Marcian Colonna An Italian Tale with Three Dramatic Scenes and Other Poems: By Barry Cornwall [i.e. Bryan Waller Procter] |
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| IX. |
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| XIV. |
| XV. |
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| XVII. | XVII. |
| XVIII. |
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 | Marcian Colonna |  |
XVII.
Fairest of all the world, thy tale is told:
Thy name is written in a record old,
And I from out the legend now rehearse,
Thy story, shaping it to softer verse.
And thou, the lost Colonna,—thou, whose brain
Was fever-struck with love and jealous pain,
A wanderer wast thou lonely thro' the earth?
Or didst thou tread, clad in thy pride of birth,
With high patrician step the streets of Rome?
I know not; no one knew. A heavy gloom,
Wrapped thy last fortunes, luckless Marcian!
—Some told in after times that he was found,
Dying within the Inquisition's bound;
Some said that he did roam, a wretched man,
In pilgrimage along the Arabian sands,
And some that he did dwell in the far lands
Of vast America, with savage men,
The chase his pastime, and his home a den.
Thy name is written in a record old,
And I from out the legend now rehearse,
Thy story, shaping it to softer verse.
And thou, the lost Colonna,—thou, whose brain
Was fever-struck with love and jealous pain,
91
Or didst thou tread, clad in thy pride of birth,
With high patrician step the streets of Rome?
I know not; no one knew. A heavy gloom,
Wrapped thy last fortunes, luckless Marcian!
—Some told in after times that he was found,
Dying within the Inquisition's bound;
Some said that he did roam, a wretched man,
In pilgrimage along the Arabian sands,
And some that he did dwell in the far lands
Of vast America, with savage men,
The chase his pastime, and his home a den.
What object is there now to know? what gain?
He passed away, and never came again.
He left his home, his friends, his titles, all,
To stand, or live, or perish in their pride,
And, seeking out some unknown country,—died.
He died, and left no vain memorial
Of him or of his deeds, for scorn or praise;
No record for the proud Colonna race
To blot or blazon, cherish or compare,
His fate is lost: his name (like others)—air.
He passed away, and never came again.
He left his home, his friends, his titles, all,
To stand, or live, or perish in their pride,
And, seeking out some unknown country,—died.
He died, and left no vain memorial
Of him or of his deeds, for scorn or praise;
No record for the proud Colonna race
To blot or blazon, cherish or compare,
His fate is lost: his name (like others)—air.
| Marcian Colonna | |