Hymns and Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Of all the mausoleums, old or new,
High-famed in Italy or other lands,
Thine, Clement, I admire, by Angel-hands
Constructed underneath the billows blue,

455

On the broad Euxine's amber-paven floor,
Near where Chersona stood in days of yore.

Long dwelt thy memory there among the race
Of simple quarrymen, whose toil supplied
Imperial Rome with porphyry to grace
Her palaces; and long they certified,
Father to child, the story of thy tomb,
And well-remember'd glorious martyrdom.

How exiled thither by the stern decree
Of Trajan, thou through all the country round
Didst spread the Christian faith; and being found
Guilty of death wast carried out to sea,
And toss'd into the dull oblivious deep,
Yoked to an anchor for thy surer sleep.

How then, as all the Faithful, on the shore
Lamenting thy lost relics, knelt and pray'd,
Lo, of itself the sea three miles and more
Receding, a broad open pathway made;
And they in search of thee, abreast the tide
Exploring on, a wondrous structure spied!

A lonely sepulchre, far out at sea,
Of purest alabaster, by no tool
Of mortal hand proportion'd,—beautiful
With curious work of mystic imagery,
O'er which on opal stalactites uprear'd
A pearly-tinted canopy appear'd.

And lo, within the tomb serenely lying,
The Saint himself in tranquil death composed;
Fragrant with Paradise; a bloom undying
Upon his roseate cheek; his eyelids closed;
His arms devoutly cross'd upon his breast;
Picture sublime of everlasting rest!

456

And not far off the anchor they espied,
So late his instrument of martyrdom,
But emblem now of better things to come;
When at the Resurrection glorified,
He, who for Jesus did his body give,
In that same body shall with Jesus live.

So runs Crimea's legendary lore,
Clement, of thee; but our great Mother Rome,
O Fourth of those whom Peter's lineage bore,
In time thy relics claim'd, as thy true home;
And she, who cast thee to a doom unjust,
Now worships every remnant of thy dust!