 | Poems of home and country |  |
SIBYLLINE LEAVES.
“Will you buy my leaves, O monarch?
They teem with wondrous lore
Of things ordained to happen,
Casting their shades before;
The precious truths are written
In volumes three times three;
Come, monarch, pay the sesterces
And take the books from me.”
They teem with wondrous lore
Of things ordained to happen,
Casting their shades before;
The precious truths are written
In volumes three times three;
Come, monarch, pay the sesterces
And take the books from me.”
371
“Away! I scorn thee, Sibyl,”
The haughty Tarquin cried,
“Thou hast no power to open
What God hath sworn to hide;”
The Sibyl took her volumes
And proudly stalked away;
“Three shall be burned,” she muttered,
“Six shall bring equal pay.”
The haughty Tarquin cried,
“Thou hast no power to open
What God hath sworn to hide;”
The Sibyl took her volumes
And proudly stalked away;
“Three shall be burned,” she muttered,
“Six shall bring equal pay.”
The curling flames blazed brightly,
Three volumes ceased to be;
“Now, six, O haughty Tarquin,
Await thy high decree:
Three precious tomes have perished,
That told Rome's coming fate;
Say, wilt thou take the six I hold,
And save the glorious state?”
Three volumes ceased to be;
“Now, six, O haughty Tarquin,
Await thy high decree:
Three precious tomes have perished,
That told Rome's coming fate;
Say, wilt thou take the six I hold,
And save the glorious state?”
Again refused the monarch,—
Three volumes burned again,
Like dry leaves in the forest,
Where comes no dew nor rain.
And stood again the Sibyl
Before proud Tarquin's door;
“Three volumes now I offer thee,
Their worth,—nor less, nor more.”
Three volumes burned again,
Like dry leaves in the forest,
Where comes no dew nor rain.
And stood again the Sibyl
Before proud Tarquin's door;
“Three volumes now I offer thee,
Their worth,—nor less, nor more.”
And Rome's great king relented,—
“'T is much, O hag, to pay,
But sesterces, whate'er you wish,
Sibyl, are yours to-day;
These honored leaves shall rule the state
Saved by your words prophetic,
From Thule ultima remote,
To empires trans-Gangetic.”
“'T is much, O hag, to pay,
But sesterces, whate'er you wish,
Sibyl, are yours to-day;
These honored leaves shall rule the state
Saved by your words prophetic,
From Thule ultima remote,
To empires trans-Gangetic.”
372
The bark we launched in years long past
On the world's stormy sea,
Sailed with no Sibyl leaves to tell
How strange its fates should be.
But deeds are better far than words,—
Acts, than prophetic pen;
Prouder than hopes of things to be,
Are high deeds that have been.
On the world's stormy sea,
Sailed with no Sibyl leaves to tell
How strange its fates should be.
But deeds are better far than words,—
Acts, than prophetic pen;
Prouder than hopes of things to be,
Are high deeds that have been.
No Sibyl in mysterious lore
Things secret e'er reveals,
And only life, with solemn pomp,
The book of Fate unseals;
Thou saidst, O Sibyl, volumes three
Filled with thy lore divine,
Were worth as many sesterces
As were the volumes nine.
Things secret e'er reveals,
And only life, with solemn pomp,
The book of Fate unseals;
Thou saidst, O Sibyl, volumes three
Filled with thy lore divine,
Were worth as many sesterces
As were the volumes nine.
But one grand life, whose noble deeds
File by, as men in battle,—
Borne strongly to its glorious end,
Amid the world's vain rattle,—
Is worth a thousand promises
Dreamed by a brain ascetic;
Our glory is in acts, not words,—
Deeds done, not deeds prophetic.
File by, as men in battle,—
Borne strongly to its glorious end,
Amid the world's vain rattle,—
Is worth a thousand promises
Dreamed by a brain ascetic;
Our glory is in acts, not words,—
Deeds done, not deeds prophetic.
| Poems of home and country | |