Fables in Song :: :: University of Virginia Library

I' the city of the ruins of the world
A rumour flutter'd, on that breeze unfurl'd
Whose puff-cheek'd AEolus is Public Prate,
That some vine's owner, digging the estate
Of classic dirt which lodged his lucky vine,
Had stumbled on a statue, Greek, and fine.

2.

Priests, princes, populace—Rome's papal fold
Prolific—rams and lambs—the young, the old—
The learnèd and unlearnèd—all came flocking
(Some clad in scarlet hat and purple stocking;
Some, with no stockings, and no hats at all;
But each as blithe as for a festival)
To gaze, and praise, and bless the favour'd spot,
Whence Rome, renascent, such a prize had got
Back from the ruins of herself. For there,
In radiant resurrection, fresh and fair

As when that statue first with classic grace
The clement Caesar's palace deck'd, i' the place
Where sank the baths of Titus from the sun,
Apollo's patriot priest, Laöcoön,
Reveal'd to Roman crowds, now Christian grown,
That Pagan Anguish which, in Parian stone,
The Rhodian artist had express'd so well
That here for ever Pain hath Beauty's spell.

3.

Down in the wreck and rummage of the ground
Wherein this famous statue had been found,
A snake, emergent from his clayey chasm,
Had watch'd with wonder Rome's enthusiasm.
And, when the crowd was gone, the reptile gazed
Upon the statue which the crowd had praised.
Laöcoön, and his sons, this snake esteem'd
But secondary parts of what he deem'd
The sculptor's main design. As what one sees
(When painted, haply, by the Veronese)
Most to admire in Cana's banquet board,
For nuptial feast with goodly goblets stored
And viands spread—is not the wine and meat,
But the brave guests who drink it and who eat;
So, what this reptile deem'd the chiefest part
Of the whole group, and of its artist's art
The choicest specimen, was—naturally—
Not the mere victims of the slaughterous sally

Made by its kind on the Laöcoöns,
(Not even the father, and much less the sons)
Who for those snakes were as a banquet spread,
But the snakes' selves, who on that banquet fed.

4.

And “Is that all?” the ambitious reptile cried,
“As much, and more can I!” Then, puft with pride,
About the statue of a wrestler old,
That stood thereby, his fluctuous rings he roll'd,
Regurgitating gulfy waves, that wound
In sliding sinuous ripple round and round;
Knotted the athlete's knees in cumbrous coil,
Clove to his stretcht throat, and with slimy toil
Strove to crush flat the swoll'n and starting throng
Of bulky sinews that, like bulwarks strong,
Buttress'd the large limbs of the marble man.
Thrice round the raised right arm the reptile ran
His rolling orbs; and, winding in and out,
With clasp convulsive girt the breast about.

5.

In vain! For not one massive muscle shrank,
Bruised by the writhing worm's embrace; nor sank
The raised right arm; nor groan'd the granite breast.
And the mute mouth its marble smile compress'd,
Calm as before, 'twixt serious lips serene.
Naught marr'd that noble form's majestic mien,

And gesture stern. The sole disfigurement
Was its aggressor's; as, with strength nigh spent,
The serpent strain'd. The sole contortion shown
Was all its reptile rival's; not its own.

6.

When the great gods, grown jealous of great men,
Great vengeance take on human greatness; when
One grandeur to another, grander still,
Succumbs; when the Divinity, whose will
Goads man with agony, doth not disdain
To beautify the expression of man's pain;
When he, who doth with equal power inspire
The harmonious strings of the delightful lyre
And the fell serpent fangs of Tenedos,
Is King Apollo; then, with loss on loss,
Albeit the waves of blind Oblivion
Wash out wide empires as they wander on,
Tho' slowly over temple, tower, and town,
Grow green the grass of Lethe's drowsy down,
And the dull weed of dark Forgetfulness,
Round spotless statues its accurst caress
Do creeping wind,—yet this the gods vouchsafe:
If from the deep men save one wandering waif
Of wrecks that once immortal shapes have borne,
Still of some grace divine not all forlorn
Men's lives are left. One fragment, if no more,
Of those great forms great thoughts have fill'd of yore,
Suffices Beauty to reveal her will,
Marr'd, murder'd, buried, but triumphant still!

7.

Well-meaning, but unwise, contortionists
Of our well-meaning times, whose tragic twists
Try modern nerves, appease your emulous rage
On the limp substance of the living age,
But touch not ye the antique marble. Chill
To your embrace, and unresponsive still,
Its firm long-frozen grain will foil for ever
The feeble fierceness of your fangs' endeavour.
For, O ambitious snakes! tho' snakes you be,
You are not snakes of Tenedos: nor we
Laöcoöns; nor the wrath you represent
The wrath of an Apollo. Be content
To writhe in elegiac ecstasies
Round subjects fitted to your strength and size.
Feed on fresh food. But seek no second feasts
From the old Sun-God's long-since-perisht priests.