 | Idyls of Norway and other poems |  |
147
I.
PRELUDE.
Hot was the noon and heavy. A pitiless, quivering brightnessHung in the motionless air; and o'er the abodes of the Cæsars
Broke the fierce breath of the sun from the fathomless deeps of the heavens.
Tiber, the ancient, had shrunk in his bed, and, with sluggish pulsations,
Languished his tawny blood in his veins as he crept 'neath the arches,—
Crept 'neath the walls of the city of Mars to the happy Campagna.
Gray was the grass on his banks, and the far-spreading crowns of the palm-trees
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Stirred no murmuring breeze; and, hid in the gloom of the ilex,
Moped the voiceless birds. Beneath the arcades of the temples
Brooded the spirit of silence; around the sculptured altars
Drowsed in the wide and tenantless space the heavy-eyed augurs,
Waiting in vain for the worshippers' tread and the prayers of the faithful,
Offering votive gifts on the shrines of the lofty Immortals.
Lo! without, on the Forum the stately façades and the columns
Lifted their snowy shapes against the deep blue of the ether,
Grave and placid, and pure, like the thought of a god of Olympus
Swiftly congealed to stone in its large, primeval perfection.
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Rose in trembling wavelets the air from the sunsmitten pavements,
And a bright lizard, perchance, that noiselessly slid o'er the marble,
Flashed his golden-brown throat, and a hound slunk by in the shadow,
Sadly, with lolling tongue. Thus desolate, silent, and weary,
Slept the great city at noon, the city of Mars and the Cæsars.
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