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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
He obeyed:
Nobles, ye know his act, but not its sanction:
He called to him a Goth, by name Gainus;
He gave command; all heard it: none forgot:
Stilicho was a man who scorned concealment.
‘Lead thou those legions to the Bosphorus;
There slay Rufinus! Slay him with thy hand
In the Emperor's sight: in sight of all his people:
Rufinus is a traitor prov'n.’ Ere long
That Traitor's plot was ripe. That self-same day
Which saw the legions of the East return
Was chosen to crown Rufinus Emperor.
Arcadius and the Upstart sat enthroned
With all the nobles of the court around:
The legions made advance; Rufinus rose;
With that well-known, but seldom trusted smile
Their standards he saluted: he began—
Gainus smote him through the heart, with shout,
‘From Stilicho! He sent it you for Treasons
Prov'n and avowed.’ An Eastern warrior cried,
‘Say not from Stilicho, but Theodosius!
The brave old Emperor smote him from the grave!’
Stilicho saved that day your Eastern Empire.
Nobles, ye know his act, but not its sanction:
192
He gave command; all heard it: none forgot:
Stilicho was a man who scorned concealment.
‘Lead thou those legions to the Bosphorus;
There slay Rufinus! Slay him with thy hand
In the Emperor's sight: in sight of all his people:
Rufinus is a traitor prov'n.’ Ere long
That Traitor's plot was ripe. That self-same day
Which saw the legions of the East return
Was chosen to crown Rufinus Emperor.
Arcadius and the Upstart sat enthroned
With all the nobles of the court around:
The legions made advance; Rufinus rose;
With that well-known, but seldom trusted smile
Their standards he saluted: he began—
Gainus smote him through the heart, with shout,
‘From Stilicho! He sent it you for Treasons
Prov'n and avowed.’ An Eastern warrior cried,
‘Say not from Stilicho, but Theodosius!
The brave old Emperor smote him from the grave!’
Stilicho saved that day your Eastern Empire.
Feasters, attend: this matter touches you!
Six years went by: the Goths o'erflowed your land:
What course was theirs who boast their Rome? They fled!
Their roads were choked: their harbours crammed: their galleys
Took wing to Corsica and Sicily.
Where then was Stilicho? His voice went forth
From Rhetia's vales: his Name subdued the indwellers.
A Race barbaric saved you: some had served
Beneath his standard: some had felt his steel:
As though by magic moved they turned and joined him.
Your legions breathed again. A man—one man—
He stamped upon the earth, and raised two armies!
A sudden Apparition he appeared;
By miracle of strategy he conquered;
He freed Honorius then at Asta sieged:
He smote the invaders on Pollentia's field;
Later he broke them 'neath Verona's wall—
Stilicho saved that day your Western Empire!
Six years went by: the Goths o'erflowed your land:
What course was theirs who boast their Rome? They fled!
Their roads were choked: their harbours crammed: their galleys
Took wing to Corsica and Sicily.
Where then was Stilicho? His voice went forth
From Rhetia's vales: his Name subdued the indwellers.
A Race barbaric saved you: some had served
Beneath his standard: some had felt his steel:
As though by magic moved they turned and joined him.
193
He stamped upon the earth, and raised two armies!
A sudden Apparition he appeared;
By miracle of strategy he conquered;
He freed Honorius then at Asta sieged:
He smote the invaders on Pollentia's field;
Later he broke them 'neath Verona's wall—
Stilicho saved that day your Western Empire!
That night was triumph loud, and mirth, and feast.
Yet Stilicho that day had learned a lesson.
At night that great one whispered in mine ear
‘Rome might have borne great losses, loss of realms—
This blow is Death. Rome fell without a fight!
The hand that saved her was the Hand Barbaric:
Dishonour means Destruction.’ Years went by;
Again he spake, ‘The East is false and hates us.
The Roman knows to boast, but not to fight,
The Race Barbaric fights no more for hire,
It fights, although he knows it not, for Empire.
That Western Empire willed not to be saved.’
The terror past, ‘What man is Stilicho?’
Your Pagans asked. ‘To him no God gave help
Who sees may learn thus much. His Wife, Serena,
Wears still that circlet snatched from Juno's brow!’
Your Christians next; ‘What! Stilicho a Christian!
Claudian, his poet, is a pagan vowed:
So are his sons' preceptors. If a Christian
Why breaks he not the statues of false Gods?
The victory was miraculous: 'twas not his!’
Thus raved the inept.
Yet Stilicho that day had learned a lesson.
At night that great one whispered in mine ear
‘Rome might have borne great losses, loss of realms—
This blow is Death. Rome fell without a fight!
The hand that saved her was the Hand Barbaric:
Dishonour means Destruction.’ Years went by;
Again he spake, ‘The East is false and hates us.
The Roman knows to boast, but not to fight,
The Race Barbaric fights no more for hire,
It fights, although he knows it not, for Empire.
That Western Empire willed not to be saved.’
The terror past, ‘What man is Stilicho?’
Your Pagans asked. ‘To him no God gave help
Who sees may learn thus much. His Wife, Serena,
Wears still that circlet snatched from Juno's brow!’
Your Christians next; ‘What! Stilicho a Christian!
Claudian, his poet, is a pagan vowed:
So are his sons' preceptors. If a Christian
Why breaks he not the statues of false Gods?
The victory was miraculous: 'twas not his!’
Thus raved the inept.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |