dwelt The good, the beautiful — we, pausing, felt A sigh of sadness stealing from the heart, While looking on decaying works of art ; — There, scatter'd fragments of past greatness lie. And prostrate columns meet the wondering eye. Near, broken arches on each other rise. Whose yawning caverns open to the skies ; Remnants of fallen grandeur strew'd around, Where once the spacious circus jjroudly frown'd ! Strange, that amidst such glorious works as these. The hoary Alps, the loveliest of seas — Mysterious marvels of th' Almighty hand — The blood-stain'd amphitheatre should stand ! And still more strange that men could here behold The sad, disgusting butcheries of old ; Where every glance they threw around them fell On scenes more fit to please the fiends of hell ! 16 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Oh, let me turn my harrow'd thoughts away ! Imagination trembles with affray; Dearer to me the works of peace and love, That beam with smiling mercy from above. Ye everlasting hills, that boldly rise, And pierce the bright Elysium of the skies, Your awful grandeur still remains sublime, Though man's most noble works decay with time ! The toil-worn contadini hastening home, From daily labour, or the vintage, come, With superstitious awe behold the path Distinctly mark'd around " The Fairies' Bath ; '" Where lovely figures, floating in the air, Or sporting on the earth, at night repair. Bathe in the moon's pale flood of light unseen, Or dance in mystic circles on the green. Mysterious influence ! from zone to zone All nations feel thy power, thy presence own : Though reason tells us immaterial things Cannot be felt or seen, all nature brings Tribute to thee ; and thus the rites uphold Which sway unseen the timid and the bold. Ah ! well do I remember days long past, When childhood struggled with affliction's blast ; When, doubting what the future might reveal, I sought my vain misgivings to conceal ; And in the much-loved shrubb'ry near my home, Wish'd that some generous fairy there would come, And with her golden wand would point the way To her bright palace of unclouded day ; There, oft the triple circles I have made Around my feet, and magic charms essay'd. NIZZA. 1 7 And ardently have fancied I should see Queen Mab, and all her court, encircle me. Or, when along the woodlanct drive I stroll'd, Some black-eyed gipsy girl my fortune told, What creeping, strange sensations through me spread, As o'er my hand she hung her shaggy head ! Ah, little use the sage's lecture then ! Boys will be boys — let all our men be men. Yet, as we gaze on mountains, seas, and dells, Admiring reason to our senses tells. That e'en these glorious objects could not yield To man true pleasure, had they been reveal'd To him alone. The lonely beating heart Yearns for some friend, to whom he may impart The fulness of his daily joys or woes. The soul's emotions and the spirit's throes. When man from the hands of his Maker awoke, Created in beauty, with majesty crown' d, The language of praise was the first that he spoke, As he look'd on the glories of nature around. Yet in vain were creation's vast wonders display'd To him who in solitude mused on the scene ; Though with glory unbounded her works were array'd, He droop'd as he gazed on her beautiful sheen. There lack'd yet a heart that could throb with his ow:), A spirit congenial, trusting, and fond, In which the bright seeds of reflection once sown, To feelings of love and delight could respond. 18 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. From His throne the Almighty with pity beheld His creature's emotions, and graciously smiled ; And soon every doubt dnd misgiving dispell'd, As sleep's soft oblivion his senses beguiled. How bright was the vision which burst on his view, When, roused from his slumber, man started to life, That angel of glory, in brightness so new, Stood near him — his friend, his companion, his wife ! New beauties creation that instant assumed, Delightful emotions sprang up in his breast ; More lovely each flower in the garden that bloom'd — More gloriously nature appear'd to be drest. The hallow'd emotions that Friendship affords, The sacred delights of communion of mind, The pure aspirations Affection records, In the heart's deep recesses so fondly enshrined, Surpass all the fleeting excitements that play Like meteors around us, enticing and bright ; Which tempt us to wander, admiring, astray. Then vanish, and leave us enveloped in night I How peaceful, Nizza, is thy city, spread Beneath the mountains ! Here thy sons are wed, Some to the busy world's wide commerce, some To pleasure's thoughtless daughters, vainly come NIZZA. 1 9 To revel 'midst thy beauties, wanting still The secret wisdom, which alone can fill The aching void within the restless mind, And render happiness to all mankind. Some to their country yield a ready zeal, And strive to benefit the common weal; Some, with religious zeal, their vows have paid, And, lonely, seek from Heaven supernal aid. But, Nizza ! youngest daughter of a state Once glorious in the world, as free and great, May thy bright virtues sparkle as a gem In new-bom Italy's bright diadem ! Here, in an age gone by — oh, sad disgrace ! — A Christian Prince, despite his noble race, Leagued with the Saracen, his forces led, And consternation through the city spread ; On these proud hills thy lilies, France ! appear'd, Beside the Turkish Crescent vainly rear'd ; Down rush'd the mingled hosts in fierce array, And shouts of " Mahomet ! " excite the fray ; The Cross and Crescent struggling in the van. Beneath the well-mann'd walls in fuiy ran ; Bastions and forts the exulting legions scaled, And fancied victory their leaders hail'd ; The wondering garrison in horror fled, Calling for vengeance as they fell or bled ; But female love can brave the sternest foe, To ward its object from the threaten'd blow ; One well-loved warrior, falling 'midst the brave. Has nerved a woman's hand his life to save : Straight from his side the falling blade she bears, The prostrate standard gallantly uprears, - 20 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. The blushing Cross of Savoy lifts on high, And points her gleaming weapon to the sky ; " Christ and my country ! " shouts the warlike maid, Nor vain th' inspiring prayer for instant aid ; With dauntless step she hurries o'er the dead, Mounts the thiun'd walls, and re-assurance spread Throughout the flying garrison, who cry, *' Christ and my country ! May each traitor die ! " The bursting shouts astound the scaling host. Who deem the war-cry but an idle boast ; Mounting the breach, the Saracens ascend, And cries of " Allah ! " with the turmoil blend ; The foremost plants the Crescent on the walls, But, ere the banner floats, the Moslem falls. His outstretched arm the dauntless heroine sees, And waves her falchion with a warrior's ease. Swift on that arm the glittering blade descends. Nor, with the mighty blow, the weapon bends. But through the starting sinews finds its way, And leaves the bleeding foe to death a prey : The clenched fingers still the standard clasp. As M'ith triumphant shouts the staff" they grasp ; — " Christ and our country ! " burst from every tongue. And with the joyous notes the city rung. The Gallic monarch started at the sound, And blushing turn'd his eager eyes around ; Deep shame came o'er his brow, with wondering awe, As where the Crescent waved, the Cross he saw — That Cross, beneath whose banner he had led Victorious legions, who for it had bled. But when, brave Catherine ! by thee inspired, Thy fellow-citizens with zeal were fired. NIZZiV. 21 Before that banner, waved by thee on high, The recreant Christians with the Moslems fly, — The monarch turn'd his war-horse from the plain, And felt the unholy siege was plann'd in vain ! Faithful as brave, the intrepid maid returns, And with a woman's love her bosom burns, Amidst the wounded seeks her stricken mate, And fondly o'er him mourns his early fate. While grateful townsmen sympathising feel For her, whose sorrow time alone can heal. Brave heroine ! thy name should lionour'd be, Though humble were thy birth and pedigree. With Joan of Arc, and that brave Spanish fair, Whose names are sacred to the sons of war. On golden tablets deeds like jonrs should shine, And nations emulate each stirring line. How desolate, Montalban, are thy towers, In which the sentry counts his weary hours ! Thy empty fosse and drawbridge mock the days, When feudal chieftains gloried in thy praise. The listless soldiers now within thy walls Lie at their length, or saunter through thy halls ; Thou art alone upon the mountain's top, Nor does the ivy deign thy w^alls to prop ; Nor tree nor dwelling near thee rears its head. Stern monument of warring chieftains dead ! The timid hare no longer fears to rest Beneath the fern, upon Montalban's crest ! Yet from thy mountain terrace, bleak and drear, More awful ruins of past strength appear, Whose fallen masses strew the chosen site Where Nizza's fortress stood, in solemn might. 22 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Abound the hoary walls the ivy twines, And mingle with its leaves the blushing vines ; In graceful wreaths they crown the noble pile, And blooming flowers amidst the ruins smile. Still round the rocky mound, with native pride, The peaceful Nizzards gratefully reside ; And children's children list, with willing ears, To tales of chivalry of bygone years, When warlike barons, cased in shining mail, With gorgeous banners floating on the gale, Their prancing steeds caparison'd in steel, And faithful vassals fill'd with martial zeal, In gallant order from the castle pour'd, To bravely wield the war-spear and the sword. How brightly beam'd each dark Italian eye ! How heaved each lovely bosom with a sigh ! How flush'd the telltale cheek with maiden pride, And own'd a love she could no longer hide ! Then waved her trembling hand, and check'd the tears. Which dimm'd her beaming eyes with new-born fears. Or of those days, perchance, when traitors sold Their country's honour, for the foeman's gold ; When the fierce Berwick levell'd in his spite That splendid bulwark of the Nizzards' might. Now lovely walks adorn the rugged mound. On which those ruins lie, bestrew' d around ; With seats where Contemplation loves to rest. And meditate, with peaceful Silence blest. Oh, could the gay Provengal start to life, And lift the veil which hides those days of strife ! Those old baronial times, when feudal laws Olaim'd instant service in the suz'rain's cause ; NIZZA. 23 When petty wars oppress'd the fairest lands, And chief met chief in fight, with liostile bands ; When warlike castles, with their forts and towers, Gave to the subject more than regal powers ; The frowning battlements, and donjon keep ; The pond'rous drawbridge, and the fosses deep ; The iiigh portcullis, ready to descend, Or lift its burden, or for foe or friend ; The cautious warder, with his well-known horn ; The sentry's careful watch from night till morn ; The daily feastings in the spacious hall, Wliere one broad table bore the fare for all — Baron and lady, priest and orphan ward. Yeomen and vassals, with the minstrel bard. And him, who claim'd prescriptive right withal, The welcome jester, in each baron's hall ; When smoked the hunted boar upon the board, As steaming wine was o'er the viand pour'd ; The wild roe and the sheep their places found, And glittering dirks in active work abound, Till hunger ceasing, each replaced liis blade — The holy priest his benediction made, And rose the mareschall with the foaming jack, Or sparkling goblet of the good old sack. And pledged the baron and his lady fair, And all the vassals truth and homage swear : Then as the jest and news the time consume, The blazing fires their bearded cheeks illume ; The pine-log's flickering light in flashes rests On halberts, boar-spears, helmets with strange crests, Old coats of armour, bows and arrows, sw^ords, And shields, the glory of that castle's lords ; 24 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Which, as the wine or ale the henchman plies. Appear to dance before their half-closed eyes : But when the minstrel struck his welcome lyre. Each eye was lighted up with martial fire. And every reckless deed his song proclaim'd, The dormant passions of each breast inflamed. For those were times, so mix'd with good and ill^ Times of transition from ungovern'd will. That we can scarcely now the truth define, And, pausing, know not where to draw the line ; For few would question now, the glowing fire, Which did the sons of chivalry inspire. When, with high thoughts, despising petty brawls. The brave young warrior left his father's halls. And pass'd the strict ordeal which gave him right To claim the noble honours of a knight I How prized the moment, when, on bended knees. The bright sword glittering o'er his head he sees, And proudly hears his suzVain liege proclaim, *' Arise, Sir Knight, and win an honour'd name !^ The gilded spui-s upon his heels are placed, And o'er his swelling chest the cuirass braced ; The hauberk next, with greaves and brassarts proved. All fix'd by one his young heart fondly loved : His sword, whereon his future fame depends, O'er which in silent pride the warrior bends ; With shining helmet and the steel-capp*d lance, And gauntlets strong, he sees his 'squire advance — On whose broad shoulders hangs th' emblazon'd shield. With triple plates and bosses brightly steel'd : And neighing loud his pawing charger waits. To bear him gaily from the castle gates. NIZZA. 25 But ere his gauntlets donn'd, or visor closed, One vow he made, — his love for one disclosed ; The while on bended knee, he faintly hears That vow retum'd, 'midst sighs and gentle tears. — The parting gifts exchanged, the gallant knight Vaults to his saddle in his lady's sight ', — And oh, if truth and honour ever dwelt In human breast, and made their precepts felt, Such youthful bosom was a fitting place For those fair guests to dwell in and to grace ! Yet blended with the morals of those times, Were cruel deeds, which none considev'd crimes, — The gorgeous tournaments, where deadly strife Destroy'd the noblest sympathies of life ; Where cross'd the lance, by mortal force impell'd, Which nought but temper'd armoury repell'd ; And failing spear and sword, the giant mace Or ponderous axe, uplifted, took their place, Till life's strong current, rushing from the veins, Crimson'd each warrior's mail with ghastly stains ; And lovely women waved their scarfs in praise Of deeds that fill our senses with amaze ! The victor, kneeling at his lady's feet With gory hands, approving smiles to meet ; The conqueror's wreath entwined around his head. Ere yet, perchance, his bleeding foe was dead. Ye stately ruins ! — crowding round your tomb. Ghosts of departed ages, wailing, come — And as the evening shadows o'er ye fall, I hear them moaning through each time-worn wall. 26 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Beneath the mountain's base, appears the bed Of broad Paglione before me spread, Whose rushing waters, dwindled to a stream, Run languidly, or shun the sun's bright beam. There, laughing females, toiling as they crouch, Spread their wash'd garments on his pebble coucli ; Their bare-legg'd children, sporting in the mead. On the wild daphnes and the harebells tread, And bright anemones with asters bind In wreaths around their temples, intertwined. Nizza ! a mimic world in thee we see ; A little world, from many vices free. Thy native daughters well thy love may claim, They need no foreign charms to swell their fame ; While mark'd urbanity and willing aid. Are by thy sons unceasingly display'd To those who yearly seek thy favour'd clime. Where Nature revels in meridian prime. Thy regal court, where grateful strangers paid Homage to him who o'er thy country sway'd ; Where, ease and hospitality combined, Proclaim'd the well-bred host with taste refined — The Count de M , whose levees, routes, and balls, My memory with pleasure still recalls ; Those bright re-unions, where we met at ease The fair Almande, the courteous Piedmontese, The dark Italian eye, the Paris belle. With England's stately daughters group'd so well. How dear the friendships form'd in distant lands, Where clime nor race coni^enial thought with- stands ; NIZZA. 27 Where mutual sympathies expression find, And man is man to man, and mind to mind ! De Weiss ! I oft recall thy friendly smile, And think of those delightful days the while, When in our rambles o'er the mountains wild With classic Nevill, humble as a child, We sketch'd the lovely landscape ; or, at times, Sought shelter 'neath the far outspreading limes ; In Saint Andrea's lovely grotto sung, While the wild echoes in the distance iTing ; Or through the Yal Oscuro groped our way, 'Midst scatter'd rocks with age and tempest gray ; Or with the gentle Baronne, on our mules, A joyous party, heedless of all rules, We, old and young, with lads and lasses gay, Trotted along the Villa Franca way ; And near that quaint old town, beneath some tree, Where we could watch the blue Tyrrhean sea. Took fi'om our patient mules the picnic feast, (And goodly provender supplied each beast :) How heartily we laugh'd when on the gi-ound Our motley fare we saw outspread around ; No ceremonious cares disturb'd our glee, No proud display essay'd where all was free ; And wit and jest in pleasant converse shone, Till the fuU-udder'd goats came slowly on. Whose tinkling bells and bleatings warning told, That night would soon the busy world enfold. Oh, happy days ! I must not now repine That some loved idols, then so dearly mine. Have to their peaceful rest been call'd away, And left a void behind in life's brief day. 28 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Meek Charity, in Nice, with outstretch'd hand, And smiling features beautiful and bland, Pleads not in vain, but points with modest pride \ To noble hospitals, whose portals wide Invite the wretched, and their wants provide. And thou hast temples, where the rich and poor May daily God's almighty aid implore. Bless'd be each effort to exalt the mind, And elevate the nature of mankind ! Let no sectarian dogmas here prevail Religion's sweetest efforts to assail. Nor should I fail thy enterprise to name, Thy thriving trade, and rising merchants' fame ; Thy active port, dress' d out in youthful pride, Thy harbour, where thy ships securely ride, Flaunting their countries' pennons in the air, Colours by patriots valued as the fair. Thy cheerful villas, and thy modern streets. With rising boul'vards — elegant retreats — Are rapidly proclaiming thou wilt be, Not only rich, but beautiful and free. And here I linger, though the scorching sun High up the deep blue arch of heaven has run ; For here December, by the Graces led, Feels the chill hoar-frost melting from his head, And clothed in beauty, revels with delight In summer verdure, wondering at the sight. See yonder stately grove, whose solemn shade Looks like the tomb of ages, thither laid, With aged trees — sad monuments of days LoDg since departed — crown d with ivy bays. / KTZZA. 29 In silent meditation let me seek Its deep repose, and quit the mountain peak. Ye stately pines and olives, spreading wide Along the slanting mountain's arid side ! There is a gi-andeur awful and sublime In your dark shadows of departed time. Oh, how inscrutable is man's estate, Struggling in weakness, yearning to be great ! A mortal body, an immortal soul, A mind which nothing earthly can control ; Soaring above its earth-born passions free, Seeking its rest in immortality ! Here lighter shadows tremble round my feet, Through which the sun invades my lone retreat, As stretch'd at ease I read the stirring page Of Dante's Hell, of TJgolino's rage ; While gurgling waters glisten as they flow Amidst the waving ferns and reeds below, And wild birds sing within the peaceful grove Their mingled tales of gratitude and love. Returning home — a pilgrim's shrine invites The weary traveller to Christian rites ; Inscribed in gold upon its walls I see These words to our Incarnate Deity — "O ecce agnus Dei" — glorious line ! Which faith's bright radiance can alone define. 'Twas in a grove of olives such as these. The " Man of Sorrows " sought on bended knees, In agonising prayers, almighty aid, Ere yet He for our sins the ransom paid ! Such thoughts awhile my lingering steps arrest, And with a holy awe the place invest. 30 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Then slowly home I bend my weary feet — Home ! thou blest spot of ease and calm retreat ! For oh, believe me, home is everywhere. If those we love, our hearth and table share : It is not in the costly palace found. If discord dwell there ; — yet the tranquil home May journey with us, wheresoe'er we roam. Forgive the proffer'd prayer, though weak it be, Which I would utter daily, earnestly, That He who clothes the lilies of the field May those we love from sin and sorrow shield ; And you, dear strangers, who these verses read, May God be ever with you in your need, Give you bright hopes to cheer you on your way, Sweet harbingers of heaven's eternal day ! THE SISTERS AT FLORENCE. THE SISTERS AT FLOEENCE. The setting sun had left his lingering rays Within the evening clouds, And the far west appear'd with light to blaze Behind those silken shrouds : The winding Arno caught the glowing tinge, And every ripple play'd with golden fringe : — On Ponte OaiTaja, at such a time, Two smiling sisters stood, Watching, alone, that changing scene sublime, Intent, in silent mood ; — They saw those golden tinges fade and die, And the loved Arno pale beneath their eye : — Yet still it lovely look'd, for now its face A placid air assumed. And smiled so peacefully ; and with such grace The moon its breast illumed. That to its banks a thousand shadows crept, As seeking rest, and on its bosom slept. And near those banks the gay Cacine rose, Ari*ay'd in sable dress ; The solemn trees, inviting to repose, Proclaim' d their loneliness, Save when the cicala with mournful cry Sang to the dancing fire-flies from on high, c 34 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. The sisters waixjh'd the boatmen's glancing oars, And home-bound fishermen ; And fondly look'd upon the Arno's shores So thickly crowded then : For there, that day, the timid lizard laid, And darted from their gentle steps, afraid : And musing thus, they spoke of life's estate , Of youth's bright fleeting days, And unknown ills that on their paths might wait In various hidden ways : " And yet we know," the younger sister said, " That we and all must slumber with the dead ; " That as the joyous sunshine, youth must fade, And evening's gloom succeed ; And the dark shadows our bright path invade. Which now we scarcely heed ! Oh, may our evenings be as bright as this, And life's dark shadows fade in tranquil bliss." " We know not, dearest," said the elder born, " Life's varied hidden ills ; But those who pass unscathed youth's sunny morn, Our Maker wisely wills. Should seek His aid to guide them on their way, And for His tender'd mercies daily pray. " Those stately domes, those palaces and tow^ers, Temples of God and man. Triumphant records of a people's powers. Whose zeal so nobly ran ; Those spreading arches striding o'er the deep. Whose darken'd shadows tremble as they sleep — THE SISTERS AT FLORENCE. 35 " Yes, all will crumble into dust again j Their solid masses yield To Time's fell power ; for, oh ! in vain Man strives his works to shield From slow decay ; yon mountain's lofty crest Must some day in the lowly valley rest. " Ay, even yon glorious moon must change her course. Arrested in her speed, And veil her light to that resistless force 'Gainst which all vainly plead ; But time itself, God wills, shall cease to be, Lost in the vastness of eternity ! " How lovely is the moon ! whose pallid face So sweetly shines to-night, As gently pond'ring, with a mournful grace Diffused throughout her light, Some pensive musings on her destined fate, Which seem her native lustre to abate. " See how the glittering stars around her crowd, To grace her royal state 1 The full-orb'd planets shine, as justly proud To own their sister great ; The sailing clouds of night dissolve in air Before the presence of a queen so fair. " And thou, loved Arno, silver'd is thy breast, Save 'neath thy rugged banks, Where the deep shadows on thy waters rest. Sleeping in broken ranks, Which as dark tresses on thy bosom lie, Lost in the fulness of*their ecstasy. 36 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. ^' And yet, as brightly shone that glorious orb On empires now no more, Past time could not her lovely beams absorb, But left them as before ; And future ages still will sing her praise, And to her homage grateful tribute raise. " Ye glorious records of almighty power And wisdom infinite, Display'd alike in every leaf and flower, Discern'd in day and night ; Equall'd alone by that unceasing love Pervading all below and all above ! " Exalt our youthful minds that we may see, With humble gratitude, The heights and depths of God's immensity, The fountain of all good ; And learn to bend to His unerring will, Who can defend His works from every ill." " Was it not here," the younger sister said. After a moment's pause, " That Brunelleschi rear'd his noble head. And earn d a world's applause ; Crowning the plans of Arnolf with a dome, Fit model for the cupola of Eome 1 " That Michael Angelo, whose noble zeal. Kindling with generous fire, Disdain'd another's hard-earn'd fame to steal, Nor lived but to admire — In his creative mind new wonders plann'd, To grace the temples of his native land ?' THE SISTERS AT FLORENCE. 37 " Yes, dearest ! here long while he dwelt, and wrought Those wondrous works of art, Which still astonish by their depth of thought, And grace and life impart To Europe's living artists ; — from his hand The solid marble breathed, as by command. " Vast structures, emulating those of old, Successively appear' d ; Adorn'd mth beauty — simple, grand, and bold — By the same genius rear d : Nor those fine arts alone his hand essay'd. But on the canvas mighty skill display'd. " Beautiful Florence ! 'neath thy fost'ring care. The sister arts aspired To rival Greece and Rome in talents rare. By emulation fired : Thy temples, palaces, and works of art. To all the world their classic taste impart ! " The famed Giotto, conscious of his power. From Pisa's temples came. And rear'd the Campanile — lovely tower ! — To consecrate his name j And fresco paintings glow'd beneath his arm, Which still the raptured senses awe and charm. " And long as time Ghiberti's work shall spare, With slow reluctant hand. Those splendid gates, design'd with talent rare, Which proudly conscious stand Before thy ancient baptistry, will claim The admiration due to well-earn'd fame. 38 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. " Yet tliou wert fickle, though so beautiful ! And wond'ring nations saw With indignation thy caj)ricions rule Uncheck'd by shame or law : Immortal Dante o'er thy folly sigli'd, Proscribed, condemn' d, and as an exile died ! " Vain thy repentance, vain the gorgeous pile In Santa Croce's fane ! Abash' d, must weeping Florence pace that aisle, And hopeless mourn the stain Which on her humbled pride will ever rest ; By freedom scorn'd, by bigotry caress'd. " Italy ! like some spoilt, lovely child, Thy gems thou dashedst down. And crush'd them in thy rage, with impulse wild. Unheeding their renown, Thy jealous bigots doom'd to death or pain The brightest of thy sons who scorn'd thy chain, " Angelo, Dante, famed Galileo, Petrarch, and Tasso dear ; Lively Boccaccio, on whose fav'rite well We watch'd its water clear. And thence, upon his much-prized dwelling read Arrezzo's notice of her famous dead. " These, and the tortured Machiavelli, cry With fruitless wailings deep ; And others, doom'd to mourn in chains or die ; While exiled patriots weep. That thou shouldst revel in thy children's blood, And fear the talents of the great and good. THE SISTERS AT FLORENCE. 39 " And did not England's Milton hither come Galileo to greet, Who, 'midst the thunders of priest-ridden Rome, In his constrain'd retreat Unfurl'd the sparkling banner of the skies, Revealing nature's laws and heavenly mysteries 1 " Yes, to Gioiella, on Arcetri's mount. The youthful poet came ; And there, in wisdom's deep and brilliant fount, He read Galileo's name ; There, gaz'd on Florence — half her charms reveal'd. As resting 'neath the wooded height, conceal'd. " The golden ringlets on his shoulders play. As there he proudly walks With famed Galileo, at close of day, And listens while he talks. Oh, what a contrast ! Youth and honour' d age ! A poet's homage to a captive sage ! " How silently the ardent poet hears The hoary sage explain The revolutions of the heavenly spheres, And doubted truths maintain ; And in his fertile mind the treasure stores Which from the sage's lips unceasing pours ! " Then, over arid wilds and rugged ways. He scales the mountain high, And Vallombrosa's shady grove surveys With glad, exulting eye. Which, branching o'er each other, trees on trees A sylvan temple form, to charm and please. 40 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. " But now the chilling air and mists which rise From Arno's flowing stream, And the bright lamps that sparkle in the skies, And on her bosom gleam. Warn us to seek our home — nor longer stay, Though on the river's banks gay thousands stray. " Ye busy crowds, good night ! long may ye walk Near Arno's pleasant stream. Beneath fair Luna's rays, and gaily talk. While others fondly dream Of all thy witching beauty, life, and charms. Which absence but endears, and memory warms." ROME, KOME. I. Ye who in youtli have hung o'er Yirgil's verse, And caught some sparks of inspiration there, Who gradually have kindled the bright flame Which hidden lay in dormant Beauty's dress, Till the full meaning burst upon your soul. And bore you proudly on, the " ^neid " through ; Or conn'd his " Georgics " and his " Eclogues " o'er. Dreading some tyrant master's threats or blows — (Who measured all capacities alike) ; And ye, who gladly hail'd the feeble light Ye gain'd, by dint of toil and bitter tasks. To guide you through the " Odes " of Horace, dark, Ere yet ye knew the scenes of which he wrote : Ye know, how fondly rise ambitious thoughts. Strong wisliings to behold the Appian Way Wliich led to mighty Rome, in solemn state, Through costly temples, fit abodes for gods ! To tread the spot whereon Yirginius stood Holding his lovely daughter by the hand, As on her brow he press'd the burning kiss, Then struck liis weapon to that virgin's heart ; And, holding high in air the blood-stain'd knife, Call'd on the gods for vengeance ! Yes, ye know 44 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. The longings ye have felt to stand upon The far-famecl Forum, whence were once promulged The laws and stern decrees of ancient Rome ; Close by the spot where Cicero once stood, Whose eloquent orations drew forth tears, Kindled the flames of war, or sternly threw The galling weapons of embitter'd words 'Gainst those he loved not — those keen, barbed words Which, steep'd in venom, left their rankling wounds In breasts long moulder'd into nothingness : — That spot, where once the yawning gulf proclaim'd The anger of the gods to awe-struck Rome ; Nor closed till he, her noblest citizen, Brave Martins Curtius, on his charger plunged Into the dread abyss a sacrifice ! — To gaze on ruins of those temples grand, Which have survived the gods once worshipp'd there, — Or wander on imperial Palatine, Amidst the ruins of those splendid halls. The palace of the Caesars — wondrous pile ! — Yes, ye can feel some kindred sympathy With one unworthy his high privilege, Who found himself beneath the vaulted roof Of Aracceli's old Franciscan church. Built on the gorgeous Capitolium's site, Where Jupiter Capitolinus stood In all the splendour of his godhead high. With arms extended o'er the Capitol ! — Who paced along the Forum desolate, Near which three lovely fluted columns stand Of Stator Jupiter's once-splendid courts — To whom, imagination pictured forth. ROME. 45 Impassion'd Cicero's appealing call For instant vengeance on his country's foes, The trembling band of daring Catiline ! There, as I wander'd 'midst the ruin'd sites Where the famed temples stood, revered and known As those to Concord and to Saturn rear'd ; And on the spot where hist'ry, doubting, says The sacred fig-tree grew, beneath whose shade Eemus and Romulus were wildly nursed And suckled by a wolf with tender care ; A contadino, labouring on the spot, Turn'd up some coins, on one of which was stamp'd Two infant children suckled by a wolf, And ask'd a few baochi for his prize. And thus I gladly made the treasure mine ! Beneath Severus' arch I proudly walk'd. On which triumphant Rome records the tale Of conquer'd realms and captured enemies. In bold relief upon the time-worn stone ; Then wander'd round the splendid pillar raised To grace the tyrant Phoca's evil reign. Which, by its beautiful proportions, claims The admiration vice could never gain. Around me were preserved the few remains Which mourning told where once in solemn state, The Curia Hostilia received Assembled senates in its pristine pride ; And near, the Via Sacra, sacred way ! Where Horace wander'd, lost in reverie ! Here stand the ruins of a temple built To Romulus and Remus, long revered, The entrance guarded by vast doors of bronze ; 46 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. And near, the temple, still magnificent, To Antoninus and Faustina rear'd. On whose bold frieze the sculptor's wondrous skill Proclaims its former beauty to mankind. Close by, as vying to outdo the rest. Stand the vast arches and the massive walls 'Of the majestic temple built to Peace, Fit offering to that holy attribute ! Though some proclaim it the Basilica, Commemorating victories achieved Over Maxentius, by Constantine. Soon, 'neath the arched walls and semi-domes, Temples to Venus and immortal Pome, I found myself exploring their remains ; There, in a vault beneath those ruin'd courts, I turn'd the rubbish o'er, and from it fell A crystal stem of some bright antique vase. Glittering with oxide, which it had imbibed From mother earth. I started at the sight, And grasp'd the relic in my eager hand, Thinking it gold, so bright it look'd ; at first I thought it was some seal of Poman mould. Then, stepping out into the light of day. How glorious was the view on every side ! The arch of Titus raising high its head. With sculptured warriors frowning in their might. Here Titus rides triumphant in his car. Led on by victory and grateful Pome ; While captive Jews deplore their country's fate, Their ruin'd temple, and their glory gone. Oh, sad it is to gaze upon this arch. The record of thy fall, Jerusalem, ROME. 47 Thou city of the prophets, friends of God ! How glorious was thy temple as it stood, When awe-struck Titus first beheld the sight ! The pride of nations ! when the holy ark Rested between the golden cherubim : Now are thy treasures borne to distant lands. Thy children sojourners in foreign climes ! These sculptured stones proclaim thee desolate, For on them is inscribed thy dreadful fate. The thought of thee, Jerusalem, has made me sad ; So let me turn my steps, nor linger more Amidst these trophies of thy overthrow. Though full in view that wondrous fabric stands. Which stamps thy grandeur, old imperial Rome, — The mighty Coliseum, towering high. And frowning on the ruins time has made ! See, 'neath these pillars, yet so beautiful, Where stood the temple sacred to the names Of Castor and of Pollux, now repose The lowing herds, that yield their fragrant milk To modern Rome ! But what dark cells are these beneath the steps Conducting to the Capitol ? Behold The frightful dungeons of Mamertius ! Oh, what sad pages these dark vaults disclose Of Roman history ! Stern truth tells deeds Of guilt and blood which here were darkly done. Jugurtha, thy poor jest survives thee still. Amidst the horrors of thy sufferings ! And ye, bold warriors ! Macedon's last king. And Syphax of Numidia, could not Rome More generous be to those who bravely fought 48 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Their country's battles, though at last o'ercome ? But ye who, having riches, dared conspire To overthrow your country's greatness — ye ! — Ah, pity cannot justly weep for those Who sought to prosper by their country's fall ! Hark ! how the voice of Cicero resounds Throughout the crowded courts, indignantly ! Unhappy men ! his peroration grand Proclaims your certain doom to instant death. Upon thy clammy brow, proud Catiline, Starts forth the sweat of agony unbid ; Thou knowest not thyself, so monster-like Are thy misdoings pass'd before thine eyes ! Trembling, thy band, with half-averted looks, Dart their reproaches on thy guilty form, And every sentence swelling through these cells Heaps deeper treasons on their fallen heads ; And from themselves they fain would cast the load, And crush thee only with the crimes proclaim'd. " Here," said a friar, lowering his torch, " Within that cell, chain' d to that pillar, sat Saint Peter and Saint Paul ; see here the well From which they daily drank, where they baptized Their wond'ring jailers, to the Christian faith." And then, with solemn air, he shew'd the stone On which Saint Peter had reclined his head, And left the traces of his countenance : But miracles served not at such a time ; Stern truth spoke louder than the graven stone. Back to the light restored, I felt my soul Pise gratefully to heaven. One glance I cast On the famed Tabularium, which once, ROME. 49 Tradition tells, securely held with care The ancient Tables of the senate, graved On plates of bronze ; then silently return'd To Aracoeli's mount, and stood beneath The bold equestrian statue, breathing life In every well-mark'd sinew, vein, and limb — Marcus Aurelius on his war-horse grand ; Just vaulted on his back, he nobly sits, No stirrups needs he for his pliant legs ; How nobly champs the steed upon his bit ! Fire flashes brightly from his warlike eyes, And all is beauty, elegance, and life : Yet, this fine statue buried deep below Accumulated ruins, ages laid, Forgotten and unknown to modern Rome ! How vast the overthrow that could have sunk The grandeur of those wondrous works so low ! Still underneath thy city treasures lie. Immeasurably greater than thine own. Though thou art rich in costly works of art. And long hast reign'd mistress of Christendom ! Yes ! the fierce Goths and Vandals little cared For works of genius, prized, but dash'd to eai-th Thy monuments and statues, so renown'd. That nations doubted human power alone Could e'er have form'd them — witness their remains, How far surpassing all our race can do ! The works of Michael Angelo, in vain Essay to compensate the ruin made On this proud height, where ancient temples stood. Models of Roman art, long swept away : — E'en this great master failed in rivalry, D 50 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Until his brooding soul evolved the thought That spann'd the glorious dome, vs^hich, poised on high, Form'd a fit temple for our Triune God : Yet, in the rich Miiseum he design' d, All lovers of the arts should linger long ; For there are seen reveal'd the master-thoughts, The superhuman excellence of art, Which gave the solid marble, beauty's forms, Those lovely forms by poetry conceived, Ideal beauties of immortal moulds ! Tread lightly ! — speak in whispers ! — not a voice Is heard within this crowded chamber, where Pale death is struggling through the gaping wound Of one who, fall'n to earth, just rests upon His unnerved hand — his sinking head bent down In death's last agony — upon his gather'd brow Sits brooding anguish, forcing down the lids Of his glazed eyes, as from his manly side The lifeblood drops, relaxing his fine limbs — The fallen sword, which fail'd him in his need, Lies near him — but no friendly hand is there To aid him, or sustain his sinking frame. Unknown thy name, thy history, thy fate ! Yet all weep o'er thee, whatsoe'er thou wert, Or slave, or gladiator, and thy soul Will hang upon thy lips while marble 'dures, The speechless wonder of admiring man ! And near thee. Flora stretches her fair hand, Holding sweet flowers of spring within its grasp, And smiles unconsciously on thy sad face ; Her flowing drapery attests the skill Which cast its folds around her graceful form. But there is one whose godlike soul disdains The manly form which holds it — exquisite And beautiful in symmetry and grace, Antinoiis stands, a god in mortal mould, Unmoved by death or beauty's winning charms, Commanding wonder, lifting up the soul From thoughts of death and mortal agony, To contemplation holy and serene, Such as the archangel Michael once inspired In our first parents ; but, alas ! how vain The effort to describe those works sublime ! Proud Juno claims the homage of her court. And lovely Venus rises from her bath, Beyond description beautiful and fair ; While Cupid sports with Psyche at a shrine. Which to Apollo once was dedicate, Who sternly gazes on the silent scene, With dignity unutterably hue. Here sports the Faun of famed Praxiteles, And Jove asserts his majesty and power. Grasping the lightning in his outstretch'd hand ! There Agrippina sits in solemn state, As in a trance, reclining on her chair, (The mother of Germanicus renown'd. Whose virtues earn'd him but a tyrant's hate ;) And near, one who dishonour'd that good name — The worthless mother of a matricide, (The blood-stain'd Nero, her detested son.) Enough, enough, all language fails to tell The wonders which these galleries contain ! But where is the Tarpeian rock, from whence Were thrown Ptome's citizens condemn'd to death i 52 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. I stand upon its brow — and it would seem That nature, shuddering at those deeds of blood Which stain'd its rugged base, fill'd up the void, And only left a trace of what it was. Ptise up, ye spirits of the silent dead, Who from that giddy height were tumbled down ! See, first, amazed, as waking from a trance, Bold Manlius pointing to the Capitol, Where singly he opposed the fiery Goths, Who humbled in the dust the pride of Rome, And sought by stealth to gain the citadel ! Sternly he hurl'd them to the depths below. His country's saviour in that trying hour ! But, as the dream of his ambitious course In after- times, crowds back upon his soul. Too late conviction comes, that noble acts Can never be a plea for after crimes. He hears again the Senate's firm decree. Which doom'd him from this spot to meet his fate. And slowly stalks away with downcast eyes. But who are these who shriek their tales of woe ? Pale Guilt stands by their side, and points in scorn At Murder, Violence, with Fraud and Guile, Who justly suffer'd for their wilful crimes : Pass by, ye wretched ones ! apart are seen Forms of more noble bearing, who had known Ambition's sad reverses — but enough, I will not longer gaze on scenes so sad. Behold the temple of Agrippa, vast, The noble Pantheon, whose portico. So simply grand, so beautiful, survives The ravages of war and those of time. I I ROME. 53 Nearly two tlioiisand years have pass'd away, With all their thrilling incidents, since he Who, seeking popularity, obtain'd a fame Some unknown toil'd for, (bless'd with genius rare,) Built up this splendid pile to heathen gods — The attributes of the Eternal One, Faintly personified by erring man ! Behind it were the Thermes, now no more, And round them, gardens fill'd with choicest works, Fit present to the citizens of Borne ! If aught can strike our minds as marvellous, While contemplating objects such as these, It is, that men existed in past days, So full of genius and inventive power. Behold this vaulted roof, this spreading dome ! Who first design'd it 1 Are no records left Of those who plann'd such works as these ? But, no ; We ask in vain the question, wondering who ! Majestic ruin of aU-conquering Bome ! See how the light of heaven comes streaming throusfli The open dome ! no need of other source ; Six hundred thousand days have shed their light On this vast structure, aiding by their rays The worshippers of Jove, and those of God. Tread reverently, O man, this hallow'd ground ! Before thee is the tomb of Baphael, The prince of painters, whose exalted mind Sustain'd the honours of his country's fame ! And all around thee tells of talents rare, Possess'd by those long gather'd to the tomb. Thou glorious city of an Empire vast. Grand in thy desolation — truly great ! 5 i DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Yet thou wert not alone in grandeur — no ; Bekold the trophies, borne from distant lands, Which ornament thy streets and modern squares — Egypt and Carthage, Greece and Macedon, Were forced to yield their treasures to thine arms. These granite columns, towering from the backs Of monster elephants, (uncouth designs !) And others, rising nobly from their base, With hieroglyphics cover' d, call to mind Luxurious Cleopatra in her power, Mistress of Caesar and Mark Antony, Whose cities teem'd with wealth and structures vast — Temples and obelisks, with sphinxes rare. Colossal statues, tombs, and catacombs. Whose long-forgotten histories lie hid In the primeval language of mankind ; Existing only in the spell-bound type Of graven ciphers none can comprehend. Ye silent homilies on earthly power. Whose speechless eloquence conviction brings, And forces on our minds the solemn truth. That nothing human can immortal be While earthly particles compose its form ! How glorious is an empire's growth in strength ! The wants and weaknesses of men, become Sources of combination and of power : Thus nations rise from scatter' d families : United efforts of the singly weak. Subdue all obstacles, and much achieve. While all are labouring for the public good ; But individual energies attain 55 Gradual pre-eminence, and take the lead, For good or evil, in each new-form'd state : The timid yield their duties to the strong, Till one obtains at length the sov'ran rule ; Then come excess of wealth, and poverty, With all their strange anomalies and woes — Corruption, fraud, and violence ensue. With partial laws and growing discontent ; Meanwhile the arts attain their utmost height, And luxury displays her profFer'd charms, Sapping the strength and energies of those Who yield themselves her willing votaries : — Ill-judged oppression on the neighbouring states Excites their ire and arms avenging foes ; Then, 'midst internal discord, broils, and strife, Some conquering foe soon tramples in the dust The pride and glory of expiring power ; Leaving its ruins of past greatness, stamp'd With unregarded lessons for mankind. Thus nations rise and fall — ^the same sad tale, With little variation, speaks of all ! II. We were alone, within our snug hotel. Built near the spot where once Minerva stood. When thousands worshipp'd at her gorgeous shrine ; Deep down beneath its wails were pillars found Of purest marble, of proportions fine ; And still they lie there, hidden from the world ; The cost was deem'd too great to lift them up From their deep resting-place, where they have lain 56 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Full twenty centuries, or since the time Stern Brennus with his Gauls invaded Eome, And left the city one confused heap — Ruin on ruin piled — or when fierce Attilus Laid waste the city on those ruins built. Here, as we sat planning our daily walks Among the vestiges of ancient Rome, Arrived an officer, who handed us An invitation from his Holiness, Pius the Ninth, the Sov'ran Pontifi"; he. On whom the eyes of anxious Europe gaze ! And soon long veils are o'er the ladies thrown. The carriage order'd to the Quirinal ; We take our seats, and quickly comes in view Monte Cavallo ! let us look around ; What are these fine colosses scul2:>tured here ? Pollux and Castor with their war horses, Brothers in peace and war. — The son of Jove, Himself immortal, saw his brother die, Then, overcome with grief, invoked his sire To melt the chains of death with heavenly fire. And yield him back that brother to his arms ; The mighty Jove outstretch'd his willing hand, And bore the twain to heaven, where still they shine A constellation of fraternal love ! See how their fiery steeds impatient rear ! The works of Phidias and Praxiteles ; Models of Grecian art for conquering Rome ! Arrived within the palace gates, the Swiss, Array'd in costumes gaudy and grotesque. Conducted to the antechamber, where The noble guard received us ; hence we saw ROME. 57 The gardens of the Quirinal — fit spot For him who loves to meditate alone ; — The doors were open'd, and our names announced ; Passing the room of council, we advanced To where his Holiness gave audience. Before us stood Pope Pius, 'neath his throne ; One hand was resting on his chair of state, The other raised to greet us — with a smile Truly benignant beaming on his face. He is a man some fifty years of age,* Gentle, yet dignified ; of aspect kind, With meek, inquiring eyes ; thoughtful, yet sad ; A sweet expression lighting up his face ; Most fit for his high station in his Church ; But ope to whom these busy times of strife Must be repugnant, and its ways unknown, Untutor'd in the business of the world. His hair, scarce gray, escaped beneath his cap ; One costly diamond on his finger worn. Set off a hand both fair and beautiful : Clothed in the woollen robe of simple white Of his fraternity, he humbly stood Throughout the period of our interview. The friend, who introduced us, kneeling, clasp'd The Pontiff's foot, and kiss'd it fervently ; To us his hand he held, and kindly spoke On various subjects — then his blessing gave, And hoped that we might be well pleased with Rome. Peace be within thy palaces ! may Time His hand press lightly on thy gentle brow, And Truth and Wisdom guide thee on thy way ! * 184S. 58 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. And, oil ! may nations hail thee as the star Of new-born Italy, in mercy sent To free thy country from its crying wrongs ! Once more return'd, we seek our well-known rooms What new emotions crowd upon our minds ! In these apartments Guicciola dwelt — The friend of Byron, he whose genius soar'd Beyond the sphere of our frail elements, But needed one to guide him tenderly From the wild frenzies of an outraged pride, To virtue's honour d triumphs. Noble bard ! Thy verses, while they kindle in our breasts The flame of emulation, make us feel How vain the effort to aspire so high ! Ah, no ! The genius that inspired thy pen Has fled, exhausted by thine ardent soul. Here Guicciola dwelt ! As late I stood On Pisa's handsome bridge, and silent gazed Upon the stately palaces which grace The flowing Arno's proud and honour'd banks, A Pisan kindly pointed to the one Where Byron dwelt — where Guicciola lived, Whose youth and beauty charm'd society : Modest and elegant, her virtues left Impressions warmly cherish'd by her friends ; And Pisa still remembers her fond name, And pardons all her frailties with a sigh ; Acknowledging that he for whom she fell, Was blest with more than mortal eloquence, And drew her yielding spirit into his By some strong impulse irresistible. Here let me jiause. Oh, how my nature shrinks ROME. From daring to record my feeble thouglits On spots immortalised in noble verse, Such as no other bard has ever snng ! Childe Harold, frown not ! I would pass unseen Beneath thy glorious monument of fame, And merely gaze on thee, in wonder lost. I seem to see thee, standing on the shore Near Spezzia's lovely bay, with folded arms : Before thee is the ocean, calm and blue, Which late had yielded up thy gifted friend From his deep grave ; behind, the Apennines, And on the silent shore, the blazing pile Performs its sacred office for the dead : The tears of friendship tremble on thy cheeks, And all thy frame attests thy sufferings — There have I stood, and pictured forth the scene Round that funereal pile to Shelley rear'd, And mourn'd the fates of men so talented ! In vain I wander 'midst the vestiges Of splendid temples, once thy children's pride, Thou wondrous city of the silent dead ! No relic marks the spot where daily knelt Apollo's vot'ries at his lofty shrine ! Where listening Muses inspiration drank From the deep fountain of enchanted lore ; Or caught impassion'd strains and heavenly airs From their great Master's golden harp divine : In vain I listen, every lyre is still ! Have ye, then, left this speaking solitude, And sought a clime more genial for your lays '? Or, with lone Philomel at eventide. 59 60 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. When shades obscure these ruins from our eyes, Do ye pour forth, from yonder ilex grove, Your mournful dirges o'er an empire's grave ? Oh ! could my love of harmony atone For vainly seeking that empyreal aid Which makes the silent eloquent in words. Unchains the spirit of the drowsy mind, And bathes it in those bright, ethereal rills Of deep intelligence, where, purified From earthly dross, it swiftly soars on high. Nor fears the sudden fall of blasted pride ; Then would my confidence be truly strong, With thee, Urania, for my welcome guide ! As on this hallow'd ground I silent walk. Beneath the Palatine, and gaze around, I call to mind the days when Yirgil sang, Or read his verses on that favour'd hill To those who breathless listen' d with delight ; — When Horace, weighing in his well- stored mind The virtues and the vices of mankind, On this famed spot composed his Satires bold, Or dwelt in raptures on his much-loved farm. Here, godlike Cato walk'd, and all the good And evil-minded men of mighty Rome ! Along this Sacred Way the triumphs came. The cars of victory, and distant spoils. With fetter'd kings and warriors in the trains Of stern republicans and emperors. From the famed Circus Maximus, they came Round where the arch of Constantine now stands, Beneath the arch of Titus, winding up ROME. Gl The base of the proud Capitol ia state, Through arches now no more, though beautiful As that " Severus " call'd, which stiJl proclaims The grandeur of the Forum, desolate — Where the proud victors claim'd the victor's wreath. Rome, fallen Rome ! thy triumphs are no more, Save those of bigotry o'er man's free will ; And even these are quickly passing by ! Thy greatest triumph will be o'er thyself, When thou hast burst thy bonds of slavery, And bade thy citizens be truly free — Free from all mental thraldom, free to think As best becomes a freeman's privilege ! Behold the temple of thy founder here, Stern Romulus, by Romans still revered ! Oh, could he see thine abject slavery, How would he scorn his long-degen'rate sons ! Wouldst thou once more invoke his energy To lift thee up and cherish thee again. Shake off thy fatal lethargy, and rise Freemen in thought and firm in good resolve ! III. If those whom nature fitted to adorn Their flowing numbers with poetic fire. Invoked supernal aid with earnest zeal — Oh, let my humble aspirations rise To that sole Source of wisdom infinite, Pervading all created things, to aid My feeble efforts and inspire my pen ! Yet let not vanity intrude with thoughts Q2 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. That aught that one unknown to fame might write Can merit more than generous sympathy. Ah, no ! I ask no more, nor would inflict On uncongenial minds my humble verse. The moon was full, the glittering stars of heaven Trembled, as with excess of fulgent light ; The circling planets shed their beaming i-ays Into the blue expanse of endless space. It was a niglit, such as is only seen In favour'd Italy, where skies are blue, As is the deep blue ocean when at rest ; Surpassing all description — lovely As we may picture those of paradise. When first to Adam they appear'd so fair. And angels gazed upon the glorious scene. In holy wonder and ecstatic joy. It was on such a night I wander'd forth, With thoughts intent on man's strange history — His past, his future prospects, hopes, and fears, His birth, his fate, his progress to the grave ; His final triumph over pain and death. Oh, what bright visions open'd to my mind. Dispelling all the gloom which else had weigh'd My spirit to the dust ! And, as I stood Beneath the Coliseum's massive walls. My eyes were riveted on that sweet moon Which shone above my head with light serene. Fit for the blessed spirits to behold. Oh, let us pardon those who knew not God As the Eternal Spirit — One supreme. Almighty, boundless, infinite ! — if they Fell down before those glorious lights of heaven I KOME. 63 Which shed their radiance on our passing world, And deem'd them deities ; if, in their zeal, They rear'd them temples and invoked their aid For, next to Him who rules the universe, Those works of His almighty hand, command Our greatest wonder, love, and gi'atitude. But let my thoughts return from heaven to earth : What mean these gorgeous equipages here — These laughing syrens, and these torches bright — These groups of lounging, thoughtless ones 1 What makes The dark vaults glare, and ring with ill-timed mirth ? See, loitering far behind, yon loving pair Gaze on this awful building with a sigh. And shun their gay companions' brotherhood. May be, the brevity of human life — Of all its earthly joys and happiness — Is whisj)er'd gently to their doubting ears By passing spectres of departed time ! For, as the moon's bright light glows on those walls, Streams throu£ch the massive arches from on hif{h. Casting the shadow of the solid mass O'er where I stand, they lift to heaven their eyes. As though they pray'd most fervently, that Time Would stay awhile his speedy flight for them. Nor check the transports of impassion'd joy. Vain prayer ! nor youth, nor beauty, wealth nor power, Can hold the present, melting in their grasp ! Now, breathless Solitude, thou hast resumed Once more thy empire in these ruins vast. No earthly sound disturbs thy majesty ; But unseen spirits crowd thy gloomy vaults. 64 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. And sigh among thy arclies desolate ; And oft, beneath the moonlight's trembling beams, Strange groups arise, as arm'd for deadly strife — Their weapons gleaming with unearthly light ; With fixed eyes they glare upon their foes, And rush on death, or strike for victory. The stricken fall ; yet, falling, turn a glance To ghastly forms which crowd yon spacious seats. And give the signal, or for life or death, Then, 'midst the hellish shrieks of rising fiends. The spectres vanish in the gloom of night. Here oft was heard the lordly lion's roar, Or seen unmoved the tiger's deadly spring. As from those caves they burst with madden' d rage On unarm'd martyrs of our holy faith — The good, the beautiful, the old, the brave. All found, alike, a horrid living grave ! Thou mighty ruin of an empire's strength ! Upon thy circling tiers of massive stone Ten times ten thousand souls at ease have sat. Watching thy gorgeous spectacles of blood ! What millions have frequented this vast hell. Delighting in thy shocking cruelties ! Now all are mingled with the scatter'd dust, Their names, their histories, alike unknown ! See yonder portal, where, in proud array, The train imperial pass'd in royal state : Time, stem republican ! thine iron hand Has swept the proud suggestus from its place, XJptorn the podium of the senators ; While yet remain the seats of knighthood's sons And the plebeian poinilaria. ROME. 65 Asserting still their majesty and strength. Thou wonder of the nations ! who can tell The feats perform'd within thy massive walls ? At times the swelling waters lent their aid, And form'd a mimic lake within thee spread, With warlike galleys arm'd for naval fights, Where, to adorn a Roman holiday, The bravest of thy sons were basely slain. Nor were the bloody stains upon thy walls Effaced by Christian rule in after-times ; For here were seen the pomp of chivalry ; The plumed knights oft held their tournaments Before their ladies' bright, unpitying eyes, And steep'd their lances in a brother's blood, With all the cool refinements of the age. Yet now — where waters rush'd, where martyrs stood, Where gladiators perish' d by the sword — Stand altars raised to Christ, and Virgin's shrines, With crosses, images, and relics strange, 'Neath which the contadini prostrate fall, And savage bandits bend their stubborn knees ; Within thy circling walls, throughout the day, The lazzaroni stretch their lazy limbs. Watching the coming of each stranger near — Sad wrecks of Rome's once-active citizens. Smile on, thou lovely moon ! I must away : The cold air chills me as I musing stand ; And this lone avenue of arching trees. Whose moving shadows beckon me to stroll Beneath their rustling boughs, congenial seems To those whom whispering solitude can please. For every step presents some object grand — £ 66 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Some time-crown'd relic of a distant age. Thou splendid arch, conducting from this spot Into the famous Appian ! let me gaze A moment on thy sculptured history ; Thy bas-reliefs seem more distinct than when The glaring sunbeams full upon thee fell ; And though thou tellest of departing taste, And Rome's declining age, and art composed Of treasures stript from former monuments. Yet thou art beautiful; with thee arose The Christian empire, when was first decreed The Christians' God should be the God of Rome. Oh, what emotions crowd upon the mind. As, standing on this spot, we look around ! Where are thy former gods, immortal Rome, And where thy demi-gods ? their temples where ? Dash'd to the earth, or trembling as they stand ; Whilst He who governs all things, reigns supreme ! Between the branching boughs the stars peep down To guide me on my way; what unknown worlds Crowd the immensity of endless space ! We know not what they are, but reason tells Such lovely realms were never made in vain ; The same almighty Power who made our globe, And peopled it with forms intelligent. Who made it lovely, and upon it flung The robe of vegetation, with its tints Of varied beauty, fitted to adorn The glories of Omnipotence — has not Created them for nought. No ! these bri(]rht orbs May be the blest abodes of spirits pure And beautiful, as were those sons of God ROME. 67 Who visited our world before the flood. Ye bright intelligences ! if ye see Our circling world revolving in its sphere, Her toiling children struggling to be great, While o'er them hangs the sword of destiny, Which cuts the thread of life ere yet their toils Have realised the objects of their dreams ; — Ruins of empires scatter d o'er this globe, Ambition fallen, and tyranny o'erthrown ; The gods of men's imaginations, once adored. Then cast aside as fabulous and false ; The struggling nations striving to be strong, Till they become oppressors of the weak ; The pride of luxury and pamper'd wealth, The pangs of poverty and unpaid toil, — Ye must in w^onder gaze upon the scene, While ye adore your Maker for His love ! The palace of the Caesars, stretching far Along Mount Palatine, looks darkly down, And checks my reverie ; its shadows long- Are cast beneath its walls, in gloomy state ; Through the long-arched windows flows the light, And moonbeams kiss the quoins and ragged tops Of those old walls, as now the moon descends. Farewell a while, ye relics of the dead I Ere yet I seek my rest, let nie recall The pleasures of this ramble to my mind, That I may dream of scenes so wonderful. But, hush ! what sounds are those which reach my ear, Startling the sjnrits of this solitude / Louder they grow, and shouting group.s pour down The Capitolium Hill, in wild array, 68 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. With blazing torches waving in their hands, " Viva ! viva ! viva la liberta ! " Kise o'er the noisy drum's incessant roll. Some vague belief that late concessions made By Pio Nono to the citizens, Would by Count Rossi be denied to them, Had roused the anger of the civic guard. Who join'd the mob in cries for liberty. But oh, what horrors some few hours reveal ! Another day had open'd on the world ; The noon-day sun was lingering still on high, When from the streets arose again the shout, *' Viva ! viva ! viva la liberta !" And soon the bitter truth was blushing told : " Rossi is fallen ! upon the senate's stairs He met his fate, struck by some unknown hand !" And such is life — so short, so insecure ! Rossi, prime minister of Rome, is dead ! When from his couch he rose in health this morn, Determined in his course, lie little thought, A rni'd with the power supreme, his life so short ! Eudow'd with talents rare, and good intent, He sought his country's weal ; but fear'd to yield The sovereign powers to Roman citizens ; Doubting their fitness for those equal rights So prized by Rome, ere yet her yielding sons Invested Caesar with imperial rule : To awe the senate, he around it drew Arni'd legions call'd from far, nor first essay'd To know its judgment on a point so grave. Oh, had the assassin's dagger not been drawn, Public opinion had eflfected all ! ROME. 69 The expectant seuate waited but that he Should enter the assembly, where his friends, Fearing the aspect of the public will, Had left their seats, and sternly stood opposed To acts infringing on their free debate ; The soldiers, doubting if in such a cause They dared attack the senate's legal rights, Embraced the people, and reversed their arms ; When, knowing not how deeply his offence Had roused the city, Rossi smiled at threats, And braved the hootings of the angry mob. Till on the senate's crowded stairs he stood. And in an instant fell to rise no more. Close by this fatal spot where Rossi fell. Once, silent, stood the arm'd conspirators In Pompey's Forum, waiting Caesar's steps : Forewarn'd of danger, through their ranks he pass'd, Suspecting nought from those he thought his frien(is, And took his seat unmoved, in royal state. With flatt'ring homage all around him press'd ; One pleaded warmly for a brother's life Prostrate before him, clinging to his robe ; At which known signal, daggers gleam'd aloft ; Casca and Cassius striking wildly first, Unused to murder, miss'd their deadly aim, And only wounded him they meant to slay. Before his frown they stood, a moment awed, But when his eye met Brutus 'midst his foes, Exclaiming, " Et tu Brute !" o'er his face He drew his mantle, and, with dignity, 'Neath his great rival's statue lifeless fell, Ambition's victim at his country's shrine. 70 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. O Home ! thy children knew not then the art Which since, by frequent practice, they have learnt, To strike the threaten'd blow with fatal aim, As that which hurried Rossi to the tomb ! The dagger ne'er by freemen should be used, But moral force disarm the tyrant's hand. O liberty ! what art thou but a name — A phantom beautiful, which we would grasp ? Just hovering o'er the earth like Noah's dove. Seeking some ])lace whereon to rest thy foot. But finding none ! or if, perchance, a spot Bears its lone crest amidst the rolling waves Of human passions, tempting thee to rest — Those rolling waves lift up their foaming heads, And roar around thee horribly, till thou Hast stretch'd thy golden wings aloft, in grief, And sought a refuge in a brighter world. Yet, 'midst the spirits of the deep abyss. Some dare assume thy form, usurp thy name. And talk of equal rights, but strive for power. For vain pre-eminence, for sov'reign rule ; Or, 'midst excesses of licentiousness. Debase thy sacred name. O liberty ! Thou wilt not reign enthroned in luxury. Where thousands die of penury and want ; Nor wilt thou rest with those who claim the right To think and act with licence unrestrain'd. Unmindful of their weaker brethren's rights ; But if on earth thou ever deign'st to reisfn. It will be where wise laws are well dispensed. With equal rights, — but limited so far That they infringe not on the common weal ; ROMK 7 1 Where all enjoy the privilege to think, To speak, and act, as freemen may become ! Rome ! thou hast been the mistress of the world ; Thy citizens been princes, demigods ; And, cherish' d by thy hand, the sister arts Grew up in beauty ; yet I sometimes doubt If thou hast e'er been free, or if thy sons Have ever known true liberty. Alas ! Gloiy has dazzled thee with specious glare — An ignis fatuus, enticing thee From the fair temple of inviting Peace Through the red gorges of destructive War ; Thy conquests were thy ruin — victory, Thy overthrow ; thy spoils involved thy death, Making thee drunk with false excitements strong, And lulling all thy energies to sleep, Save those begot by luxury and pride, Oppression, fraud, and empty vanity ; But thou hast slept for ages, and thy sons Are waking from their lethargy to life ; Thy history before them for their guide, And thy past grandeur strew'd around their path ; The book of knowledge, larger grown, invites Their earnest study ; nations mighty now, Which once thy conquering armies held in awe. Or made thy provinces, but gaze on thee, As on some crater of volcanic might. Whose fires are quench'd in ashes, but whose throes Proclaim thee unexhausted to the world ! O Pome ! if thou canst burst the mental thrall Which binds thy energies, and nobly rise, Refined by thy past trials from the dross 72 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Which has so long obscured thy intellect ; If thou canst take once more an honour'd seat Among the new-born nations of mankind, And reign, patron of liberty and truth, Encourager of arts and sciences, Of honest worth and labour's toiling sons ; Firm to defend thy rights, yet seeking not To lord it o'er thy neighbours in thy might — God speed thee on thy way with good success ! But still some words of counsel I would give : Komans ! be men, be moral men, and true ; Act on stem principles of justice plain ; Do unto others as you would that they Should do to you ; deeply respect the truth ; Banish deception, fraud, dishonesty, And cowardly assassins, from your soil ; Let justice frown on crime, impartially — Placed far above the rich man's wicked bribe, And fear of violence ! Let honour be Modell'd on virtue and morality ! What is religion if it teach not these First precepts of her Founder ? Think not, then. If once thy soul descends to fraud or guile. To save thee from some momentary pain, It e'er will rise, resolved at duty's call To face the dangers all true patriots brave ! No priestly absolution can restore The faded glow of conscious rectitude ! Mark well the fact — wherever is observed A strict regard for truth, there courage dwells. For courage is the source from which truth springs ; Without it, fraud and fear, like poison, spread ROME. 73 In every breast, sapping its energies. Then let thy citizens, and princes, too, Respect their words as firm, inviolate, Speak boldly, reprobate deceit and fraud, And they will gain a moral influence, Which will around them shine a wall of fire, Impregnable, and worthy their proud name ! IV, There is a charm in music which enthralls And elevates the soul, subduing it To melody and love, or rousing up The passions which may sleep within our breasts, To sudden action, striking on the chords Which long have passive lain unnoticed there ; Till some chance strains congenial meet the ear. And reassume their native influence ; It needs not the proficiency of art. Or studied cadences to move the soul ; — The songs of birds, the village chimes so wild, The rustic's songs, or ploughman's whistle gay. Have each their mystic charms to hallow them ] — Many a Christmas carol, wildly sung By lads and lasses in my own dear land. Has struck this chord, and brought the sleeping tears From their long resting-place ; I bear in mind Those rustics' glee when, from the drifting storm. We saw them enter in the well-known hall. And from their garments shake the frozen snow. Then quaff" the home-brew'd ale, in merry mood. Till carol follow'd carol in its turn, And mirth and music join'd in revelry. 74 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Oh, happy days ! 'tis strange that I should be Far from those scenes at such a time as this, And that too, willingly ; my mind reverts To those bright seasons with a child's delight ; The Christmas parties and the blazing fires, Domestic comedies and youthful games ; The gay quadrilles and romping gallopades, With waltzes, polkas, and the country dance, Including old " De Coverley," so famed; As round the door old servants privileged. Stood watching those before them with delight. Long may those dear reunions glad the hearts Of England's youth, and England's parents, too ; For cold must be the hearts that cannot yield To youth the pleasures they when young enjoy' d. But, mighty Rome ! I tread within thy walls With those I love, companions of my steps ; And though we cannot now enjoy the scenes That made old Christmas welcome to our home, Yet here, at noon, and 'neath the moonlight's beams, We hear the shepherds sing their mountain hymns, The wild Abruzzi, in their long, brown coats. With sheepskin bagpipes and their classic reeds, Before the Virgin's shrines, untutor'd notes Pour forth, nor heed the passing throng, Their voices mingling with thei r instruments ; Ages have pass'd away, yet every year Has brought some minstrels from their distant homes, To hymn the Virgin and her infant Son, Invoking blessings on their flocks and stores ; And though their strains may grate upon the ear Attuned to harmony, yet they are wild, ROME. 75 And such as fill their mountain-hearts with joy. And oft there wander through the busy streets, Or crowd the suburbs with their merchandise, The lusty Sabines from their mountain-wilds, Albano, Tusculum, and Tivoli, Lavinia, Ostia, Labicum, Once famous in the book of history ; Clad in their goatskin coats — with sandall'd feet, And high-crown'd hats with gaudy ribbons deck'd ; And with them on the Festa days will come Their dark-eyed daughters, on whose upright heads The folded linen lies in classic style, With simple falls, to shield their graceful necks From the tierce sun's bold scrutiny : often Upon those auburn necks are seen display'd Bright strings of pearls, and chains of beads, or gold, The black hair braided o'er the acus pin ; A scarlet bodice, gaily laced in front. Displays the white chemise beneath its folds ; From which the amj^le gown of blue or green Descends ; an apron gay, of contrast strong, With tasty borders setting off the whole : Unlike the Roman maiden's sweeping robe. These mountain damsels leave their motions free. And stockings of bright crimson, or of blue. With sandall'd feet, complete the gay costume. How strange the contrast ! Let us stand a while Within the vast Piazza Navona, The ancient Circus Agonalis once. Of which but few and hidden traces mark Its former grandeur and magnificence ; The vast arena now is daily fill'd 76 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. By contadini, laden with the fruits Of toiling industry for idle Rome : Four fountains yield their waters on the spot Where blood was wont to flow so copiously For one — colossal statues represent The mighty Ganges, and the fertile Nile, La Plata, and the Danube, in their strength. And art displays the envious epigram Of famed Bernini, who has veil'd the Nile, Lest e'en the sculptured stone might gaze upon The noble church by Borromini rear'd — His hated rival in the lists of fame. Where'er we turn, the priesthood may be seen — With antique hats no fashion can adorn, And costumes of a bygone century. Here, monks their ingenuity display To mark their various orders to the world — Black, white, gray, piebald vestments wrap their forms. With crosses, cords, hats, caps, and sandals, worn In endless variation ; — And now and then the saintly pilgrim comes, With scallop'd shell upon his russet gown, His slender staff held more for show than use, And beard of flowing hair, for years unshorn. 'Tls strange to see so many of our race Shunning the active duties of the state, Aud wrapping up their talents from the world ! Oh, never wilt thou rise again to life, Expiring Rome, while these, thy able sons. With folded arras elude their share of toil. Which all should gladly bear as citizens Of thy proud empire ! In this busy woi'ld. ! ROMK 77 We need the services of active nien, Whose arms are prompt and equal to their minds : How many thousands of thy best form'd youths Immure themselves within the cloister'd walls, Nor lend their counsel in thy pressing need ! What might they do for Rome, if, fired with zeal, They sought their country's good, and toiled to free Her bending neck from the oppressor's load ! But no ; pale Superstition charms their minds, And bids them seek for peace, where peace is not. Daughters of England ! could your eyes behold Young, blooming girls, whose ardent souls but serve To lead them, inexperienced, to the goal From which is no return to active life ; When e'en the tenderest ties that bind the soul By nature's strongest links, are rudely burst, And cast aside as earthly vanities ! Immured within the convent's gi-ated walls, To suit the worldly views of selfish men, Doom'd to a living death, that one may claim The sordid wealth of some proud family ! How would your tender bosoms nobly throb. And tears steal down your blushing cheeks apace. But late I witness'd two novitiates Taking the vow which shut them from the world ; Within the grated chamber there they stood. Around them friends, consenting, watch'd the scene, Array'd as for some joyous spectacle ; One, modest, slight, with features beautiful. Of tender years, enrobed in virgin white ; The silent tears stood trembling in her eyes. Her soul seem'd melting at the rising thought 78 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Of some bright happiness that once was hers — Of youth's sweet pastimes, rudely torn away From one who could have cherish'd them for aye- One who was fitted to adorn the sphere Of life's sweet harmonies — to brighten home With love and beauty, truth and tenderness ! Yet there she stood, unknowing what she did, Yielding herself, through some compulsive spell, A passive sacrifice ! And her sweet voice. In trembling accents there, pronounced the vow Which barr'd her passage into life again. And now the silver crown had press'd a brow. More fair than were the lilies on its wreath ; And last adieus were bid to all around, Lost in the pealing organ's bursting strains. Around the latticed window press'd the crowd, To gaze upon that child, so fair, so young ; One glance I threw within those grated walls, And full upon that lovely face it fell ; The tears still glisten'd in her large black eyes. And her wholo soul seem'd that of deep amaze. A moment more, and she had pass'd away With the companions of her wretchedness. The stately abbess, who had watch'd the scene With eager eyes, withdrew ; the crowd dispersed, Nor cast one pitying, "ling' ring look behind." Then, in the cloisters of the convent by, The unrobed priests and favour'd friends appear'd Around the gratings, where some sisters sat, And, smiling, talk'd, as kindly they dispensed Kefreshments to their guests with friendly zeal. But ah ! while life is spared, I oft shall think I PwOME. 79 Of that young creature's sad, unpitied fate, And of that stately abbess, whose fine form, And stern, unbending features, still I see. She was a Greek, a learned Greek, and one Born for command ; ambition stamp'd her brow, Whose arched curve set ofi' her dark, bright eye ; Her nose was aquiline, and her small lips Were finely mark'd with that decisive cast Which spoke of firm resolve ; her words were few, But on her face were turn'd the eyes of all. As if they watch'd her inmost thoughts with awe. As late I wander'd on Perugia's heights, With one who deeply felt his country's wrongs, He spoke of deeds which oft uncheck'd were done (Displaying evils which our happy land Would blush to sanction) in those convents drear — Of one frail sister, who was lately dead, Whose history congeal'd my boiling blood : — " Placed in a convent at an early age, Ere yet her mind could know its miseries, She dared neglect some penance late imposed By her superior. 'JSTeath the cloister'd walls, In a deep dungeon, she was rudely forced. And left to pine in hunger, cold, and pain, For many days and nights in solitude. At length, to light restored, she had resolved To leave those hated walls, and wander forth Into the busy world ; and there she went, And found a manly youth, whose soul was moved At her misfortunes — who protected her, And claim'd her as the partner of his life. Ah ! little thought they of the high offence 80 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. They had committed 'gainst the holy Church ! Soon were they found, and, struggling, from his arms The maid was torn, and both were borne away — She to the convent, where the bishop stood, Frowning in wrath upon that child of earth ! The stern decree was pass'd, and never more From that deep dungeon did she pass alive; Whilst he who nobly strove to rescue her From her oppressors, disappear' d, unseen Again, amidst his wond'ring citizens ! " And near us, as we wander'd home, there stood The famed asylum, where, with careful skill, The mind diseased is tended feelingly. We enter'd the vast pile ; there Reason weeps O'er her lost children, calling them in vain From their wrapt reveries, as striving hard To lead them from the gloom of mental night Into the paths which they have wander'd from. Oh, strange delusions ! One poor fellow sought. With rapid words, to make us comprehend That that vast pile was his, and all around His skill directed. Others at the loom Work'd diligently, singing o'er their toil ; While some, apart, were weeping silently. Within the courtyard, wander'd up and down, Or musing stood, eyeing askant the rest, A crowd of wretched men, while others gazed About with vacant stare. A priest was there, Who cross'd himself and mutter'd o'er his prayers — Ave Marias, mix'd with offices Befitting other spots and other times ; While one, with tender look and moisten'd eyes, ROME. 8 1 Dropt on one knee before some silent man, And made confession of his ardent love. We turn'd away, and in a ward close by A nun was seated, counting o'er her beads, On which she, silent, gazed abstractedly. Nor turn'd her head to notice who approach'd. And near her was the empty ward of one Who sought the privilege of exercise Within the precincts of the gardens round. Her native country was my own dear land ; And all around us told of friendships dear Which once were hers. Upon the chamber walls Were sad mementoes of past happiness. There were the well-known " Grange," where once she dwelt. The parents and the sisters she had loved. Drawn by her own frail hand. On her houdoir A Bible, and a prayer-book neatly bound ; And in the room an old spinet was seen. With music, which much use had sadly worn. But all was neat and orderly, as when Within that "Grange" she dwelt, beloved, in health. And soon we met ; but had ye seen her smile When in her native English I address'd That poor unfortunate — her eager look Of pleasure, mix'd with doubt ; as one who knew The language, but could not divine The form who then address'd her — her distress Lest she, perchance, ought to have recognised Some friend forgotten, ye had wept in grief. But soon I eased her mind, assuring her I was a stranger ; one who merely sought F 82 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. If he could serve her in a foreign land. And when my wife and daughter spake to her In accents kind, hot were the tears that fell On their clasp'd hands — the pressure, oh, how tight ! But there, alas ! we left her. May that God Who can illumine the benighted mind, Kecall the wandering thoughts, and renovate The reasoning powers of His afflicted ones ; Gently restore thee to thyself and friends, A present joy and future happiness ! V. The day was bright, and from his golden bed The sun had burst in glory on the world. And the high mountain tops were tipp'd with fire ; E'en Nero's palace blazed with gold again, Where'er its scatter'd ruins met the eye. Oh, 'twas a blessed jubilee ! the birds Their early carols chanted from the brakes ; And high o'er all was heard bold chanticleer, Whose loud defiance roused his neighbour's ire, Mix'd with the cacklings of the busy hens ; The church-bells chimed their matin summons loud, And the bright earth was full of harmony. Fresh from the night's repose, I buoyant sprang. And sought imperial Palatine once more. There, 'midst the smiling ruins, took my stand, And watch' d the sunbeams kiss their hoary heads, And gild the frowning arches with their rays. In their full grandeur never did they look So beautiful as in their ruin now ! Ye splendid halls, where once the Caesars dwelt, ROME. 83 What scenes have pass'd within your time-worn walls ! Ye silent tell-tales of voluptuous days, The wealth upon ye lavish'd was the spoil Wrung by oppression and extortion's fangs From helpless innocence and bitter toil, To grace your tyrant-masters' wanton wills ! Oh, could they see the vanity of pomp. The wreck of pride, and all its cursed ills ; The desolation caused by their disdain Of Roman virtue, such as his who spurn'd The sordid wages from the people wrung — Old Cincinnatus, who preferr'd his plough, And independent poverty, to wealth, By unjust means extorted from mankind, Though he despised plebeian liberty ; — Or rather, such as Numa's, Kome's good prince, Who, by the arts of peace, his country led To honour virtue and respect the laws ; How would they blush and sigh that their great names Should now be reprobated by the good ! Yet such is the fatuity of pride, No lesson will it gather from the past. Here may the stranger wander with amaze, And see and hear of pomp and luxury, Of pride and power abused, till virtue sank Exhausted in the lap of indolence, and vice Engender'd her prolific race, uncheck'd. And let them loose upon a prostrate world. Where is the cottage built by Eomulus, Whose straw-thatch' d roof, so simple, so revered, For ages was preserved with pious care : Near which the sacred cornel-tree once grew ? 84 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Upon its modest site, Augustus rear'd His stately palace, and with boasting pride Declared " The Rome he found composed of brick He left of marble." Better had he said He left it nobly free — left it unstain'd With monster cruelties, and undefaced By foul corruption. Oh ! what avails the wealth Amass'd by conquerors and venal men. While thousands lack the decencies of life ? Where is the house of Cicero, whose voice Did more for Home than her proud legions did ? Swept from its unknown site, unblushingly. By him who basely yielded that great man To glut the wounded pride of Anthony. Oh, foul disgrace ! oh, monster tyranny ! Which could inflict on such a man the doom Of mutilation and ignoble death ! Could not the houses of the Gracchi vast, The halls of Crassus and dark Catiline, Suffice for one of the triumvirate ? No ! all were levell'd, that their crumbling walls Might stand alone in grandeur on those sites. But mark the progress of ambition's sons — The splendid pile Augustus rear'd with pride Was deem'd unfit for proud Tiberius ! Arches on arches rear'd their polish'd heads. And gorgeous rooms were form'd with lavish hands, While vestibules and attrise, adorn'd With art's best labours, still are faintly traced, And noble corridors which led to batlis, With rooms for banqueting, and tennis-courts Where fountains pour'd their grateful treasures forth, ROME. 85 To cool the noonday heat, are now a heap Of mingled ruins scatter'd o'er the ground : Then came Caligula, whose impious soul Sought for a pandemonium on earth ; Fronting the Capitol, the tyrant built His lordly palace, where his jealous eye Might watch the senate's motions, tiger-like ; And from Mount Palatine a bridge he thrcAv Across the Forum to the Capitol. Indignant Rome beheld the sacrilege. And wept o'er insults she could not avert ; Till, moved by sudden danger, vengeance roused Her trembling sons, and nerved their languid arms To sweep the hated monster from his throne. Exhausted by the effort, down they sank. And tyrants rose deriding virtue's laws, Whose dastard souls no other pleasure knew But in the agonies of dying men, E-etined by all the cruelties of art. O God, Thy judgments are inscrutable, Thy ways past finding out by feeble man ! We dare not ask Thy purpose or intent In raising up those monsters of the earth, Whom men have worshipp'd as omnipotent, — Who overthrew Thy altars, slew Thy saints, And mock'd the awful Majesty of Heaven, Till Thou didst crush them in their impious course ! If ever in our sinful, sinnins: world The enemy of man in human form Appear'd to execute Thy vengeance here, It was when Nero ruled imperial Rome ! Despising the vast halls Augustus built, — Ob DESCKIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. And those erected by Tiberius And fell Caligula, (whose rivalry In deeds of blood and wanton cruelty Served but to whet his fiendish appetite,) He sought to clothe himself with powers divine, And claim'd the servile worship of mankind. At his command, upon Mount Palatine, Arose a palace such as Babylon, In her excess of grandeur, ne'er beheld, — Extending to mounts Esquiline and Coelius. Broad plates of solid gold encased the walls, With rarest marbles chastely interspersed, "While costly jewels lent their magic aid To cast the radiance of an iris round. The diamond's and the ruby's brilliant rays Subdued by amethyst and topazes ; The clustering pearls and sapphires intermix'd With opals and the onyx — polish'd floors Of fine mosaics, picturing the deeds Of gods and heroes, spread through all the rooms, The courts and corridors — and frescos bright, The works of Home's best artisans, renown'd, Still cling to vaulted chambers underneath, Choked with the rubbish of two thousand years, As loath to yield their tints to pale decay. Throughout this splendid palace, works of art Of untold value mock'd the patriot's pride ; And the best sculptors Greece or Home produced Paid court to one who scoff'd at liberty ; Around the gorgeous pile fiiir gardens smiled ; And where the far-famed Coliseum stands, A lake its peaceful waters spread around, ROME. 87 On whose green banks the ilex waved its boughs, With palms, and cypresses, and chestnut trees, Planted in their full growth ; and in the west. Beneath Mount Palatine, extended far The Circus Maximus, where deeds of blood And chariot races pleased the eager crowd. Within this ruin'd chamber Nero sat, Feeding his pamper'd appetite, nor thought Of those who waited in that circus vast His signal for their brutal spectacle. Till the low murmurs of the people rose In strains too loud for royal ears to bear. In haste, alarm'd, his napkin forth he threw From that high crumbling archway, with a curse ; And shouts proclaim' d the tardy signal given : Forth stept the tyrant, and within his bower, Mark'd by yon time-worn walls, he proudly sat Eyeing with scorn and anger all below ; Till scenes of blood and death had caused the smile Of approbation on his face to play. This was the monster Avho could calmly sit And watch the flames destroy imperial Pome ; Who slew her noblest senators, and wish'd Pome had one neck that he might slay them all ! How changed the scene ! The Circus Maximus, Through which the Poman triumphs wound their way, Extends its site beneath the royal mount. And contadini labour on its soil, Unconscious of its former history ! Tarquinius Prisons ! what remains to tell The grandeur of thy work 1 the very walls Which circled this vast spot, the massive tiers 88 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Of rising seats where living masses sat And watch'd the games by Romulus ordain'd, Are barely traceable — strong faith alone In past tradition aids the wandering eye, As o'er these gardens vacantly it looks. Yet, ere these walls were built, tradition tells This spot the scene of violence had been ; For here, at eventide, the Sabine maids Were wont to ramble 'neath the ilex groves, And listen to the blackbird's dreamy note, Or the lone nightingale's, whose melody Still charms the ears of youth with strains divine ; Or here, perchance, they listen'd to the sounds Of clashing arms and uproar dissonant. Borne on the summer's breeze from martial Rome ; And here, when to the public games proclaim'd By daring Romulus, in after days. In Consu's honour, came from neighb'ring towns The unarm'd Sabines, with their daughters fair. And, unsuspecting, watch'd the manly sports — Upon a signal given, Rome's warlike sons Clasp'd each a blooming damsel in his arms, And bore her off, despite her struggling cries, To grace his lonely dwelling with her charms — The future matrons of imperial Rome ! Upon this mount what desolation reigns ! The timid wren, and gorgeous butterfly, With sporting lizards, dart among the walls, And claim them, as their own, while daylight lasts : Then the lone owl and solitary bat Come forth from their lone vaults, and stretch their wings, To gaze upon the moon and silent stars : ROME. 89 The ivy clings around the shattev'd walls, And through the broken arches, pendent fall Its waving tresses, beautifully sad ; And wild flowers bloom around the ruin'd pile, Such as we cherish in our northern clime With tender care ; heedless of winter's frosts. The blushing rose unfolds her glowing charms. And smiles amidst the ravages of time, As lovely as she smiled in ages past — Time has but added beauty to her sheen. There is a mansion of fantastic form Amidst these awful ruins, strangely built, Which mars the unities of time and place ; Its very neatness and its gay parterres Offend the majesty and solitude Which long have reign'd upon Mount Palatine ; — Within its garden walls a ruin stands, Where baths and vaulted rooms lie buried deep Beneath accumulated earth and stones ; There, where Augustus Caesar often sat, Darkness now reigns profound ; the taper's light Scarce burns within the desolated halls ; At every step the scatter'd fragments tell The former beauty of those blacken'd walls Which the fair marble clothed — now damp and bare. Farewell, thou mighty sepulchre of pride. Thou pyramid to luxury uprear'd ! One virtuous deed deserves more lasting fame Than all thy boasted grandeur hath acquired ; Henceforth be thou a monument o'er which Pride and ambition long may contemplate The vanity of glories such as thine. 90 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. VI. The crescent moon sail'd on the azure sky, Like some fair boat upon a placid lake, And near its prow two brilliant stars appear'd To guide her through the deep ; her glittering train Of heavenly fair ones, deck'd with beams of light, Darted their glories through the realms of space, And lovely Yenus from her car look'd down And smiled upon the scene so charmingly That every eye upon her beauty turn'd ; The fiery Mars withdrew his angry rays, Lost in the silvery radiance of the hour, And full-orb'd Jupiter more brightly shone. As gazing on the grandeur of the scene. The yellow Tiber found himself array'd In bright habiliments of heavenly light. And, smiling, curl'd his waters as he went. Across the mighty stream. Pons OElius (Which leads to Hadrian's tomb) its arches stretch'd, Whose marble statues stood in bold relief Against the azure sky ; dark shadows lay Upon the shining stream, marking deep curves And buttresses, and lengthening out the forms Which stood above, upon his trembling breast ; Against the horizon rose the solemn dome Of Michael Angelo, St Peter's boast ; And Hadrian's tower, on which St Michael stands, Frown'd o'er its yawning fosse, in masses dark. While moonbeams gleam'd upon the angel's sword ; Beneath, in solemn grandeur, stretch'd afar Ancient and modern Rome, whose domes and towers Stood sentinels around her sleeping sons. ROME. 91 There long I ponder'd o'er the peaceful scene. Strange destiny ! the tomb of Hadrian Built to contain the ashes of the dead, Finds refuge for the living in their need ! Now on it stands the frowning angel's form ; Like warlike Mars, he holds the sword of war Half-sheath'd in his right hand ; and sentinels Stalk round its battlemented towers, from whence The deep-mouth' d cannon pour their thunder forth ; And Christ's vicegerents o'er His peaceful Church, Have named the heathen's tomb Fort Angelo, And fill'd its dreary vaults with prisoners. Whose real and fancied crimes, an equal fate Has render'd equal in their brotherhood — The man who dared to kill, v/ith him who dared to think. But late, I gain'd admittance to this tower, And wander'd through its winding passages ; Its fresco'd chambers, gloomy cells and halls Then fill'd with Rome's arm'd citizens and guards ; Upon its frowning walls I stood, and saw Saint Peter's glorious church and colonnade, Its g-ushing fountains and its mighty dome. And the famed Vatican before me lie ; The Tiber and its bridges 'neath my feet. With towers, palaces, and crowded streets ; — And from the city walls extended far Tlie distant country, to the Apennines And Sabine hills, their summits tipp'd with snow, On which the sun's bright beams had fallen asleejj. From thence descending with unwilling steps, Two jailors led the way beneath the fort. 92 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Amidst the pine-torch glare, we groped along The ancient causeway to the heathen's tomb ; There Hadrian's urn reposed — the vaiilted roof And massive walls, which costly marble cased, — Now dark and damp, — and cold, as death itself! Huge fragments lay around the chamber drear, Once paved with rich mosaics beautiful ; An empty niche tells where the statue stood. Of him whose ashes rested in the tomb. Two monks stood by me, clad in hood and stole, "With cords tied round their waists, and sandall'd feet, And near them were those jailors with their lights ; — A creeping chill pervaded all my frame, And sudden thoughts of violence arose With vivid clearness in my startled mind. — A smile succeeded as I look'd around ; — For, fear of something undefined had seized The trembling friars, who in haste withdrew. I envy not the great their costly tombs ; The green sward seems more fitted for the dead. Where wild flowers bloom and rustics stretch their limbs Beneath the willow or the cypress shade, And moonbeams light the fairy throng at eve To dance or sigh above the silent grave. The light of day is sweet when from the gloom Of dungeons drear we visit it again. So thought I, as I left those gloomy cells, And breathed once more the world's bright atmosphere. Now sinks the youthful queen of night to rest. Behind the curtain'd clouds which darkly hang Along the horizon's curve, and spread their gloom O'er heaven's bright canopy. How changed the scene ! ROME. 93 Each object fades in darkness from my sight Beneath night's sombre pall, which now descends " In rayless majesty" upon the earth. The elements, aroused at her approach, Dispute her empire, rending her dark veil "With streams of vivid light, and distant moans Proclaim the coming storm. More awful grows the scene, more dark the night ! Upon earth's confines giant forms, array 'd As flaming warriors, lift the solemn pall. Dazzling the world with an excess of light. And bursting clouds are rent with awful roar ; Affrighted nature weeps, and torrents fall. Swelling the angry Tiber in his course. From point to point the forked lightning darts, And crashing thunders shake the Sabine hills, Which echo back again the uproar wild. In haste I thread my way through empty streets. Where all is silent, save the pattering rain Which from the lofty housetops fast descends. And rushes down the thoroughfares uncheck'd. The lightning's flashes guide my lonely steps, And force minutest objects on my view. Then, all is dark again — Refreshing sleep Restores my wonted strength, and early dawn Proclaims the advent of earth's jubilee. He comes, he comes, the glorious god of day ! Bright beams of glory pierce the dusky clouds, His swift-wing'd coursers mount the blazing sky, And earth's loud anthems welcome his approach ! Not with the measured pace which he is wont 94 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. To rise o'er Britain's distant land comes he ; But with a bound he springs to earth — a god, Diffusing heavenly lustre on the world, And all the enei'gies of active life. The waking flowers unfold their dewy leaves, And glisten in his beams with lovely smiles ; The foggy vapours lift their curling shrouds Steep' d in the crimson'd flood of rosy mom } As evil spirits brooding o'er the earth, Touch'd by Ithureal's spear, they blushing fly ! Where is the tempest now ? the awful roar Of warring elements ? Sweet harmony Assumes her ancient empire on the earth, And all is beauty, happiness, and love. And now begins the busy hum of life — The rustic vehicles, of shapes grotesque, Laden with fruits and produce of the earth ; And laughing wives and daughters gaily dress'd, With contadini in their blue costumes, Their legs encased in greaves of leather strong ; Some damsels gravely riding steeds astride. While men sit sideways on tlieir patient mules. All crowding through the city gates in haste To sell their varied merchandise, and buy The homely luxuries of humble life. Oh, I would rather watch the honest glee Of nature's unspoilt children, unrestrain'd By fashion's rigid maxims, than the pomp Of wealth and power in all their tinsel dress'd ! What is the heart when taught to still the pulse 1 The face no more the index of the mind — Vain mockeries, which ought to be despised ! HOME. 95 There is a grandeur in old Tiber's stream, Whose yellow waters still flow proudly on, As when he wash'd the feet of mighty Rome In her full glory. On his classic banks Are ruin'd arches striding o'er his breast Whose swelling pride has heaved them from their base ; — And beds of giant reeds wave to and fro Mocking the undulations on his face, O'er which some hang to kiss it in his course. What changes thou hast known, thou mighty stream ! Thy history extends through empires past, Into the fabled ages of mankind, Whose records are as visions dimly seen, Or lost amidst the chaos of past time ! Our modern days to thee seem strange and sad — The very barks, that lazily float down Upon thy waters, bear the antique forms Which ages past they bore ; their lofty prows And tented awnings sj^reading o'er their decks Their half-filled, flapping sails seem destitute Of life and energy, though picturesque As perfecting the melancholy view. There stands a temple on the Tiber's banks That still retains the form of what it was, Though time has clothed it with his sombre garb, And bronzed its fluted columns once so fair, Which form a clustering peristyle around Its marble walls. Upon its altar burn'd The sacred fire, preserved from age to age ; And there I love to stand and contemplate 96 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. That stream which flows majestically on As it was wont to do in days of yore, When Vesta drew her votaries around This lovely temple. Here, on solemn days, The vestal train came forth in beauty fresh, With their young priestess, bearing in their hands The flaming torches, lit with holy fire From their chaste altar — reverenced by all : And near that vestal temple, Fortune mourns Her shrine deserted by her votaries ; Against its stucco'd walls old columns stand, — Fluted Ionic, beautiful in form, — Supporting an entablature, once grand ; Enrich'd, and finely chisell'd ; crowding 'neath The stately portico, have stood the brave. The weak, the rich, the poor, and humbly craved The fickle goddess on their lives to smile ; Now all is changed, and even Fortune weeps. Her glory dimm'd by rigid Destiny ! Sad proofs around display her angry mood — Behold the ruin'd walls which front the door ! There was Kienzi's palace, (Pilate's house. By false tradition call'd.) Bienzi lived The child of Fortune — as a meteor seen Blazing across the gloom of ages dark. Which long had gather'd o'er imperial Home : We see him rolling back those clouds of night, And from his eyes intelligent a stream Of heav'nly light shines forth upon the world, Rousing his slumb'ring country from hei* trance : But see its brightness quench'd, and Bigotry ROME. 97 Bestride her blackest steed, ride o'er the land, Trampling each rising patriot to the ground. Could we but know thy future destiny, Thou land of beauty, fable, and romance ! Romantic in thy history and faith. Amidst the blaze of revelation and The light of science, still thou boldest firm The ceremonials and the pagan rites Of an expired mythology, by man Engrafted on that simple Church of Christ, Which only needs that those who worship Cod, Should worship Him in spirit and in truth, Through one sole mediator, Christ our Lord. Around the spirit of thy passive sons The chains of bigotry have been entwined In Gorgon folds, so complicate and strong, That nothing but the light of heaven can melt The massive links, and set thy children free : We see them writhing 'neath the galling yoke ; We hear their cries for aid, — and even now They are arousing from their lethargy ; While he, thy Sov'ran Pontiff, who had felt Compassion for thy sufferings, and loosed The pressure of thy bondage, saw the bound With which thy buoyant spirit started up, And fled alarmed at thy fierce countenance ! But nought that thou art able to perform. Unaided, inexperienced, and unlearn'd In modern warfare, will avail thee yet ; The giant arms of new-born empires grasp The thunderbolts of war to crush thee down, And fell ambition breeds contentions warm Q 98 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Among the members of tliy commonwealth ! But yet thy day of freedom, long deferr'd, Is drawing nearer, though the thunders roar From tyrants or the Vatican. In vain The warlike din ! The still, small voice Of truth eternal works its silent way Amidst the roaring elements ; and man "Will learn, ere long, throughout the peopled world, The sacred rights of alL Hear ye the murmurs loud From Hungary's far bounds to Belgium, From Tuscany's fair province, Lombardy, And mourning Rome, to heaven-born Sicily; From warlike Piedmont, France, and Germany 1 See ye the flight of kings and princes strong. The wavering armies, and the stern resolve Of peaceful nations to assert their rights ? Scarcely two years have pass'd since mighty France Drove forth her monarch from his royal throne ; And Oermany has arm'd her citizens ; While Austria contends with provinces Which strive to free themselves from foreign rule. Charles Albert flies from Piedmont ; Tuscany Has cast her ruler from his palaces ; And Pio ISTono, he on whom all eyes Were fix'd as on the prince of liberty, Scared by the wild excitement of the times, Has taken refuge in a foreign land ! Unstable France, who should have lent thee aid, Has o'er thy patriot sons her legions led, And strives to crush thy rising energies ! Come, gentle Peace, extend thy olive branch O'er warring nations ! stay the fratricide ROME. 99 Which stains the fairest portions of the globe ! Let Liberty come with thee, hand in hand ; Wipe thou away the tears which dim her eyes, And bid her smile once more among the free ! Let her the lion lead, and thou the lamb, Till both are reconciled, and meekly lie Beside your feet, bright messengers of heaven ! VII. The stranger, as he walks abstractedly Through modern Rome, sees but the mighty wreck Of forums, temples, palaces, and tombs ; The scatter'd vestiges of ancient days. Rome's stately citizens appear more proud And lofty in their attitudes and forms Than those of Naples, or the Florentines ; Wrapp'd in their ample cloaks, (whose classic folds Across the shoulder thrown, recall to mind The Roman toga's graceful drapery). They proudly saunter through their crowded streets. There oft is heard the contadino's voice In earnest sounds along the suburbs vast, Shouting aloud, as at the fav'rite game Of mora, he proclaims, with outstretch'd hands, The changing numbers of the digitals. How many tragic scenes of blood take place Over this simple game ! The ready knife Cuts short the war of words, and daily sends Fresh victims to the grave. Beneath the house Of Barberini, (which arose from spoils Stolen from the Coliseum's noble w^alls,) But lately, was committed such a deed ; — 100 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Amidst the tumult of loud voices rose A shriek ; a groan ensued — a heavy fall — Then all was silent, save some hasty steps And the low murmur of the gath'ring crowd : Within the pressing throng one bleeding lay, His head reclining on his ample chest ; Then through that press there rush'd a female form With air distracted, — bending o'er the fallen, — Her piercing voice has open'd his closed eyes. Which gaze upon her fixedly, then shut, No more to open on that well-known face ; And as she falls beside him, the full stream Of life-blood dyes her garment, in its course : And there lay long the living and the dead ! The moon's cold beams fell on them silently, No hand essay'd to lift them from the spot ; The holy unction has arrived too late. And all disperse, nor seek to capture him Who struck the death-blow to that pulseless heart. An hour has pass'd, and now a notary, With pen and inkhorn hanging at his side, Makes hasty minutes of the dead man's name, The day and hour he fell — and gives the word For instant burial. And these are facts, Stripp'd of some cold, disgusting incidents Which shock the sympathies ! Yet frequently Such horrid deeds occur in Christian R-ome, Which claims the vaunted privilege to be The seat of Christian govei-nment supreme. Oh, what a stain is cast upon our ftxith ! That here, where priests and churches rich abound, Where monks shut up their talents from the world, ROME. 101 The poor are left in helpless ignorance. Alas ! disputed creeds, and points of faith, Which to the poor are unknown mysteries, So occupy the learned in their zeal They cannot deign to teach the vulgar crowd The simple truths which Christian men should know, Divine religion is a code of love — A revelation of the Deity And His bright attributes to fallen man ! So pure, that Selfishness cannot attain To its sweet luxuries, nor wills to grasp The proffer'd charms within her daily reach ! The morning came, and, as I pass'd the spot. The crimson stains remain'd to tell the deed ; Shuddering, I turn'd aside, and sought relief From this sad tragedy in other scenes. Beneath the Quirinal, a column stands In Trajan's forum, grand and beautiful ! In circling groups upon it are display'd The victories of him who crown'd its height ; — Trajan, the well-loved emperor of Rome ! But now St Peter fills the warrior's place, — Strange pedestal for one whose thoughts were peace ! The broken pillars strew'd around its base Leave some faint traces of the giant works ApoUodorus plann'd with so much skill. High as that lofty column proudly towers. The solid mount extended, where it stands. How bold the effort ! thus to root it up. And seize its site for such a work as this ! The stranger here may linger long, and see 102 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Bome's warlike legions carved in bold relief; Her chariots and her horsemen in the fight, Their triumphs, and the captives in their trains, And all the arms and costumes of those times. But where are now the arch magnificent, The temple, baths, and proud Basilica, Which stood within the Forum desolate ? The Ulpian library, whose classic lore Comprised the choicest scrolls of Greece and Borne, So treasured by the sages of past days — Where linger'd oft 8.nd long the learned men Of every nation — where the portico And corridors 'neath Mdiich the pupils stray' d, Imbibing wisdom from their teachers' moutlis ? Upon their unknown sites huge palaces And modern churches stand — and fancy strives In vain to trace a vision of the past ! And, as we wander round the farmost bounds Which circled in these spacious works of art, We see the marble-fluted pillars stand, (Half- buried in the soil) which bear on high Tlie rich entablature and handsome frieze That form'd a portion of the temple built To Pallas, as the patroness of arts ! Domitian rear'd it near his forum's bounds, Whose giant walls our admiration claim. There, still remain, preserved with zealous care, Parts of the cella and the portico Of that famed temple Trajan nobly built To Nerva's honour, with unsparing hand : The Parian columns of majestic height Support a splendid architrave, enrich'd ROME. 1U3 With skilful carvings, which display the taste And beauty of that temple, in its prime. Time, fell destroyer ! thou hast found a realm Where thou sitt'st throned in splendid mockery, Laughing at human skill ; and thy stretch'd hand Points at the ruins scatter'd far around, Which nature decks with beauty in their fall, Hanging sweet garlands o'er the hoary walls. See yonder broken arches, midst the mass Which fronts the Celian 'neath the Aventine — These were the baths of Oaracalla, rear'd With all the costly art of Roman taste, And built as if to mock thy dreaded power ; But thou hast struck them with thy deadly wand. And they are crumbling back to dust again ; The solid arches crushing in their fall The rich mosaics of those splendid halls j Their many-colour d marbles scatter'd round ! Beneath these ruins are entomb'd the gods Which men first made, then worshipp'd and adored ' Here rich and poor repaired, and daily sought Those luxuries unknown to modern times. Ooarse unguents first were o'er their bodies rubb'd, To give them pliancy of nerve and limb ; Then to the heated baths they quick repair'd, Laving their bodies as they stood, or sat, And with the strigil scraped their steaming limbs ; Which from the unguents freed, upon their heads The ready slaves pour'd o'er them copious streams, Then dried them carefully with linen cloths. And o'er their bodies threw the light gausape- ] 04 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. When from the baths they came, young slaves ap- proach' d, Bearing fresh perfumed oils, and ointments rare. With which they gently rubb'd the bathers o'er ; At length their wonted garments they resume. And to the tepidarium resort, Then through the frigidarium they pass, Ei'e yet they seek their native atmosphere. For those who sought more manly exercise, Cold baths extended, where the swimmers bathed. And tennis-courts, or wrestling, braced their limbs ; And near, within the public halls, were seen Rome's best philosophers and poets famed, Who there dispensed their wisdom to the crowd. Nor did these sumptuous baths alone suffice Rome's crowded citizens for public use ; The baths of Dioclesian, spreading far, Enclosed a space so large, our views confined Can scarcely credit such a wide expanse ; Yet on a portion of its site now stand Three Christian churches, palaces and squares. With gardens spreading o'er the unclear'd ground ; While noble halls, high-arch'd, and massive walls, Frown darkly on the works of modern times. The baths of Titus, form'd with skilful art, (Though many of its arched chambers now Are choked with earth and ashes,) but attest Their first magnificence. There the Laocoon, That mighty work of ancient genius, lay Entomb' d beneath the refuse of past time ! Imagination stretches into realms Of bygone ages, pondering on this group ! ROME. 105 See vainly struggling in the twisted coils Of two enormous snakes, wliicli loop them round, The manly Laocoon and his two sons ! The father's brawny hands, extended, grasp One monster asp, as in his shrinking side The poisonous serpent strikes liis deadly fang. The piercing shrieks, and pleading looks for help. On either side, afflict the father's soul. While round his youthful sons the adders twine, Or suck the life-blood from their swelling veins : His agonising face, so full of love, Maintains the dignity of injured worth Amidst the tortures of his sufferings ! Invoking earnestly Apollo's* aid, The prince, the priest, the outraged father groans With deep-di"awn throes of mortal agony, As through his veins the deadly venom creeps, And round his legs the gorgon knots are strain'd. How vain the efforts to release those limbs ! The swelling muscles and the bursting veins Distend the father's throat, his arms, his legs, Into proportions vast and horrible. See how the monsters strain their circling folds ! The writhing body and extended arms, The deep-drawn breath and upturn'd eyes proclaim Frail nature's struggle, and the soul's appeal From wrongful vengeance, w^ith undying love And dignity sublime. How shrinks the soul From such a contest of unequal strength ! Within these buried vaults the artist's skill Has blended groups from fancy's wild domain With nature's loveliest objects. On the walls. 106 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Paintings in fresco by some master-bands Give us an insigbt to domestic life, The customs and tbe fasbions of tbose times. There, by tbe torch's light, did Raphael sit And study long tbe graces of a school So full of beauty, truth, and mystery ; Enriching his bright genius with a store Of long-lost fancies, soon to rise again, New clad with elegance and native taste. And though no traces now exist to tell The wonders of Agrippa's splendid baths, — Of those Domitian's liberal hand supplied, And many others time has swept away. Of equal grandeur and magnificence, — Yet history tells us they abounded here. Oh, what a mighty overthrow was thine, Thou wondrous city of the wondrous dead ! Deeper thy temples lie beneath the earth Than famed Pompeii, thy loved daughter, lies ; Thy seven hills are scarcely traceable ! The fertile valleys proudly threaten them With strange equality. Destructive war. The earthquake's mighty shocks, and civil strife, Dark ignorance and bigotry combined, Have left thee, fall'n and desolate, entomb'd Beneath thy humbled children's dust, whose v/oes Too mighty were, to heed thy sad estate. Or seek amidst thy ruins for the wealth That unregarded lay beneath thy walls ! The stately tombs which lined the Appian Way Have crumbled into dust, and have restored Ashes to ashes, dust to dust again. ROME. 107 The Columbaria, where were preserved Tlie ashes of Rome's common citizens, In humble urns, ranged round their gloomy walls, In niches claim'd by those whose names they bore. Lie buried deep beneath the risen soil ; Strange cemet'ries are these, where what remain'd Of thousands long unknown were left in peace. Their earthen lamps extinct beside their urns ! There is a tomb carved in the tufo rock. Where winding lab'rinths lead explorers on Through deep, dark passages, and chilling vaults, Which the faint torchlight leaves in dusky gloom. There, were sarcophagi with statues found, Which now adorn the Vatican's proud halls : The Scipios claim'd those gloomy vaults of death ! And there their ashes rested, and their toils. How dark a place for those whose fiery souls Have pierced through history's dim realms. And still shine brightly in a distant age ! Heroic family ! Home's well-loved sons ! Renown'd for wisdom, bravery, and worth. Lost was their tomb for ages, and unknown The spot where lay the ashes of their dead ; While some who lived obscure preserved their names On monuments which time has lightly touch'd. The pyramid to Gains Cestus rear'd Still stands as perfect as when first up-piled ; The solid structure, from its wide-spread base. Towers to a point, as those the Pharaohs built. And that round massive tower, by Romans made, A fortress of defence in times of war ; Where lay the gather'd ashes of the dead 108 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Cecilia. Metella, whose rich sire Deem'd it some solace to his heartfelt grief To place her dust in such a monument. But while I walk around its time-rent walls, My thoughts will wander back to Cestus' tomb ; There, at its base, beneath the willow's shade, Where roses bloom, and lilies lift their heads. Where sweetbriars twine their branches in festoons With honeysuckles, and the humming bees. Their melancholy music all day long, Sweet dirges sing, I love to take my seat. And hold communion with the gather'd dead ; For there, on every side, I see the graves Of my loved countrymen who lie beneath — The earth their resting-place ! and at their heads Some kind memorials of their names and worth, In their dear native language, simply writ. Oh ye who, wand'ring in a foreign land. With minds imbued with elegance and truth — Ye humble learned ones, who felt delight In contemplating grandeur, undesired. And gaining wisdom from the book of fate ! — Crowd round my path, and take my sympathy And earnest hopes that ye are with the blest ! And ye, fair daughters, whom the hand of death Has left lamented in the stranger's soil ! I 've travell'd far 'midst nature's lovely scenes, Have conversed oft with beauty of all climes ; Yet never has my heart a moment known, Amidst the fairest forms of other lands, A pleasure such as that my soul received From Britain's lovely daughters chaste and good ! ROME. 109 Then let my heart throb o'er your distant graves, And, though a silent tear may dim my eyes, Deem me no hypocrite, or insincere, But one who loves his country for its worth — Made doubly dear by beauty good and rare ! Here tuneful Keats sunk 'neath the critic's pen, And bade his epitaph his wrongs make known, Ere yet " Hyperion," in dress sublime. Could claim a triumph for his slander'd fame, And Titans mourn his yet unfinish'd song ! And on the empty tomb to Shelley raised The stranger gazes with a mournful sigh, And grieves for talents prematurely lost. Which time and deep reflection had matured. Ah ! better far that ye should rest in peace 'Neath the green sod, thus humbly, than entomb'd In costly sepulchres, which tempt the hands Of ruthless rapine to invade the dead. And spoil the fairest temples of their wealth. Who can distinguish now Augustus' tomb, Or that of Trajan, .or Metella's tower, As sepulchres in which their ashes lay '? The mausoleum by Augustus rear'd, Of purest marble, where the gather'd dust Of those he loved for ages lay entomb'd. Which rose on hio;h bedeck'd with eversjreens, Crown'd by his statue of enduring bronze. Now forms a theatre, where actors strut In all the tinsell'd gaud of modern times, Misrepresenting what they fain would act ; Pleased with the vulgar shout of vain applause I Unlike the stately theatres of old, 110 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Such as Marcellus rear'd, with classic taste, Where solemn tragedy withdrew her veil, Aud bared the passions to the wond'ring world. I love to gaze upon those hoary walls, Forming a circle large, with columns vast ; Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian, chaste, Crown'd by rich composite, some fall'n beneath, With deep-mouth'd arches interspersed between ; Worthy the talents which such plan design' d. Beneath those walls the modern architect Studies thy wondrous fabric with delight ; How alter'd is thy ruin'd aspect now ! The poor mechanic labours at his toil Within those yawning arches desolate ; As at his feet thy broken pillars lie. Where bask his ragged children in the sun. And laugh at those who mourn thy sad decay. Around this spot dark dungeons still exist, Where might usurp' d, its hateful vengeance dealt On all who dared to question tyranny. Cramm'd by the base Decemviri, their cells Could scarce contain the victims of their hate, Till death relieved them from their misery. Who has not heard, and hearing, sigh'd to hear, The tale of filial piety perform'd In these dark cells ? Here sat alone, confined, An aged prisoner ; nor warmth, nor food, His body nourish'd ; death stood by his side To claim him, victim of man's cruelty ; When, as to mock his dying agony, The dungeon door admitted to his view The daughter of his love — swift to his arms ROME. 1 1 1 That daughter flew, and lifted his bent head ; Reversing nature's laws, she nourish'd him From her fair breast, and thus preserved the life Which gave her birth. Approving angels smiled. As from their thrones of glory they beheld The wondrous scene — and history engraved The sweet memento on her varied page ! Soon on the spot a temj^le, consecrate To filial i)iety, was fondly built ; And children learnt to emulate that love Which saved a parent from untimely death. Close by the Pescheria Vecchia, The arch of Dolabella spans the way Which to the Campus Martialis led : — And near it, where I stand, tradit'on tells, Fronting the Theatre-Marcellus vast. Once stood the portico Augustus built, Of beautiful proportions, spreading far. In honour of the fair Octavia ; Three hundred marble columns bore aloft The roof which shelter'd from the sun and rain The vast assemblies ; the rich fluted shafts Of virgin purity avouch'd the fame Of her who rivall'd Cleopatra fair ! Within their wide embrace, arose in state, Temples to Jove and Juno, now no more — Save one lone column, with its capital Of splendid composite, all else now lies In dark confusion 'neath the cumber d soil ! Adieu, ye honour'd relics of past time, Ye sad memorials of magnificence. Trophies to virtue rear'd, and tyranny ! 112 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Ambition's monuments and glory's tombs ! Yet, ere I leave ye, let me contemplate Your fallen grandeur and decaying might ! Stretching afar through the Campagna drear, The stately aqueducts stride o'er the land, Which bore the wholesome waters from the hills, Into the city's bosom ; through the walls Which circle in E-ome's mighty sepulchre. O'er which the modern city lifts her head, Like some strange plants upon a warrior's grave. Who shall pretend to name thy temples fallen, Thy forums, baths, thy circuses and tombs. Thy palaces, thy theatres, and towers. Villas, and gardens, and thy works of art 1 Yet there are some no stranger should neglect ; Lovely in ruin, though alone they stand. Within a garden on the Esquiline, Minerva Medica her temple claim' d, And at her feet the curling serpent slept ; There ^sculapius his healing art With solemn mystery presided o'er ; While famed Pomona watch'd the wanton smiles Of lovely Venus on Adonis' form ; And Hercules, with Bacchus and the Faun, And beautiful Antinous the while Composed the mystic group within those walls. Pale Death upon that lovely temple frown'd. And spread his sceptre o'er the wide expanse : Beneath its walls he sits with couched lance. As mocking art, or human or Divine, To stay the shafts which crowd his victims there. Close by, the ashes of the unknown dead. ROME. 113 Freemen and slaves, in little urns are ranged Within a columbarium, whose walls Are pierced with niches, with the names inscribed Of tliose whose ashes crowd the buried vaults. Once more, adieu ! Rise up, my downcast soul. And soar above this region of the dead ! There is a land where death cannot intrude. Eternal in the heavens, reserved for thee : There, with immortals, thou shalt rest in peace, Nor tears nor sorrow dim thy vision more ; There, 'midst the brightness of eternal day. Thy thirsty soul shall drink from Avisdom's fount, And hold communion with thy gracious God And His redeem' d, joining the thrilling songs Which vibrate through eternity, while earth And all its fleeting visions pass away ! VIII. Be still, my beating heart ! a while be still. Suspend thy breath, let not a whisper fall — This is the temple of the living God ! — Man's utmost effort, worthy of his skill ! The vast conception of some glorious mind ; Magnificent in structure and design ! But ah, how limited for that great God Whom even the heaven of heavens cannot contain ! Who fills infinity of space, unspann'd ! Entering the portal is as when the soul Steps from this life into the courts of heaven, So vast, so grand, so glorious is the sight ! I seem like some small dwarf diminutive, As near the marble column's base I stand. H 114 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. The spreading arches and the towering roofs Of naves and aisles, conducting to the dome Of Michael Angelo, (stupendous work !) Which, poised on high, expands itself above, Dispensing rays of lovely light to all, Are fitting preludes to that miracle. How vast the objects which attract the eyes ! Yet so proportion'd to this noble pile That nothing startles, nothing seems untrue, But all is simple grandeur — how sublime ! Hark ! as I gaze on works of wondrous skill — Mosaics, paintings of gigantic size, Colossal statues, shrines magnificent, Reduced by distance to proportions true — I hear the swelling anthem's notes arise. And organ peals with heavenly music join. The liquid altos pierce the incense clouds "Which mount the radiant dome in glittering folds ; A thousand voices catch the rapturous strain. And echo back the thrilling notes again ; Through the light clouds sweet Saint Cecilia smiles, And Jubal's lyre, unseen, sends forth its tones, Till all is music, harmony divine ! And now the blazing altar, glory-clad, Emits its lovely radiance far around ; And bells are tinkling at the risen host. Down on their knees the awe-struck people fiill, And cross their foreheads and their heaving breasts ; While some the lone confessionals attend, And there reveal the sins their hearts condemn To men as frail, and absolution seek. Or buy indulgences for future days. ROME. lio Some kneel before the holy Virgin's shrine ; Some to their guardian saints devoutly pray ; Mix'd crowds of men and women, monks and friars, With scallop'd pilgrims, come from distant lands, Tread reverently this house of God. And here, great God ! I lift my heart to Thee ; To Thee confess my sins, and seek Thy grace ; What though I differ in my finite views Of non-essentials, shall I bigot be Because my brother cannot think with me ] Ah, no ! would that this glorious mansion were Expanded so, that all the world might here Adore that great Fh-st Cause Avho gave them birth ; Who call'd this lovely world from chaos dark ; Who on it cast the mantle of His love. Till it burst forth in verdant beauty dress' d, And still upholds it, and renews its charms ! That here no difierence of faith or creeds Might check the universal hymn of praise To the one, true, supreme, eternal God ! See yonder widow ! from her streaming eyes The tears of wretchedness fall unperceived By those around her. Silent, dark despair Had prey'd upon her stricken heart and frame; But some slight incident has burst the bands Which harrow'd up so long bright nature's fount, And here she weeps before the Virgin's shrine ! O Grief, that spurns relief ! That dost from fond remembrance borrow Fresh drops of gall ! That darest not anticipate the morrow ! Oh, why recall 1 1 G DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Those moments of sweet bliss, those fond regrets And wish'd-for opportunities, Those loving unities, Now pass'd for aye 1 Oh, beatinof heart ! let not Love's flutt'rins: winsfs Strike thus af);ainst his caoje ! Nor fond remembrances of former things Thy soul engage By night and day ! Oh, immaterial soul ! sweet musings cherish — Thoughts of bright forms, and things that never perish ; Communion with Infinity of Good, Loved, but not understood ! Fond hopes that life may only be The portal of eternity. And all for whom we counted this life dear May in some brighter world with us appear. But list ! the brazen trumpet's martial notes Proclaim the Pontiff near. The cardinals, Array'd in scarlet hats and violet hose, Contrasting strangely with their robes of white, Join the procession from the Quirinal ; The mounted guard on sable horses ride, Porming an escort to his Holiness ; The gilded carriages, in gaudy state. Display their inmates to the gaping crowd. Beneath the wide arcade which flanks the space Fronting St Peter's, now they slowly move, The trumpets heralding their near approach ; The gather'd crowd uprears its hydra heads, And one vast mass of human beinus stand ROME. 117 I Expectant. Now the ready cannons roar From Fort St Angelo. The central doors "Unfold to entertain" the Sov'ran Pope ! Who with his cardinals in state ascend, And fill the balcony which fronts the crowd. Down on tlieir knees the vast assembly fall ; Ten thousand heads uncover'd bend below, Waiting the Pontiff's blessing from above ! Amidst the kneeling throng I take my place. And soon aloft the Pontiff's form appears, In the Sedia Gestatoria, Amidst the Flabelliferi, whose fans Of peacock feathers wave above his head. With outstretch'd arms the Sov'ran Pontiff stands, And to the crowd his benediction gives. And roarinor cannons sound the loud Amen. Then free indulgences are thrown to all. Which float like snow-flakes o'er their lifted hands. Back to the famed Basilica I turn. Once more sweet music charms my ravish'd ears — The full-toned organ breathes its swelling notes, Clarions and trumpets, flutes and violins, Take each their sacred parts, and swell the strain ; And clear, angelic voices fill the air. O JNIusic ! born of heaven ! Child of the breathing spheres ! First-born of Pleasure, fondling of delight, Companion of immortals, loved of earth ! We cannot estimate thy sov'reign power. Oh, solace of the wounded spirit's woes ! Oh, bond of union — soul of ardent praise ! Oh, madd'ning influence in Pleasure's train ! 118 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Oh, fierce excitement on the battle-field ! In this vast temple, let thy melody Subdue each rebel soul by strains of love ! What image stops each passing votary 1 Reclining in a marble chair of state, A figure sits, with bare, projecting foot, One hand grasps two large keys, and one is held As if a benediction it would give ; A robe of ample size surrounds the form. Of ancient bronze the statue is composed : — How fervently some kiss the lifted foot ! Warm lips have melted much of it away. Tradition says this figure once was call'd Capitolinus Jupiter, when, shrined In state on Ara Coeli's sacred mount He reign' d a god supreme ! but now it claims The adoration of St Peter's sons. Ye costly shrines and chapels, relics, tombs, Mosaics, statues, frescoes, objects rare. Which crowd this sacred church on every side, Ye are but perishing and finite things ! Ye all must pass away, nor leave behind A trace of what ye are ! But every vow, And every faithful prayer, sincerely made Within these walls, is register'd in heaven, And 'midst the everlasting records shines. In rays of glory penn'd. The Vatican ! The palace of the Popes, forms one vast wing. To the Duomo, — thither I am borne With crowds of visitors. The corridors Attract each passing eye. The frescos rare KOME. 119 Of Rapliael, prince of painters, whose quick hand And fine, observant eye seized on the forms By ancient artists painted and designed, AVhich by his genius bold and exquisite, Remodell'd, group'd, and vivified at will, He left as wonders for succeeding time. Vain were the useless effort to describe The treasures of the Vatican ! The glorious art Of painting never shone so grand, sublime, As here, where Raphael and Correggio, Dominechino, Guido-Reni, shine ! And vainer still the effort to unfold The glories of the sculptor's- breathing forms Which crowd thy galleries of art ; ah, no ! That were a task few persons would essay, Since Byron's Muse the wondrous effort made, And Harold told of struggling Laocoon, And of the god of light and poesy — Apollo, lord of the unerring bow ! But there, unrivall'd works of art invite The admiration of the thoughtful mind, — Paintings, and sculptured groups, and lovely forms ; Mosaics, cameos, with jewels, group'd. Arranged in splendid galleries and rooms Where Wealth her treasures lavish'd without stint. The famed Museum, rich in works of art. And all that nature yields to science dear ; With manuscripts and books of hidden lore, Emblazon'd volumes, mines of dead men's thoughts ; A library of most surpassing wealth. Where men may study find from youth to age 1 Go ve who wish to see the awful scene 120 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS, Which Michael j^ngelo conceived and drew (Of purgatorial horrors Dante's Muse Once sung,) within the Sistine Chapel's walls. I have no wish again to gaze upon Those writhing forms, those agonising looks That but belie the harmony which flows From human voices here, in strains divine ! But for a while, my Muse, leave art alone, And to the wild Campagna let us haste ; Where Rome is in the fading distance seen. And shepherds watch their wand'ring flocks with care, Or swineherds slumber 'neath some ruin's shade. As lately passing o'er the Pontine Marsh, From Terracina to Albano's mount. By Appii Forum, where famed Horace stopp'd With Heliodorus, when on his way To see Brundusium, and Virgil meet, I felt the dread mosquitoes' venom'd stings Which banish'd slumber from the poet's eyes, — And watch'd th' unwieldy buffaloes plunge down Into the reedy marsh, and full canal. And thence lift up their snorting nostrils high ; — And near, a swineherd wound his mournful horn, And as the third blast faintly died away, A chorus deep of wild, unearthly sounds From side to side arose, of grunts and snorts, That every passing moment louder grew ; Then came the rushing of unnumber d swine, — From woodland, brake, and dell, they poured along ; And tusked boars, with wild, inquiring eyes And half-tamed gestures, sought their keeper's will. The scene was new, and long I linger'd there. ROME. 121 While from his stores the herdsman fed his swine ; And then, once more, the well-known signal gave. When all dispersed with eager haste aronnd. Albano ! near thy cheerful town their lies A placid lake, like Thrasymene calm. Though not so grand ; upon its shaded banks. When the fierce sun was darting rays of fire, I used to stray ; there the gay festas brought, In waggons by their milk-white oxen drawn. From Latian hills and lovely Tivoli, The mountain peasants in their rich costumes. Where, mingling with Rome's citizens, they met. And quafi"d the bright Falernian, or, perchance. The wine of Orvietto from the flask ; And the tall Sabine maidens coyly own'd Their preference for Rome's still daring sons. Who, in the mountain-dance, assert their claim To win the fair they cannot now subdue. Upon the summit of the Alban hill A convent stands, where once a temple stood To Latian Jupiter, renown'd of old ! From it a prospect grandly beautiful Extends around — the sea, the Latian coast, The lofty Sabine hills, the wide expanse Of the Campagna, with its aqueducts ; And distant Rome, whose domes and obelisks, With golden outlines, in the evening shine. Ah ! cold must be the heart and dull the soul That on this lovely view can gaze unmoved 1 Oh, for a power of utterance, uncramp'd By rigid rules and dreaded ridicule ! A soul inspired by nature, love, and truth, 122 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. To sing the praises of a scene like this ! Look steadily at Rome ! A spreading oak Upon a hill stands forth, and meets the view, By Saint Onuphrius' convent, distant seen, — The setting sun throws out its darken'd form ; Beneath that oak did Tasso love to sit, A fter the persecutions he endured ! And was it so, that dread of his home-truths. Or blinded jealousy, or hatred, dared A soul like his to torture, persecute 1 Oh, cursed be the state, the dastard faith, That could proscribe a poet so beloved ; — Who sung of thee, Jerusalem, o'er whom The Saviour wept when thinking of thy woes, By Rome to be inflicted ; — that dared sing Jerusalem deliver'd from her foes ! Beneath that oak the dying Tasso sat. And wept in vain o'er thankless Italy ; Beneath that convent church his body lies. Another victim of cold bigotry ! O gentle shade ! indignant freemen weep That talents such as thine and Dante's met No fitting tribute from their country's hands : Reviled, imprison'd, exiled, and proscribed. The choicest sons of Christian Italy Have pined beneath the scourge of Bigotry — Their talents wasted, or their works destroy'd By those who should have hail'd them with delight. But now to Tivoli, with joyous friends And baskets stored with viands, fruits, and wine. Over the Ponte Mammolo we drive. And soon at Hadrian's ruin'd villa halt : ROME. 123 There, mourn o'er grandeur fallen and desolate ! Upon this spot there bloom some fragrant flowers Unknown elsewhere, which fondly seem to say — " The memory of the just is sweet, Therefore we blossom ' In memoriam.' " Bloom on, sweet flowers ! Oh, blossom sweetly on ! No hand shall pluck ye from your patron's grave ! List, list ! the rushing waterfalls are heard ! The very sounds revive our smoking steeds. Whose ears erect and eager neigh ings tell That Tivoli is near ; we soon alight. And in the templQ stand, upon a rock O'er which the Anio falls in roaring streams. O lovely spot ! Oh, vestal temple fair ! And in thy ruin beautiful ! around Thy circling front ten fluted columns stand Of pure Corinthian ! Time has claim'd the rest As trophies of his silent victory ! And, like Prometheus, stolen the sacred fire Which glow'd for ages on thy ruin'd shrine ! But now, beneath the falls, we breathless stand, And seem to tremble with the trembling earth. O lovely scene ! these many silver streams Whicli fall down silently, while others foam And fret, and send aloft their sparkling spray In misty clouds of cooling moisture round. Combine to captivate the restless mind. True that the falls of Terni, as one bound Of a vast river driven from its course Into the yawning deep, more awful are ! That Istria and the Tyrol have their falls Sublimely grand ! but I have never felt, 124 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. When gazing on them, such sublime delight As, while beneath thy temple, Yesta, here, I look upon these falls and mourn o'er thee ! Here spread the feast, and, while w;e laugh and sinj And drink to friendship, love, and beauty fair, I feel how precious is the soul of wit And life-inspiring converse, and regret That often when I try at mirth and glee. And pleasant chit-chat, something ties my tongue ; And even my happiest moments find me sad. Oh, blessed friendship ! purest of delights ! The lovely intercourse of soul with soul And mind with mind ! where selfish feelings yield To other's good ! Oh, lovely crystal glass ! Wherein another's features with our own Are ever mingled, ever watch'd with love ! May memory ne'er efiace those incidents Which have endear'd to us some valued friend ! At length, with glee, to all the beggars round The remnant of the feast we laughing hand ; Yet still reserve with cautious, prudent care, Some good Falernian for our future need. Lest dismal gloom should seize us on our way. Ere yet once more we enter stately Home. In merry mood returning home, how short The distance seems ! our drivers crack their whips, And, at their topmost voices sing and laugh, And even our horses gambol at our sport. But see, as now within the city walls. The crowds move slowly down the sultry streets Towards St Peter's Church, — we promptly halt. And seek the Pincio ; there, 'midst a throng, ROME. 125 Expectantly we stand. A boom is heard From Fort St Angelo — then, as by magic wand, From the high cross above the vaulted dome Down to the temple's base and corridors, One galaxy of light bursts forth ; old Tiber glows And sparkles in his new-made bed of fire ; The atmosphere illumed, reflects the glare, And o'er the city hangs its garb of light. And now, adieu ! a long, a warm adieu To Rome and all the wonders it contains ! Adieu to all its glorious walks and drives. Adieu, Egeria, and thy lovely grot ! And famed Kediculus thy ruin'd pile. From which brave Hannibal in haste return'd To his ungrateful country, from the spoil Of Home's fair provinces, when Rome was in his gi'asp ! Adieu, ye men of genius, mind, and worth ! Whose glorious talents still exalt our race. And make us feel that art has not ex2:)ired, That, 'midst the ruins of the world, her light Still warms with ardent life the sculptor's work, And glows upon the painter's canvas yet. Gibson ! forgive the pen that would describe Emotions which thy genius has inspired ! Often, when in thy studio I stood. And watch'd thy skilful hand and classic eye Call from the mass opaque the breathing form. And heard thee speak in loving praise of him. Thy great exemplar, master, friend, beloved ! Thorwaldsen, glorious name ! or heard thee praise The shepherd and his dog, thy brother's work, I sigli'd that genius such as thine should be 126 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Lost to the daily gaze of Englishmen Amidst the stifled liberties of Rome ! Here Wyatt work'd and died to gain a name ; And here Macdonalds spend their days in toil, Whose works of beauty crowd their studio, With busts of passing strangers ranged around ; And Westmacott, thy stately figures add Treasures to stores which art preserves with care. Here Italy's bright sons contest the palm Of glory with the world, and win renown ; While Germany and France fresh laurels gain, And young America, with vig'rous hand. Points to the " Grecian Slave," and claims the j)rize Which Hiram Powers has so justly earn'd. To all, I bid adieu ! ye all have won The glory of a name, the full, the just reward Of persevering talents well applied. baijFk 12' BAIJE. LINES ADRESSED TO HENRY DOBREE. ESQ., OF GUERNSEY, LATE OF NAPLES. A YEAR has pass'd since, from the solemn site Of Baiae's classic city, we look'd rouud Upon the ruins of her former might, Which heap with scatter'd tumuli the ground — Her time-rent temples, palaces, and quays ; Her crumbling arches, tombs, and public ways. How earnestly we gazed on that sad sight ! And sought each record of the silent dead ; Watch'd the bright sunbeams, as their streaming liglit Pierced the torn walls, and heavenly radiance shed Through the dark vaults, whose tessellated floors Reveal'd, in rainbow tints, their antique stores. And well, I ween, you still remember, friend, How much we prized each earthen lamp and urn, Which sometimes would our eager search attend, When aided by those spells we used in turn — The shining carlin, and the baser grain. The contadini's prize, who graced our train. Bright was the scene when, on the outspread bay, We watch'd the rippling water's varied hues ; The white-sail'd vessels gliding on their way. As o'er them wheel'd aloft the wild sea-mews ; And Ischia, stretch'd at ease upon the main, Seem'd like some sleeping monster of the plain. 128 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. There, in a curve of tliat sweet, tideless bay, Lay Naples — busy Naples — still in chains ; Where — ever thoughtless, ever bright and gay, With careworn Pleasure — Dissipation reigns ; For there is prized the passing hour alone, And present joys for future woes atone. High up, behind Pompeii's ruins rise The famed Yesuvius, flaming in its pride ; (As, from the crater to the lurid skies, The captive giant casts the molten tide, 'Midst clouds of ashes, smoke, and red-hot stones, And, with each mighty effort, trembling, groans.) How still the port, where Pliny moor'd his fleet, (The pride of Rome,) secure from winds and storms As silently around we bent our feet, And pictured ships and barks of antique forms, And Roman baths, and villas, far and near. From Raise's port to Puteoli's pier. There Cicero retired, and refuge found From toil and stern Ambition's envious eye ; There Virgil sang, and made the world resound With strains, whose melody will never die ! There Horace came from Rome with friendly grace. Immortal bard ! loved Yirgil to embrace. Now all is silent ! Ruin reigns supreme ! And Rome's great senators are heard no more ; And man — degen'rate man ! — is now the theme For modern bards on that deserted shore ; Or nature's lovely face, which ever smiles. And, by her beauty, wretchedness beguiles. 1 BAI^ 129 Adieu, loved Baiae ! It was my delight From noisy Naples daily to retire, And on Paiisillipo's enchanting height, By Virgil's ruin'd tomb, the scene admire, Then through the streets of Puteoli wend. Or Solfatura's smoking height ascend. And oft near Puteoli's sunken pier, Musing I stood, thinking of shipwreck'd Paul, Who from Melita's island landed there. The famed apostle of " the Gentile call ; " And fancy painted him, in earnest tone. Preaching of faith in Christ our Lord alone. Or through thy far-famed temple, Isis, s troll' d, — By Nero's sulphur baths, and caverns stept, (So famous and renown'd in days of old ;) Or through the steaming vaults impatient crept. Till Baise, lovely Baise's welcome sight. Entranced my wond'ring senses with delight. Let mem'ry, then, those charming hours record, When we on classic Baise's city stood ! And much delight that record will afford, For with it lives the mem'ry of the good. The young, the beautiful ! — now pass'd away Like some sweet vision of a lovely day ! Garston, Lower Warberbt, Torquay, 1851. 130 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. VIRGIL'S TOMB, NEAK NAPLES. There is a spot near famed Parthenope, Round which the eye delightedly may turn, And wander far across the smiling sea, Or watch at ease the blazing mountain burn, As from its rugged side the lava streams, And through the gloom of night it wildly gleams. Upon that classic mound, throughout the day, The humming bees and gorgeous butterfly Amidst the wild thyme toil, or sportive play, While on the fragrant ground I thoughtful lie And listen, as the distant murmurs rise From busy Naples, 'midst the seamews' cries. Within a dell, upon that hilltop's side, Above Pausillipo's dark grotto, stands A ruin'd tomb, now stripp'd of all its pride ; Its ashes scatter'd by the spoiler's hands : There, many an unknown name, upon its walls. From time to time, the thoughtless gazer scrawls. Could bigotry or ignorance refuse Rest to the ashes of the mighty dead 1 Gould man the gift of reason so abuse. As on the poet's dust with scorn to tread ! The dust of him who sang his country's fame. And left to time unborn a deathless name. Virgil's tomb, near Naples. 131 Ob, if perchance, beneath the moon's pale beams, His silent spirit seeks this favourite spot, And mingles with their radiance as it gleams Through the thick branches o'er the mystic grot ; His sighs must float upon the fragrant breeze, As man's ungrateful work he wond'ring sees. Thou gentle shade, resume thy heavenly lyre. And breathe upon its chords thy sad lament ; Oh, kindle once again thy sacred fire, Which to thy strains immortal sweetness lent ! Here, 'neath thy ruin'd tomb, let notes arise Such as employ thee in thy native skies ! And as I linger where thou lovedst to sit And meditate, while life thy spirit stay'd, Oh, may I catch that fire, and cherish it. Till in thy glowing garb of song array'd, Its magic power shall all my thoughts control. And with the charms of poesy imbue my soul. Castel-a-Mare, Octobtr 4, 1849. POMPEII, a ©rama. ©ramatis persona, Pansa, ^dile. AURELIUS DiOMEDE. Lucius Libella, the Son of Alleus Libella. The Tragic Poet. Simon, a Hebrew Miser, Marcus the Elder. Marcus the Younger, his Son. Citizens. HiPPOLITUS, "j Hymeneus, > Roman Soldiers. Glaucippus, ) Jugurtha, Slave of Tragic Poet. Slaves of Simon the Jew. Priests, &c. &c. Claudia and Flora, Daughters of Pansa. Zephyra, Sister of Aurelius Diomede. Judith, Sister of Marcus the Younger. Rebecca, Daughter of Simon. Rachel, Nurse of Rebecca. Stella, Slave of Claudia, and other Slaves of the Household. POMPEIT. DROP-SCENE— THE CITY OF POMPEII, AS RESTORED BY W. CLARKE, ESQ., ARCHITECT. ACT I.— Scene First. A Street in Pompeii — The house of Simon, a Jew — Simon, and E-ebecca, his only child, are in a small room adjoining the atrium, which is open to the spec- tators — there is an impluvium in the centre of the atrium — Simon is reclining on a couch, counting money from some bags on a table near him ; rolls of papyj^s are on the table — Rebecca is at the entrance to the room, which is open; she is looking hito the atrium, and caressing an Italian greyhound. SIMON. Rebecca, say, what idle tale was that Our prating neighbour Leah last brought home ? The craving world but lives on stirring news, And woman on the wonders of a lie. REBECCA. O father, dear ! be not severe on us ; Our buried lives require some extra food, On which our fancies may luxuriate ; 136 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Some play for our affections, joys, and woes. Which home, however bright, cannot afford ; Our very weakness needs increase of food For our poor minds. SIMON. Nay, nay, Kebecca, nay I God of our fathers ! what shall we hear next ? Our daughters need excitement to be wise ! REBECCA. Wisdom is precious, father, very good ! But wisdom without mirth is very sad, And youth will wither on it, droop, and die. Unless the genial rain of pleasure falls In sweet refreshing showers upon its head, And mirth's bright smiles exhilarate the mind. SIMON. Ay, ay, 'tis always so when we converse ; Thou dost not think upon our hidden stores, The produce of our many years of toil. REBECCA. Dear father ! what avails thy secret wealth, If it procures not happiness, content ? SIMON. O God of Jacob ! didst Thou hear that speech ? Of what avail my wealth, my property 1 Happiness ! what didst thou say ? Happiness ! What wouldst thou ? The diamond's brilliant light. POMPETL 13; With rubies' glow, and violet-colour'd amethysts — The sparkling topaz, with the maiden pearl, And untold gold — vases and jewels rare. An emperor might envy ! Are not these The greatest happiness the world can give ? REBECCA. Stay, father, stay ! I did but speak the truth ! Wealth such as thine might be the boundless source Of happiness, of peace, and joy — how great ! — If well applied. SIMON. What didst thou say again? Applied ! Speak once again ; saidst thou, applied '? Wouldst thou distribute, with unclenched hand, The wealth I 've toil'd for, and esteem so much ? REBECCA. Hold, father ! Thou didst ask what idle tale Our neighbour Leah brought me home to day. Hast thou not heard, the Nazarenes were tried, And sentenced to be thrown to beasts of prey Within the amphitheatre 1 SIMON. Ah ! sayest thou ? I 've heard old Marcus and that foolish girl, Who claim'd the foremost place 'mongst Israel's maids For grace and piety, were in the list. REBECCA {alarmed). What list, my father ?— not the list of death ? 138 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. SIMON. The list of the proscribed. What ails thee now ? REBECCA. Friend of my soul ! It cannot be ! Proscribed ! No, no ! the thought is far too horrible. Judith ! thy lovely face appears to me, With look so gentle ! Speed, O father, speed ! And save my own loved friend, more dear to me Than all the riches of thy treasured stores ! Art thou unmoved ? My swelling heart will burst ! SIMON. What ! fly to save those cursed Nazarenes ? [E.EBECCA sinhs on a couch fainting. Help here ! Oh, Kachel, help ! Rebecca dies ! Oh, what a wretch am I ! what have I done *? Rachel, haste ! [The Italian greyhound springs on the couch, and licks Rebecca's /ace. RACHEL. [Rushing into the atrium with slaves. What ails thee, child 1 Rebecca dear ! Sweet frighten'd dove, lift up thy drooping head ! Come, lay thy cheek upon my heaving breast, The same where thou hast nestled from thy birth : Let me unloose thy girdle — there ! More air ! [Aside — Down, Fido, down ! [To the slaves. Some water from the gushing fountain bring. Now, dearest, whisper in old Rachel's ear ; Has aught alarm'd thee, sweet one 1 I am here ; Just tell me ! — Not a word, nor throb, nor pulse, POMPEII. 139 To tell me thou art living ? Israel's God Revive my drooping child ! [Slaves bring water, which Rachel sprinkles on Rebecca's /ace. Once more she breathes ! Once more the beating heart resumes its work, Blessed be God, that He hath heard my prayer. \Fido, the greyhound, harks with delight. SIMON {who has been ivringing his hajids, and crying like a child). Come, dearest, come again, my child, to life ; I am not ready yet to quit this world. [E7iter Marcus, Judith's brother. Who now 1 Marcus ! I cannot 'tend on thee ; My daughter's life just flutters on the wing. Rebecca, O my child ! my inmost soul, Seem'd almost blotted out — it could not hope To follow one so pure to purer heaven ; But thou wilt stay with me, and smile again Upon thy poor old father, wilt thou not ? eebecca (starting up). Where is she 1 Father, hast thou brought My own sweet Judith ? Marcus ! art thou here 1 It is not true ; oh, say it is not true, That dearest Judith will be harm'd. Sweet love, That reign'd supreme ere passion breathed, forbid. Love of the soul, to God and angels known, Forbid ! and smite, oh, smite, the frigid heart With the pure fire of heaven, that it may glow With fervid warmth, compassionate, and kind. 140 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. MARCUS. Rebecca, mourn not thus ; dear Judith trusts In that redeeming love which grasps a world, And points at happiness beyond the grave. SIMON. Has Judith sipp'd the poison of that creed 1 If I had fifty daughters, or but one, I would disown them, did I but suspect They look'd with favour on that wilful sect. MARCUS. Then vain my errand ! Simon, I am come To ask thy aid ! Thy dreaded influence. On those whose iron hearts can feel for none ; I come to ask thee for a father's life. An angel sister s life ! which thy sole word May save from worse than death, from public shame. REBECCA (to her father). Oh, what delight must swell thy inmost soul, Dear father ! rich indeed, art thou ; oh, say. How far more precious such a power must be. Than all the wealth by richest man possess' d. SIMON. Ah, yes ! the power to save a life might make one rich, Where ransom could be paid. MARCUS. It has been paid — A Saviour's love that ransom fully paid. POMPEII. 141 REBECCA. blessed words ! Is Judith's ransom paid ? 1 would be ransom for so dear a friend- SIMON. Indeed thou shouldst not. Hear, Rebecca, hear ! Unless my judgment errs, Judith has turn'd From the pure worship of her fathers' God, And join'd those Nazarenes, whom we despise. If it be so, then let her die. I will not lend My hand or voice to save her. EEBECCA. Then farewell, My father ! and farewell, dear, faithful nurse ! I will not live where bigotry and wealth Can crush all other feelings of the heart ; Where gentle pity finds no resting-place : Let riches seek soaio other owner here ! I feel, the faith that Judith could inspire With holy courage and undaunted soul, Must worthy be of solemn thought and prayer. MARCUS. O God ! Thy mighty influence extends. And draws the people's stubborn hearts to Thee ; Jesus with sovereign power His sceptre sways ! [Marcus looTcs tenderly at Rebecca, and then loithdraws. RACHEL. Simon, I have now served thee many years ; 142 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Have served thee for thy child, Kebecea's sake ; Drive us not from thee ! Must we wander forth And brave a harden'd world 1 SIMON. Peace, woman, peace ! I said I would not spare the Nazarene. Oh, black ingratitude ! In my old age, Thus to repay me, and defy my will •! To fan rebellion's flame. — Why, thou art mad To talk of quitting thy adopted home, Where thou hast been to me as my right hand ! Shall not a daughter do her father's will. And worship as he worships ? [To Rebecca. Go to, Rebecca ; I must seek abroad That spendthrift, young Libella, who neglects To pay his own seal'd bond. REBECCA. Talk not of bonds ! But pour thy treasures forth to those vile souls Who need the bribes of mammon. Judith save, Though all thy wealth could only buy her life. And I will be to thee a loving child. [Rebecca weeps, and her dog harks at Simon. SIMON. Out of my way, Fido ! down ! lie down, Thou grinning brute, whose daily cravings cost What were much better saved, than spent on thee. POMPEII. 143 EEBECCA. Come, Fido, dear ! thou art to me a friend, Warmer, yea, more sincere, than many are ! [Rebecca and Rachel leave with Fido. SIMON (alone). She said, my wealth might purchase happiness ; She call'd it happiness ! — wealth well applied ! She spoke of spending all, to ransom one ; My only child hath said it, and assumes An independent virtue which o'erawes My very nature. E'en that grinning dog Takes part with her ; and Rachel threatens me ! Yes ! I must guard my treasures ! every coin And jewel has a face, my soul to charm ; — Dearer to my lone heart each passing day : Possessing power and beauty, without frowns Or dull morality to school my will ; Yet, at my stuj^id heart their lies a weight When sorrow dims her eyes — yes, she is dear ! And I could part — could almost part with much — To make her love me with a daughter's love. — Those bonds will young Libella still evade. If not well watch'd by me. Hark ! what is that ? The mountain roars like Sinai did of old. And belches forth its lurid streams of fire Through clouds of darkness hanging o'er its head. The house ! surely the house is trembling. Ho ! Rebecca ! Rachel ! are ye idling now 1 Come here, I say ! — and ye, ye lazy slaves ! [Slaves entering. 144 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Where is Rebecca ? where is Kachel gone ? Are they within, or in the xystus ? say ! SLAVE. Thy daughter is gone forth, nor will return ; And E-achel seeks with her an outcast's lot, Which we would also gladly share with them. SIMON. How, villains, gone ! and ye would gladly go 1 I will repay ye at some fitting time ; Ay, punish all who set my will at nought. Haste ! search with me the city round, and bring Those foolish truants back to mourn their guilt. END OF ACT L ACT II.— Scene First. A summer triclinium in the xystus (or small garden) behind the house of Pansa — The triclinium has stone seats covered tvith rich cushions — The walls of the summer house are heautifully painted — Claudia, a daughter of Pansa, is seen reclining on the cushions — Some pure water is rushing from the mouth of a sphinx into a marble basin near her — The door of POMPEII. 145 the triclinium opens into the xystus, the walls of ivhich are adorned with paintings — In the centre of the xystus is a fiower-horder and a beautiful fountain — A slave is seen gathering flowers near the fountain^ who disappears — The sun has just set, and the moon is shining — Large thunder-clouds are gathering round Vesuvius, ivhich is emitting fiames and dark smoke in the hack-ground — The Bay of Naples stretches out be- fore Pompeii. CLAUDIA (alone). Thou glorious planet banging o'er this earth, Thy cooling rays revive my languid frame, And nerve again my fainting purposes ; Great Isis ! as I trod thy hallow'd courts. It seem'd as though a smile sat on thy face, And thou didst cheer me onward in my path ; Yet something whisjjers to my doubting soul There is a power unseen, surpassing thee ! An all-pervading Spirit which controls The universal spheres, and holds the sun, The moon, the stars, in their hx'd orbits firm; Ever at hand to succour the distress' d, And breathe into our souls the sacred laws Of piety and truth ; Thou great Unknown ! Inspire my youthful heart with love of good, And with an instinct, hating what is bad ! [Claudia starts. The shock of an earthquake is felt, and a loud noise of subterranean thunder is heard — Vesuvius suddenly discharges a column of fire, amidst dark smoke, stones, and ashes — The fire ascends through the smoke to a K 146 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. great height, cmd suddenly illuminates the sea and the whole country round Pomi^eii, with a strong red light. Immortal gods ! what means this awful noise, This rocking of the earth upon its base 1 Have I offended ye by my poor thoughts, And raised your jealous ire to crush my head 1 The blazing sun has wander'd from his course. And struck th' horizon in his quick descent, Kindling the universe in one dread flame ; The earth, the sea, the skies, are all on fire I O thou eternal Spirit, aid me now. If that Thou art above all else supreme ! STELLA (rushing into the triclinium). My gracious lady, fly ! — this instant fly ! The thunderbolt of Jove has struck the earth, And made it reel and shake confusedly; But thou art safe ; and I will by thee stay, Nor quit thee more, though earth should open wide And swallow us within its dark abyss. The nightingales were singing their sweet songs, And fire-flies dancing round the sleei3ing flowers ; The cicala were chirping in the trees, When suddenly the earth seem'd palsy struck, And groan'd beneath the vengeance of the gods. Who breathed upon the world in flames of fire. Now all is silent, not a sound is heard, Save the rebounding of the angry sea. Which fled affrighted from the heaving shore. As glowing flames lick'd up his boiling waves ; Come, noble lady, let us to the house And counsel take, nor longer linger here. POMPEII. 147 CLAUDIA. My faithful Stella, fear not the just gods, Who thus proclaim their power to feeble man ; They will not harm us ; we will seek the house. Where is my father 1 is he yet return'd 1 But late to Sallust's garden ho repair' d. Oh, my sweet Flora, I will haste to thee ; Thy gentle soul will flutter with affright ; Thou wert not made to battle with the storm ! Scene Second. The atrium in the house of Pansa, at the upper end of which, doors open into the iwothyrium — The upper •portion of the atrium is elevated above the other part of it by steps forming a Jcind of dais — In the centre of the atrium is a marble impluvium full of clear water, with gold and silver fish, d'c. — Marble statues stand on pedestcds at shoH intervcds, against the walh of both sides of the atrium — Couches, tables of inlaid mosaics, vases, candelcd)ra, and other elegant articles of furniture, with rich hangings, &c., adorn the room — The wcdls and ceilings (of the ceded jjortion) are Governed with fresco paintings, the centre of the atrium being open — Claudia and Flora, ivith Stella, YoGLiA, and some slaves, are surrounding the Lares, imploring their jyrotection, when a door opens, and Aurelius Diomede rushes into the atrium, and falh on a couch, with his hands before his face. AURELIUS (aside). I thank ye, gracious gods, that she is safe ! 148 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. CLAUDIA. Aurelius ! noble Aurelius, this is kind ! But liast thou not a word to comfort iis ? Or is there danger still 1 speak, noble friend ! Thou wilt our maiden doubts confirm or end. AURELIUS. Too well I know thy courage, noble maid ! To think thou quailest ! as Minerva, thou Regardest dangers with heroic mind : Thy safety, and the safety of thy house, Alone has caused my presence. Pardon me This bold intrusion ! 'tis a fearful thing To stand against the anger of the gods. Typhon has burst from Inarime's Isle ;* Enceladus, his rebel forces arm'd, Escaped from Etna to Vesuvius ; The impious giants, from the blazing mount, Pour forth the burning masses 'gainst the skies, Tiirough clouds of awful darkness poised on high, Though vain the effort : nature, trembling, feels The awful stin^iggle, and in haste I come To bear ye to a vessel on the coast, Where we may brave the ocean's foaming rage. Rather than fall engulf 'd beneath the land. FLORA. O dearest Claudia ! whither can we fly ? My father, O my father ! art thou safe ? Thanks, kind Aurelius ; we owe thee much ; * Ischia. POMPEII. 149 I would not stint my words to tell thee so, But tliat my fears have master'd my quick tongue. And bound it closely to my fever'd mouth. CLAUDIA. Thou trembling lamb ! thy grief is more to me Than danger's threatenings. I could look upon This mighty conflict with unshrinking soul, And learn from nature's elemental war The power of Him who framed the universe, Whose arm can stay the thunderbolts of Jove, Whose silent breath can quench the fires of hell ; But when I think of thee, I feel the throb Of human sympathy within my heart, And thy sweet mother's shade beside me stands In thy bright lineaments, with tearful eyes, And whispers that she lives again in thee : Come hither, let me kiss thy pallid cheeks, And clasp thee fondly in my willing arms I [Embraces her. Oh, that these arms could shelter thee from ill ! FLORA. Dear sister ! thou to me art as the shade Which shelters from the noonday's heat ; On thee my timid soul reposes safe In every danger ; in thy look serene I feel myself assured. Aurelius, art thou moved ? We wait thy bidding and my father's steps. AURELIUS (aside). O heavens, how lovelv is this scene*! ioO DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. ]My judgment lies enchain'd, when it should be Prompt as the lightning's flash to succour them. [Pans A enters the atrium in haste — rushes hy AuRELius ivithout seeiiig him. PANSA. (Ireat gods ! I thank ye for this welcome sight ! My daughters live, and all may yet be well : Dear Claudia, and thou, sweet Flora, come ; Let me embrace you with a father's love ! [They cling to their father. The thunder god of heaven has heard my prayer, And turns his wrath from our devoted heads : Yet, what a fearful night now scares the world, Filling our hearts with strange presentiments Of coming ills we cannot comprehend ! The trembling earth i)resaged some dread event ! The mountain vomits forth its streams of fire, And the big clouds pour down their waterspouts. As others hang around the crater's mouth. More black and horrible than those above. Through which the lurid flames ascend on high. And the fork'd lightnings dart with vivid glare, While o'er our heads the startling thunders roar. And bellowing mountains hurl defiance back In deep'ning echoes o'er the trembling plain : Yet, nature sinks beneath the conflict fierce. And heaven's artillery more distant peals ; The quaking Atlas has regain'd his strength. And stands once more beneath the awe-struck eartli. To thee, great Jupiter, our vows be paid, And with the morning's dawn the victims bleed POMPEII. 15 1 Before thy sacred altar ! there, in state, The citizens and senate will repair, And bow before thy outraged majesty. [Seeing Aurelius. Noble Aurelius ! have I passed thee by Unnoticed here, beneath my humble roof? The hopeful son of honour'd Diomede deserves More fitting welcome. Hast thou aught to claim At Pansa's willing hands ? speak, noble youth. And thou hast gain'd thy suit ere yet 'tis known. We honour virtue such as thine, and claim The privilege to second thy intents. E'en in the hour when danger threatens us. AURELIUS. The noble Pansa cannot grant a boon More pleasing to Aurelius than the words Of sweet encouragement. I urge no more Than Pansa's safety, and his noble house ; Of that assured, no longer I intrude On this fair presence. Here I bent my steps, In hope to render service, if required. Such as my friendship prompted me to yield In danger's sad extremity ; that past, I hasten home again to calm the fears Of aged Diomede, and cheer the heart Of gentle Zephyra, whose streaming eyes Watch for my coming, with a sister's love. Farewell, most noble Pansa, till we meet To bend our heads at Jupiter's dread shrine ! And ye, most noble ladies, fare-ye-well ! Long may ye live, the pride of Pansa's house ! 152 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. CLAUDIA. Farewell, Aurelius ! Take our warmest thanks, For friendship few will oifer. Sister, come, [Fxit Aurelius. And gaze with me upon the awful mount. And warring elements of mighty gods, Ere yet we seek our rest. Father, adieu ! We thank our gods that we behold thy face Once more within thy domicile. PANSA. Adieu ! The blessing of the gods attend ye both ! [Exeunt Claudia and Flora. PANSA (alone). What heavenly majesty lights up that face With sweet serenity and holy calm ! Forgive me, oh, forgive me ! if my love Has clothed my Claudia with immortal charms, And fancied some bright goddess from the skies Had breathed her glorious spirit into hers ! There is a something undefinable Which awes me into silence, when I gaze On Claudia's thoughtful brow. Her inmost soul Peeps through the pupils of her radiant eyes. With an unearthly lustre ; and her thoughts And language have attain'd a depth, a force. Which hold my wond' ring judgment in a spell. Have I well judged in seeking to ally My house with Alleus Libella ? — Oh ! Why should ambition make me grasp at power POMPEII. lo3 Which may destroy my children's happiness ? Have I not wealth and station ? wherefore seek For doubtful honours — for unmeaning state i I do not love this Lucius Libella, Claudia's soul can ne'er assort with his. Then wherefore press his suit with my dear child 1 Oh, strange infatuation ! now, when death And desolation threaten pomp and pride, And put mankind on an equality. Wisdom and virtue lift their humble heads Above the common crowd, with air serene ; And Vice, abash'd, sits trembling with alarm. But thou, my gentle Flora ! whose young cheeks Are paled or crimson'd with each passing breath. Thou lovely shadow of Angelica ! My tears flow faster as I look on thee, Than when bereaved of her I loved and lost ! Again the crashing thunderbolts of Jove Fall thick upon the trembling mountain top, And shake the city's vast, Cyclopean walls More than a thousand battering-rams of war ! Methinks there was a tell-tale faltering About the voice of young Aurelius — A gentle meaning, lighting up his eyes Through their moist radiance, as the beam Of blushing morning through an April cloud. Has my sweet Flora's beauty charm'd the youth 1 If it be so, oh ! may I live to see My Flora wed to young Aurelius ! END OF ACT II. 154 DESCKIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. ACT III.— Scene First. The Street of the Tombs in Pompeii, which glows with the glare from Vesuvius — Rebecca and E-achel are seen wandering in the street, accompanied hy Fido — They are met hy Marcus. MARCUS. Am I awake ? or do my senses cheat My much-excited mind ? Rebecca here ? And faithful Rachel, too 1 REBECCA. Yes, Marcus, here ! We could not rest in peace while Judith pined, Expecting cruel death and violence. MARCUS. Ah ! but your father, our last earthly hope, Spurns us with scorn, and aggravates our fate ! [Rebecca iveeps. RACHEL. Rebecca hath forsaken him, and left her home. With me, to wander forth and seek her friend — To share her sorrows and her drear abode. MARCUS. O blessed friendship ! pure, unselfish love ! My heart, so biass'd, cannot faithfully Attempt to counsel thee in this sad strait. POMPEII. 155 Judith, how blest art thou in such a friend ! One thing alone thou lackest, lovely maid. REBECCA. One thing to lessen me in Judith's love 1 Oh, say not so ; or, Marcus, tell we where To seek that precious gem so prised by her ! Should I have come with gold or precious stones To bribe my Judith's jailors 1 or lack I Courage to suffer or to die with her ? MARCUS. Neither, Kebecca ! hadst thou heard of Him For whose dear name and love Judith must die, Yet die to live eternally with Him ! — Him who thy father scorns, and for whose cause Dear Judith gladly suffers ; hadst thou known The love He bore thee when He suffer'd death — Thou wouldst with her and me, in truth rejoice, If counted worthy to attest such love In any way that Saviour might command, Nor longer spurn the hated Nazarene. RACHEL. Rebecca knows no other God but one ! The God of Abraham — Isaac's, Jacob's God ! Beneath His shield we fear no earthly foes. MARCUS. He whom we worship, Judith's God and mine. He is the God of Abraham ; our fathers' God, The God of Israel, who dwelt on earth, 156 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. And died to save our guilty race from sin, And all its dreaded penalties and woes ! But He hath risen again, and reigns on higli, The mighty Conqueror of death and hell ; And calls us with a Father's pleading voice, Though heavy' laden, bending with the weight Of human sins, to fly to Him for rest. REBECCA. Marcus ! what thou hast said demands our prayers And deep investigation ; yes, such love As thou didst speak of, well became a God Of boundless mercy ! may He guide my soul To worship Him aright ! But where is Judith now ? MARCUS. Judith is with her father ; thou wilt say, Then, wherefore Marcus, art thou lingering here ? I answer, I am sought for, and must soon Take part and lot with them ; meanwhile, I strive To make some interest in their behalf. But strive in vain. Here, 'midst these silent tombs, My aged mother dwells, by me conceal'd. But we are hunted down by rav'ning wolves Who thirst for blood — blood of Jehovah's saints. REBECCA. Shew me thy mother, with her we will dwell For if with Judith we cannot abide, There we may rest a while. POMPEII. 1-^7 MARCUS. Then follow me ! [Rebecca, E-achel, and Marcus dis- appear among the tombs — Fido keep- ing close to Rebecca. Scene Second. The house of the Tragic Poet in Pompeii, adjoining the Fullonica, and the great and small fountains — The top of the house is flat, and overlooks the house of Pansa on the west — The Poet is seated on a couch, with a small table before it, on the flat roof, restiyig his head on his hand, his elboiv on the table — He appears to be gazing intently on Vesuvius, and occasionally casting a glance at the garden adjoining the house of Pansa, and on the fleet of Pliny, (ivhich is seen in the harbour, fronting Pompeii) — Thunder-clouds are passing over the city, through which the moon is struggling — The glare of the eruption from Vesuvius throivs an awful gloio on the clouds, which is reflected by the sea, and illuminates the vessels — The city and the neighbourhood partake of the glaring light — The hollow roaring of the mountain continues, with regular respirations, ajid a tremulous motion of the earth. POET {alone). The majesty of nature is too gi'and, And scares my rising thoughts ere they are fix'd Upon the burning tablets of my mind. 158 DESCKIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Ye wondrous potentates of heaven and hell ! Would ye destroy our weak, rebellious race, And strike from its fix'd base this trembling earth, To wander through the black, unbounded void. In endless swiftness and chaotic night 1 Or would ye free its phistic particles From that attractive, self-preserving power Which binds them to each other, and let loose The gather'd atoms in the firmament. That it may vanish into nothingness 1 Oh, where is all our vaunted boasting now 1 One breath, or the withholding of a breath — A word, an impulse, of that mighty One Who call'd us into being, can destroy. And sweep our generation into nought ! All that is mighty in our self-esteem. Or good, or bad, or fair, or beautiful ! How I have watch'd the lovely of this earth Grow up, and bloom, and blossom into life, Clad in the charms of youth and innocence ! And must they wither, and their beauty fade, May be, ere sorrow hath subdued the fire Which sparkles brightly in their beaming eyes ? Oh ! what relief your gentle graces yield To my rapt soul, when passion's bursting strains, Or melancholy musings rack my mind. With human frailties and dark vice's crimes, Which crown the tragedies of daily life ! From this secluded spot I oft have watch'd Young Claudia, with her blooming sister fair, Link'd in each other's arras, conversing fond. Oh, what a contrast in that youthful pair ! POMPEII. 159 The stately elm is one, on whose straight stem The clinging vine its tendrils fondly twine Beneath the shelter of its arching head. Oft have I pray'd that no rude blast might strike, Nor lightning wither those young graceful plants ; But that each passing year might on their heads New blessings shed. Yet they, alas ! must die — E'en as the crouching slave, or prowling beast ; And rosy youth, and old, decrepit age, Together hasten to the shades of death ! The restless soul of man flies round its cage, Seeking an outlet from its prison-house, And strives to peep into futurity, And solve the mighty riddle of its fate — But, once escaped, it stretches wide its wings Through the vast regions of eternity, Nor e'er returns, to make that riddle known. But now, while nature would involve the world In one vast vortex of destnictive waste. And the grand principle of human life Flutters within us with expectant throbs. Waiting, with awe, the summons to return To that first source from which it did proceed, — It seems more precious in its parting hour Than when we held it by a firmer grasp ! And we would question it, and sympathise In the dark future of its unknown state. Spirits of life departed from this earth ! By all the sweet endearments ye have known When that ye mingled with our dying race — By the bright innocence of joyous youth — By the rapt visions of excited love — 160 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. By those which bound the mother to her child, — Oh, whisper to my ear, ere yet I die. If there be happiness beyond the tomb — If there be woe, or sensibility — If there be other gods, or powers unknown, Than those we worship with uncertain faith ! [He rests his head on his hand, and falls [A chorus of sweet music is heard, in which one clear voice predominates. Rest, mortal, rest, while life yet holds Thy priceless soul within its clasp ; Ere yet eternity unfolds The vision thou wouldst vainly grasp ; Unhappy man, thou know est not The truth within thy knowledge brought ! Rest, mortal, rest ! Your gods are vain ! Jehovah reigns alone, supreme ; He needs no more the victim slain, No more with blood His altars stream ; But all wdio seek His pard'ning love, Will find an Advocate above. Jesus ! the name to angels dear, The theme of countless songs on high, Alone can stanch the gushing tear. Alone can check the rising sigh ; Then turn not from His proffer'd aid, Behold in Him your ransom paid. POMPEII. 1 G 1 List, mortal, list ! If thou woiildst gain That peace, surpassing aught beside, All other help for thee is vain. But that of Jesus crucified : His glorious banner waves on hifjh, Triumphant through the vaulted sky. List, mortal, list ! That heavenly air Comes floating down in strains divine, From those angelic forms so fair, Whose robes effulgent ever shine With rays of God's eternal love. Which circle the redeem'd above. All hail, the Saviour of mankind, The Conqueror of death and sin I Who left His Father's throne behind, Peace for a guilty world to win : With glory crown' d, behold Him now, Tlie victor's wreath upon His brow ! What though the beautiful must die, The prized on earth be snatch'd away 1 The humblest, who to Jesus fly. Are far more beautiful than they ; Clad in immortal robes of light. The Christian takes his welcome flight. Borne on angelic wings, he soars To realms of infinite delight ; No Charon there with sullen oars, No fabled Styx in gloomy night, Where shivering ghosts stand trembling by, And hopeless spectres round them fly. L 162 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. But joys unspeakable await The soul redeem'd, whose toil is o'er ; — With humble gratitude elate, He can but worship and adore ! His golden crown, with incense sweet, He meekly lays at Jesu's feet. There, joining the seraphic throng. His praises swell the thrilling notes. Which burst in one o'erwhelming song. And through the vast Elysium floats : " Glory to God, and Christ our Lord, The Eternal Spirit, Holy Word !" Wake, mortal, wake ! Time swiftly flies ! Jesus awaits thy humble prayer ; He will compassionate thy cries. And to His Father quickly bear The vows that from thy lips proceed. And seal thy pardon in thy need ! [He awakes and speaks. POET. Ah ! what o'erwhelming music greets my ear. In sounds mysterious, deluging my soul 1 I thought bright spirits hover'd o'er my head. Holding aloft their glowing harps the while. And wept sweet tears of pity, as they sang Words of forbidden import — strangely sad ! Yet I but dreamt — by mental toil o'ercome. Some scarce-forgotten incidents, may be, Which sleep's renewing balsam hath restored POMPEII. 163 To Mem'ry's tablets, have entwined themselves Around the aspirations of my soul, And call'd up new-born fantasies, array'd In all the simple majesty of Truth. Still does that pealing anthem sweetly sound. Its million voices in my ravish'd ears : " Glory to God, and Christ our Lord, The Eternal Spirit, Holy Word !" [Slave enters with a lam p. Whence comest thou, Jugurtha ? hast thou heard Strange sounds of melting music in the air ] JUGURTHA. My gracious master will forgive his slave, For fearing such a night as this, might prove Unsafe to one who needeth soothing sleep. The Lady Claudia has tuned her lute, And from its mournful strings, sweet notes sent forth, Bearing her welcome voice in strains sublime From her lone bower, to greet the wakeful ear : Night steals the roses from her youthful cheeks. And leaves the ])allid lily in their stead ; While as the nightingale alone she sits, Warbling sweet lullings to a weary world. [Places the lamp on the table. POET. I will retire, Jugurtha — take the lamp And light me to my chamber ; now, good- night I 164 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Scene Third. Tlie scene changes to the Prison, situate within the pre- cincts of the Forum, near the Temple of Jupiter — An officer of the prison and two soldiers are conductinr/ Marcus to the priso7i — The door of a cell in the prison isthroiun open — The father 0/ Marcus is seen sitting on a bench — Judith is kneeling beside him, trading from a roll of papyrus — On seeing Marcus 7vith the gaoler and soldier's ajyproach, they rise up to meet him. MARCUS THE ELDER. My son ! what tidings dost tliou bring to us 1 MARCUS. Alas, my father ! I am come to share With thee and Judith what of life remains. No earthly aid appears in our behalf; Hatred, and bigotry, and love of blood, Combine to wreak their vengeance on our heads ; The friends we trusted in, like broken reeds, But pierce us, as on them we fainting lean ; One only faithful friend still cleaves to us — Rebecca, who is worthy Judith's love. JUDITH. How fares my aged mother ? is she safe ? [Marcus assents. And does my dear Kebecca faithful prove ? And can she still affectionate remain ? POMPEII. 165 Death is — we know not what ; its sharpest pang Must be the separation from dear friends, In whose warm breasts our inmost thoughts lie stored, — Transj^lanted to a soil wherein they bloom In glowing beauty — reared by Friendship's hand. Dear faithful friend ! oh, could I live to see Thy faith transferr'd to One whose love for thee Unbounded is ! — a love for ever ! — yes, A love which hath redeem'd thee from the curse By sin inflicted ! But, Marcus, hast thou too Been number'd with us, for the brutal sport Of those who thirst for blood ? Great God of heaven ! While yet Thy judgments by a slender thread Hang o'er this sinful city, can it be That men should study to offend Thy will. And riot in the blood of Thy poor saints ? Hark ! how Thy thunders roll and shake the earth ! Thy lightnings penetrate our tomb-like cell. MARCUS. Our mother lives, and weeps — but lives and hopes, Hopes against what we know is certain fate, Unless some miracle by God's own hand Deliver us from death. The mowing storm. The blazing mountain, and the rocking earth. Make men's misgiving hearts to beat with fear : Come, Judith, let us sing amidst the storm, And render God the praise, who call'd us forth, From worse than heathen darkness, to the Saviour fold ! 16g descriptive and other poems. Scene Fourth.^ — Pompeii by jSTight. A Street near the Teonple of Venus, on one side of the Forum — Kebecca and ^kqwel, followed by Fido, are searching for the Prison in the midst of an auful storm — The streets are clear of other passengers — A sentry stands at the entry of his box or station — The glare of Vesuvius illuminates the Street, the Forum, the Temples of Jupiter and Venus, the Pantheon^ and the splendid Portico of Eumachia, &c. — Rebecca and Rachel jjass down by the side of the Forum — tliey hear singing, which attracts them to the front of the Prison — and, after listening some time, Rebecca recognises Judith's voice. Song [from the prison). Cease, all ye doubts and fears, Cease, unbelief; Jesus, the suppliant hears, And dries the mourner's tears ! To every trusting heart He sends relief. Though dark the clouds that roll Above our head. He can the storm control, And on the troubled soul The radiance of His smile, in mercy shed. The fear of death gives way. Though lions roar ; As on our knees we pray, Waiting the coming day. And Thy redeeming love, great God, adore. POMPEII. Chorus. 167 Glory to God on high, And Christ our Lord I Jesus, do tliou be nigh, To take our latest sigh ! Oh, fill our hearts with faith, most holy Word ! REBECCA. Hark ! whence those strains divine, Amidst the storm 1 Judith, that voice is thine ! Must thou thy life resign, And yield to cruel death thy lovely form \ JUDITH (fro7n the j^i'ison). Some angel's voice salutes my ear, Thrills through my inmost soul, In well-known accents doubly dear — Sweet, as when first its music clear Could my vain thoughts control ; Rebecca ! can it, can it be, Those notes, that voice, proceed from thee I MARCUS {from ivithin). Some angel's flitting form I see. Glide through our cell ; Rebecca ! can it, can it be, A passing shadow, love, of thee, To tell us thou art well ? 168 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. REBECCA. I come amidst the gloom of niglit, Love's holy torch my guide ; The burning mountain's glaring light, Nor spectral forms, my soul affright. That hover near my side. O Marcus ! can it, can it be. That thou art ever lost to me 1 O Judith, idol of my heart ! Why should we suffer death apart 1 Friends of my soul ! why may not I With you abide, and with you die 1 PtACHEL approaches, and draws Rebecca's attention to a patrol of soldiers coming down the street — Rebecca and Rachel leave — Rebecca carries Fido in her arms, and iveeps bitterly. HippoLiTUS (First Soldier). By Bacchus, comrades, 'twas an awful watch ! The foaming wine-cup more inviting seems At times like these, when flaming Eberus Disputes the empire with his consort Night. What fancies crowd upon the restless mind ! I thought two women stood beneath yon lamp, And sounds of music burst upon my ears — But no one stirs, and all is desolate. Hymeneus {Second Soldier). What next, Hip])olitus ! thou art asleep. And dream'st of Yenus more than Bacchus now ! Wake up, old comrade ! let us here enjoy POMPEII. lf)9 A moment's peace o'er some Letliean draught. But first some bread — 'tis liere old Pasto dwells. [They enter a Bakers shop, whose name is over the door — Grinding-mills are seen in the shop, and a qtiantity of large flat cakes, having a hole in the centre of €ach.~\ Hail, citizen ! By Jove, these smoking cakes Excite one's appetite at such a time. Bread for the city guard, old friend ! What news ? News ! speak ye of news at such a time. When Saturn threatens us, and Jove withdraws His regis from Pompeii's citizens ? Those Nazarenes, whose fearless constancy Increases their strange fold, to-morrow die. Within the amphitheatre, first torn By savage beasts, then by the flames consumed — A fitting holocaust to mighty Jove ! GLAUCIPPUS [Third Soldier). Oh, tell me not such savage offerings Can e'er propitiate almighty Jove ! My soul shrinks back from such dread spectacles. Give me the battle-field, where man to man May stand in honourable fight — The victor's wreath be victory's reward ! But, O ye gods ! can ye delight to see Defenceless women and gray-headed men Torn limb from limb by savage beasts of pi^y, Their mangled bodies given to the flames, For daring to assert their right to think. And exercise the talents ye bestow' d ? 170 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. HIPPOLITUS. Bravo, Glaucippus ! Well — I think with thee : A brave man cannot love such spectacles. HYMENEUS. What of our wine, ye babblers ? Let us go ! The niglit advances. Pasto, fare thee well ! \]^xeunt soldiers into the street. Here is the haven we are seeking, friends. Ho, citizen ! make speed, the city guard. Just off the watch, require some generous wine To rouse them from their melancholy trance ! Vieiv of a Wine-shop in the street, the interior of which is crowded with amphorce and strong -water bottles — The names of customei^s and various caricatu7-es are scrawled on the walls — The Wine-vender is standing behind a hind of counter, with a red cap on his head, drawing wine from one of the amphorce. WINE-VENDER. Ah, friend Hippolitus ! Glaucippus, too ! And thou, most jovial Hymeneus, here ! What makes the mountain roar so awfully ? This sparkling wine will keep fell Care at bay. See what a blazing column lifts its head, From the dark mountain, to the molten sky ! And hark ! the wolves and dogs in concert join, Howling and barking with unearthly yells ! The cock crows angrily, as from his roost He sees the glaring light — POMPEII. 171 H YMEXEUS iinterrupt'mfj). This is good wine, My boys ! Aye, aye — we soldiers do not care Though the old mountain roar till it be hoarse. Song. 1. The mountain is blazing, and forcing on high Its fountain of lava and fire to the sky, It roars in the stillness, the silence of night, And bursts on the terrified world in its might. With dismal forebodings it points at the morrow. But Bacchus, good Bacchus, thou god of the vine ! We drown all our fears in good bumpers of wine ; While the world lies in slumber, we drink to thy name. Nor envy the richest in money or fame : For wine is the soldier's best solace in sorrow. Cliorus. But Bacchus, great Bacchus, tfec. 2. Then fill, fill the flagon, let bumpers go round — W^here danger is orreatest we love to be found ; Where Beauty is kindest we fly at her call — At woman's loved feet e'en the bravest will fall : Though frown'd at to-day, we will hope for the morrow. Mars, Venus, and Bacchus together combine. To lead us to glory, to beauty, and wine ! Then drink to the bravest, the fairest, most kind — May each to the other be ever inclined ! But wine is the soldier s best solace in sorrow. 172 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. Chorus. Mars, Venus, and Bacchus, together combine, &c. HIPPOLITUS {to GLAUCIPPUS). Hast thou seen any of brave Pliny's crew ? He from Misenum's port to Stabise came, To see Vesuvius flaming in its pride. And there he lingers, watching all its throes And fierce irruptions, with attentive eye, While his fine fleet within our harbour lies. GLAUCIPPUS. Pliny is worthy of a Roman's name ; In letters great, as brave in deeds of arms ! Oh, 'tis a glorious sight, that splendid fleet ! I love to look uj)on its spreading sails, And feel myself a Roman while I look. But we must to our quarters, comrades — aye ! HYMENEUS. To our next merry meeting, then, let us all drink, Nor from duty nor liquor, brave boys, will we shrink. May old Rome ever number good soldiers and true, And her empire be glorious, her enemies few ! Chorus. May old Rome ever number, &c. [^Exeunt. Scene Fifth. Daybreak — Rebecca and Rachel are seen approaching the vestibule of the Tragic Poet — Fido accompanies POMPEII. 173 them — The vestibule and exterior of the Poet's house — The figure of a dog chained is seen in the tessellated pavement, loith the ivords " Cave cane ! " beneath. RACHEL {iimlhing to the vestibule). 'Tis here the Poet lives — Pompeii's boast ! This is the vestibule. Ah ! what is there ? \Seeing the figure of the dog. REBECCA. Does aught alarm thee, Pachel ? This device Looks somewhat strange — yet, do not think That it was meant to scare the suppliant. But to deter the wicked from tliis house, That threatening dog keeps faithful watch and ward, And friendly notice gives, that all " beware " How they abuse kind hospitality. Oh ! my poor throbbing heart, how fast it beats ! [JuGURTHA approaches from the atrium, and Rebecca covers her face. JUGURTHA. Rachel ! rich Simon's bondmaid ! is it thou At this so early hour ? Oh, what a night Of horror was the past ! What maid is this, Whose face is hidden from the vulgar gaze. But whose fine, upright bearing, homage claims From all around ? RACHEL. Jugurtha, stay thy tongue I This lady seeks thy learned master's aid. Tell him, a client needs his good advice, And comes thus early to insure the boon. 174 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. JUGURTHA. My master has been much disturVd. The night Was bio; with dread events, foreboding ill To all the world, but now the early morn Is calm and breathless as the worn-out child, Whom some dread fit has torn convulsively. My master comes. [The Poet crosses the atrium. POET. Jugurtha, who are these ? Whom seek ye, friends, at such an early hour ? RACHEL. This gracious lady seeks an interview With him Pompeii honours as her son ; Nor doubts his ready aid in her behalf POET {loohing at Rebecca). Art thou some angel visitant from heaven ? The native dignity which clothes thy form. Speaks of a mind superior to the throng. Why silent, lady ? Ah ! that sigh of grief, Or hope deferr'd, which swells thy heaving breast, Bodes some sad tale of human misery. Alas ! that tale must mournful be, indeed. Which now can claim attention from the world, In its last days, or hours of agony. Come, follow me, and say what thou wouldst say, To one whose ear has late become attuned To cries of wretchedness. [Rebecca, removing the covering from before her face, falls at the Poefsfeet. POMPEII. It ) REBECCA. Most lionour'd sir ! Thou who so well describest others' woe, And findest for the wretched sure relief From troubles, bred in thy prolific mind By the mere exercise of thy free will — Whose strong imagination can create Beings for weal or woe — hear thou my prayer, And by thy powerful intercession save The innocent from death and public shame. POET. Arise, most noble lady ; shame me not ! My heart leaps up responsive to thy call. Where can the hand of mercy interpose To stay the stroke of death, to shield the weak ? PvEBECCA. O noble heart ! O generous sympathy ! Simon the Hebrew claims me as his child, — But I am. come to supplicate thine aid. To succour those from death by me beloved — Fair Judith, (pride of all our chosen race ! ) Her brother Marcus, and her father dear. Within the prison wait an awful doom. Decreed by wicked and unfeeling men. Ah, start not from me ! Those for whom I plead Are worthy of my love, and your esteem. POET. They are the Christian Nazarenes. 176 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. REBECCA. Most true : They are the children of the living God, Who in the garb of sinful man came down From heaven, to save our guilty race from hell. Though but two days have pass'd since first I heard Those glorious tidings whisper'd in my ear. My grateful soul acknowledges their truth. Can it be wrong, when some good spirit calls — Some power celestial visits us from heaven, To listen to his voice, to feel his love. To be obedient to the heavenly call ? Thou knowest revelations have been made, Or fancied, from thy people's gods to men ; Shall not the great Jehovah condescend To speak to these poor Christians in His love ? Then oh, most gracious sir, exert thy power O'er Pansa and the senate, to release My own sweet Judith and her aged sire, With noble Marcus, from this dreadful death ! POET (aside). 'Tis strange ! yet I could listen to her words Whole hours, and tire not. Such unselfish love Finds out the hidden pulses of the lieart And makes them beat with kindred sympathy. [To Eebecca. Lady, I 've often heard thy father's name, His wealth, his influence, spoken of REBECCA. Ah, no ! Speak not of him. His bitter hate of all POMPEII. Who Jesus own, the Saviour of mankind, Is yet unconquerable. Me, his child. He will not tolerate, while ray fond heart Can beat for those who bear the Christian name. POET. Take refuge here, fair maid, with thy good slave. To Pansa I will hasten, and essay To save thy friends. Jugurtha, I commit This lady and her servant to thy care. The while to noble Pansa I repair. [The little greyhound springs into tli^ Poet's arms, and licks his face. Lady, thy faithful dog would put to shame Some whose professions have been over loud — Whose gratitude evajjorates in words. [Rebecca bends to the Poet, and with Pachel, leaves the atrium, led hi/ JuGURTHA and followed by Fido. POET (alone). foul, disgraceful wickedness ! Ye gods, Or thou great Power who reign's b supreme, By whatsoever name to mortals known, Aid me to disappoint the savage glee Which Lucius Libella's bigot zeal Would revel in, at sight of outpour'd blood. 1 cannot penetrate the hidden depths, Where germinate the seeds of fell revenge And bitter hatred, with their poisonous roots ; But I have seen their deadly tendrils curl. And twine themselves in lovely guise around 178 DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS, The unsuspecting heart, till they have stay'd Its faintest pulse ; have heard the dastard breath, Surcharged witli selfish lies, insinuate Dark, bitter slander to the startled mind, Till friendship's fairest flowers have droop'd and died. Oh for some higher, some sublimer faith, Tliat could control our actions and our thoughts, And blend mankind in one vast fold of love ! END OF ACT II. ACT III.— Scene First. A Street in Pompeii near the house of Pansa — People are seen approaching in great alarm — The top of Vesuvius is covered ivith a black mass of clouds, through which an iminense column of fire is rising, and a shower of ashes falls like snovj on every side — The tremulous motion of the earth is still fell — Claudia, Flora, Zephyra, and Slaves, are seen issuing from the house of Pansa — Lucius Libella enters, and approaches Claudia. l. libella. How fares the lovely Claudia ? Her pale cheeks Betray the fears which still oppress her mind. Dimming the lustre of her flashing eyes. Take courage, my sweet lady ; let not Care Rob thee of beauty which becomes thee so. These rites completed, I will go with thee. And tell thee all the wondrous feats perform'd POMPEII. 179 Within the amphitheatre — how, roused By lightning and the thunder's roar, burst forth The raging beasts, amidst the startled crowd, In strange confusion mix'd — the trembling maid Grasping the crouching lion's prostrate main, Which lick'd submissively her passive hand. CLAUDIA. I thank you, sir, but need not such discourse To turn the solemn current of my thoughts. Resign'd to the inscrutable decrees Of that almighty Power which rules the eartli ; I know not fear, nor need the aid of man. L. LIBELLA. Fair Claudia hides her fears beneath the robe Of pride and stateliness ; but time will prove. The dove will shelter seek amidst the storm. When the bold eagle soars above the clouds. CLAUDIA. When Claudia seeks Lucius Libella's aid, To shelter her from danger, doubtless he Will yield her what her weakness supplicates : Till then, farewell ! [L. Libella leaves: Dear Flora, does thy heart Beat with emotions of untold disgust 1 How sad to see, at such a time as this, The forward bearing and the vacant look ; To hear unmeaning compliments and boasts, When humble gratitude should fill the soul With holy yearnings and unbounded praise ! ISO DESCRIPTIVE AND OTHER POEMS. FLORA. my sweet sister, think not of him now, But let my sinking sjmit take its flight On thy strong wings of faith, and soar on higli ! Thou art my only guide ; and, borne by thee, 1 mount to heaven's high gate — without thee, fall Into the yawning gulph of black despair. CLAUDIA {listening to the music in the distance). What strains are these ? Hark, dearest, hark ! VOICES. Glory to God, and Christ our Lord, The Eternal Spirit, Holy Word ! FLORA. Poor doom'd enthusiasts ! those Christians sing, And bless the hands that scourge their bleeding liml)S. CLAUDIA. Hold, dearest Flora, hold ! ah, who can say If that great, glorious Spirit who pervades The wide expanse of heaven and earth, the sea, — Who from dark chaos called a world to life, And still upholds it, beautiful and fair, May not have deign'd to visit His own work In our frail nature — die that we might live ? A something irresistible within. Lights up my soul, and nerves my willing tongue. To join those Christians in their tlu-illing song, " Glory to God on high, and Christ our Lord, The pure Eternal Spirit, Holy Word ! " POMPEII. 181 Hast thou forgotten what the Poet said To our loved father ere we left the house ? How earnestly he pleaded for the lives Of one whole family condemned to death — The aged Marcus, and his manly son, And Judith, fairest of the Hebrew tribe ? Think what a curse must rest upon the heads Of those who doom a kindred soul to death For using the high faculty bestow'd On man alone — the privilege to think, To reason, and to speak. O thou Supreme ! Who knowest all the thoughts of erring man, And seest how he strives to vitiate Thy boundless love by limiting its scope — Let Thy free grace enlarge our selfish hearts, That we may gratefully Thy blessings use. Make known Thy goodness and almighty power. Scene Second. An open space in front of the Temple of Jupiter Sevapis — Procession composed of Pi^iests, ivith Heralds and Criers in their vestments, ivalking in two lines, between ivhich are two hulls, with gilded horns and garlands of flowers on their necks, led hy four hoystvallcing, clad in ivhite, with ivreaths of flowers on their heads, followed hi/ Soldiers escorting Marcus, his son, and Judith — Two Gladiators — A number of Femcdes in white robes — Pansa the jEdile — The Duumvir and other autho- rities of the city, among whom are Alleus Libella, Lucius Libella, M. Arrius Diomede, Aurelius Diomede, the Tragic Poet,