 | Italy and Other Poems |  |
41
CANTO THE THIRD.
CONTENTS.
Rome, the Metropolis of Art.—The Farnese, the Farnesina, the Galatea of Raffaelle—The Aurora of Guercino and of Guido—The St. Jerome of Domenichino—St. Peter's— The Sistine Chapel—The Transfiguration.—Statues—Michael Angelo, Canova—St. Cecilia—The Moses of M. Angelo —The Vatican by torch-light—The Torso—The Apollo.—Conclusion: the destruction of Rome predicted by Daniel in the Vision of the four Empires.
43
Thou, at whose birth
Descendent Genius came on viewless wing,
And passing o'er the race that people earth,
Deign'd the high gift, for glorious use design'd,
The incommunicable talent bring:
And on thee laid from that primeval hour,
As one ordain'd to elevate mankind,
Charge and entrusted pow'r,
By energy of spirit, and the charm
Of cultur'd taste refin'd,
To steal the wand from Circe's lifted arm,
And from youth's tempted lip to turn aside
Th' enchanter's cup:—if thine th' exalted aim,
Following thy native guide,
In breathing marble, or harmonious hues,
Thy spirit to infuse:
And build th' immortal name
On Bonarotti's, or a Raffaelle's fame;
Making each after age, and human kind,
Heirs of thy views sublime:
Forsake the limits of thy native clime,
The sabbath of thy home.
Go, where a voice, that haunts the desert, calls
The stranger from gay realms, and regions fair,
O'er many a frozen Alp, and Appennine,
To commune, on the mountains bleak and bare,
With spirits, 'mid a waste that once was Rome,—
On dust of Cæsars. Seek yon roofless hall,
Where, reckless of a world, Augustus hung
O'er Maro's harp. Wander the woods among,
Where yet Blandusia to the solar beam
Flings her translucent stream:
Or, under shadow of th' o'erhanging cave,
Where Anio's icy wave
Pours on the rock her foamy water-fall,
'Mid Tivoli's green glades the bard's lone haunts recall.
Descendent Genius came on viewless wing,
And passing o'er the race that people earth,
Deign'd the high gift, for glorious use design'd,
The incommunicable talent bring:
And on thee laid from that primeval hour,
As one ordain'd to elevate mankind,
Charge and entrusted pow'r,
By energy of spirit, and the charm
Of cultur'd taste refin'd,
To steal the wand from Circe's lifted arm,
And from youth's tempted lip to turn aside
Th' enchanter's cup:—if thine th' exalted aim,
Following thy native guide,
In breathing marble, or harmonious hues,
Thy spirit to infuse:
And build th' immortal name
On Bonarotti's, or a Raffaelle's fame;
44
Heirs of thy views sublime:
Forsake the limits of thy native clime,
The sabbath of thy home.
Go, where a voice, that haunts the desert, calls
The stranger from gay realms, and regions fair,
O'er many a frozen Alp, and Appennine,
To commune, on the mountains bleak and bare,
With spirits, 'mid a waste that once was Rome,—
On dust of Cæsars. Seek yon roofless hall,
Where, reckless of a world, Augustus hung
O'er Maro's harp. Wander the woods among,
Where yet Blandusia to the solar beam
Flings her translucent stream:
Or, under shadow of th' o'erhanging cave,
Where Anio's icy wave
Pours on the rock her foamy water-fall,
'Mid Tivoli's green glades the bard's lone haunts recall.
Idolater of Nature! watch the sun
On Aventine's lone summit: watch his rise
In brightness, and the brightness of his beam,
That, purpling day's last gleam,
Gives all his glory to th' Italian skies.
Adore the goddess on her central shrine:
Ascend the brow of Palatine:
That mount, her altar, that blue heav'n, her dome,
Her haunt, deserted Rome;
On whose wide wreck triumphant Time,
In scorn of Cæsar's passing hour,
Has grav'd with arm of mightier pow'r
Grandeur more sublime;
And o'er his realm of ruin spread
Awe that surrounds the tomb—the silence of the dead.
On Aventine's lone summit: watch his rise
In brightness, and the brightness of his beam,
That, purpling day's last gleam,
Gives all his glory to th' Italian skies.
Adore the goddess on her central shrine:
45
That mount, her altar, that blue heav'n, her dome,
Her haunt, deserted Rome;
On whose wide wreck triumphant Time,
In scorn of Cæsar's passing hour,
Has grav'd with arm of mightier pow'r
Grandeur more sublime;
And o'er his realm of ruin spread
Awe that surrounds the tomb—the silence of the dead.
Pursue her foot-step on that hallow'd ground,
Where when grey Morn first glimmer'd, or the hue
Of sober-vested Eve embrown'd the view,
Nature her Poussin found,
'Mid mounds on mounds confus'dly hurl'd,
Like fragments of a shatter'd world,
Palace on palace rais'd and rent,
Temple, and tow'r, and battlement;
These, strown on earth, those masses bare
That by their weight self-pois'd in air,
Like clouds in ponderous columns riv'n,
Lean on the firmament of heav'n—
He view'd the pines, that crest yon height,
Cut with green edge the dome of light;
He view'd yon ilex broadly throw
Darkness over earth below.
Before him, lone Soracte's steep
Rose like an island from the deep;
Beneath him, stretch'd in proud display,
The thousand-templed city lay,
And 'mid blue heav'n the soaring dome
Spread its sublimity o'er Rome.
Where when grey Morn first glimmer'd, or the hue
Of sober-vested Eve embrown'd the view,
Nature her Poussin found,
'Mid mounds on mounds confus'dly hurl'd,
Like fragments of a shatter'd world,
Palace on palace rais'd and rent,
Temple, and tow'r, and battlement;
These, strown on earth, those masses bare
That by their weight self-pois'd in air,
Like clouds in ponderous columns riv'n,
Lean on the firmament of heav'n—
He view'd the pines, that crest yon height,
Cut with green edge the dome of light;
He view'd yon ilex broadly throw
46
Before him, lone Soracte's steep
Rose like an island from the deep;
Beneath him, stretch'd in proud display,
The thousand-templed city lay,
And 'mid blue heav'n the soaring dome
Spread its sublimity o'er Rome.
When, in masses broad and bold,
Sun-light and shade strong contrast hold,
And robe the giant wrecks, and cast
Their wizardry o'er ages past:
And when the moon at day-light fall
Wander's along Aurelian's wall,
And, glancing, slides from tow'r to tow'r,
Half hid beneath the ivy'd bow'r:
From that bright sun, that moon, that shade,
And tints by Time's chaste pencil laid,
Silvery colours, mellowing slow
On all that suffers change below,
From the grey wreck, and mouldering stone
Gather—the softest—richest tone,
And blend beneath Rome's lucid sky
Thy hues to visual harmony.—
Sun-light and shade strong contrast hold,
And robe the giant wrecks, and cast
Their wizardry o'er ages past:
And when the moon at day-light fall
Wander's along Aurelian's wall,
And, glancing, slides from tow'r to tow'r,
Half hid beneath the ivy'd bow'r:
From that bright sun, that moon, that shade,
And tints by Time's chaste pencil laid,
Silvery colours, mellowing slow
On all that suffers change below,
From the grey wreck, and mouldering stone
Gather—the softest—richest tone,
And blend beneath Rome's lucid sky
Thy hues to visual harmony.—
Go, where the palace, and the painted dome
Await thy coming—oft and oft explore,
In brilliancy of richest hues array'd,
All that Caracci's cultured art display'd
On roofs that flame with gold—and o'er and o'er
Trace what th' enchanter's pencil subtly laid
On Farnesina's love-illumin'd wall:
Each charm that every Grace to Raffaelle gave
The senses to enthrall:
Where a sea-goddess beaming on the sight,
His Galatea glides along the wave,
Radiant in bloom of youth, and Beauty's living light—
Await thy coming—oft and oft explore,
47
All that Caracci's cultured art display'd
On roofs that flame with gold—and o'er and o'er
Trace what th' enchanter's pencil subtly laid
On Farnesina's love-illumin'd wall:
Each charm that every Grace to Raffaelle gave
The senses to enthrall:
Where a sea-goddess beaming on the sight,
His Galatea glides along the wave,
Radiant in bloom of youth, and Beauty's living light—
Gaze on Guercino's roof,
Where day and darkness mix the woof,
And the slow hours in lingering flight,
Steal here and there a star from night.
But round thee wind a lovelier spell,
Where Guido and the Graces dwell.
Where day and darkness mix the woof,
And the slow hours in lingering flight,
Steal here and there a star from night.
But round thee wind a lovelier spell,
Where Guido and the Graces dwell.
Nymphs of the dawn! before whose way
Bright Hesper, harbinger of day,
Speeds, where on wing Aurora show'rs
O'er air and earth her freshest flow'rs;
Your course is on the clouds that rise
On roseate wings, and robe the skies,
And on their billowy floatings bear
Your buoyant feet through viewless air.
Around the sun you weave your dance,
And, onward, hand in hand, advance
In fleetest measures that outrace
His courser's fiery-footed pace:
While one, more beauteous than the rest,
Half-veil'd in Twilight's shadowy vest,
Leans back, reluctant to display
Her blushes to the God of day.
Bright Hesper, harbinger of day,
Speeds, where on wing Aurora show'rs
O'er air and earth her freshest flow'rs;
Your course is on the clouds that rise
On roseate wings, and robe the skies,
And on their billowy floatings bear
Your buoyant feet through viewless air.
48
And, onward, hand in hand, advance
In fleetest measures that outrace
His courser's fiery-footed pace:
While one, more beauteous than the rest,
Half-veil'd in Twilight's shadowy vest,
Leans back, reluctant to display
Her blushes to the God of day.
Go, where celestial visions weave
The bliss that dying saints conceive.
Art thou yet link'd to earth, thou, Heir of Age,
Worn out with life's long pilgrimage?
Thy limbs sink underneath their burden, Death
Has o'er thee stretch'd his shadow: voice, nor breath—
One moment more—pass thy pale lip again.—
Yet—in the gaze of that uplifted eye
The vital spark bright beams. Intense desire
Concentres there a fire,
That gathers from the inmost soul a light.
It is the Spirit sees the mystery:
The crucify'd, the Saviour's form divine,
Hallowing thy earthly shrine,
Beams visible before thy tranced eye.
Mortal! thy lip, ere death, tastes immortality—
The bliss that dying saints conceive.
Art thou yet link'd to earth, thou, Heir of Age,
Worn out with life's long pilgrimage?
Thy limbs sink underneath their burden, Death
Has o'er thee stretch'd his shadow: voice, nor breath—
One moment more—pass thy pale lip again.—
Yet—in the gaze of that uplifted eye
The vital spark bright beams. Intense desire
Concentres there a fire,
That gathers from the inmost soul a light.
It is the Spirit sees the mystery:
The crucify'd, the Saviour's form divine,
Hallowing thy earthly shrine,
49
Mortal! thy lip, ere death, tastes immortality—
Far higher yet,
And with a holier feeling deeply fraught,
Beneath the dome where daring Angelo
His vast conception wrought,
And grav'd on the colossal pile below
The grandeur of his soul,
And call'd on Time, age after age, to grace
And harmonize the whole:
Within the sanctuary, at the hallow'd shrine
Where Art is sacred, and the imag'd stone
A worshipp'd form divine;
Where, emulous of Raffaelle, marbles glow
With hues like linked harmonies,
And the mosaic's fairy-paved dies,
In colours challenging eternity,
Start from the massive pillars, and illume
The aisles slow-lengthening into sacred gloom:
Where all the air is incense: where each sound
A voice of hymned melody,
And pour'd throughout the Temple's space profound,
The spirit feels a present Deity,
Enthusiast! there sublime thy soul
Freed from the visual world, and earth's unfelt controul.
And with a holier feeling deeply fraught,
Beneath the dome where daring Angelo
His vast conception wrought,
And grav'd on the colossal pile below
The grandeur of his soul,
And call'd on Time, age after age, to grace
And harmonize the whole:
Within the sanctuary, at the hallow'd shrine
Where Art is sacred, and the imag'd stone
A worshipp'd form divine;
Where, emulous of Raffaelle, marbles glow
With hues like linked harmonies,
And the mosaic's fairy-paved dies,
In colours challenging eternity,
Start from the massive pillars, and illume
The aisles slow-lengthening into sacred gloom:
Where all the air is incense: where each sound
A voice of hymned melody,
And pour'd throughout the Temple's space profound,
The spirit feels a present Deity,
Enthusiast! there sublime thy soul
Freed from the visual world, and earth's unfelt controul.
50
Away, where Genius calls,
Lone dweller in the Sistine's hallow'd walls:
There meditate the mortal's bold design:
There trace the mind divine
That, with creative pow'r endu'd
His pencil, as its lightning speed pursu'd
The quick conception of each winged thought:
As if the Spirit had the vision wrought
Upon the humid clay,
Colouring the fleeting shade ere yet it fled away.
Lone dweller in the Sistine's hallow'd walls:
There meditate the mortal's bold design:
There trace the mind divine
That, with creative pow'r endu'd
His pencil, as its lightning speed pursu'd
The quick conception of each winged thought:
As if the Spirit had the vision wrought
Upon the humid clay,
Colouring the fleeting shade ere yet it fled away.
Vast is the scene, and various: it unfolds
All Nature—her first rise—her final doom:
Time that once was, the form of years to come,
Earth and her generations:—it upholds
On tablatures, whose glowing colours fall
Like prophet visions on the pictur'd wall,
The empires, and their changes,—all foretold
By lips that spake of old,
Sibyl and Seer, whose forms yon roof illume.
It dares embody in its sweep sublime
Invisible imaginings, when Time
Fledg'd his new wing: it dares draw forth the hour
When, from his rest, the Infinite in pow'r
With outstretch'd arms, that part the elements,
Came floating down, and silencing the storm,
From darkness and confus'd chaotic strife
Call'd out the sun, the moon, and things unborn,
As tho' they were, and gave the formless, form,
And to the lifeless, life.—
All Nature—her first rise—her final doom:
Time that once was, the form of years to come,
Earth and her generations:—it upholds
On tablatures, whose glowing colours fall
Like prophet visions on the pictur'd wall,
The empires, and their changes,—all foretold
By lips that spake of old,
Sibyl and Seer, whose forms yon roof illume.
It dares embody in its sweep sublime
Invisible imaginings, when Time
Fledg'd his new wing: it dares draw forth the hour
When, from his rest, the Infinite in pow'r
With outstretch'd arms, that part the elements,
Came floating down, and silencing the storm,
51
Call'd out the sun, the moon, and things unborn,
As tho' they were, and gave the formless, form,
And to the lifeless, life.—
It dares, in one tremendous view, pourtray
The realms of heav'n and hell,
And on the vision of the Eternal dwell:
Sublimely picturing to our earthly eye
The awful doom of that predicted day,
When, at th' Archangel's voice, the trumpet's sound,
God's wonder work shall pass in flame away,
And Time subside into Eternity.
The heav'n of heav'ns unfolds! the Seraphim
Veil their prone brows, and kneel with folded wing
Omnipotence encompassing!
No golden harp rings out the glory hymn.
Hark! the last trumpet peals the final sound:
All nature hears the dreadful summoning.
Lo! Death, uprising from the deep profound,
Gives back his prey: and the wide grave of earth,
The dust from whence we rose, wherein we lay,
Reanimate with birth,
Teems, as its wrecks the form of flesh resume,
To meet the Maker on his judgment throne;
Where God, in light, alone,
In unapproachable light, th' eternal God,
Severing the sons of man, dooms each his last abode.
The realms of heav'n and hell,
And on the vision of the Eternal dwell:
Sublimely picturing to our earthly eye
The awful doom of that predicted day,
When, at th' Archangel's voice, the trumpet's sound,
God's wonder work shall pass in flame away,
And Time subside into Eternity.
The heav'n of heav'ns unfolds! the Seraphim
Veil their prone brows, and kneel with folded wing
Omnipotence encompassing!
No golden harp rings out the glory hymn.
Hark! the last trumpet peals the final sound:
All nature hears the dreadful summoning.
Lo! Death, uprising from the deep profound,
Gives back his prey: and the wide grave of earth,
The dust from whence we rose, wherein we lay,
Reanimate with birth,
Teems, as its wrecks the form of flesh resume,
To meet the Maker on his judgment throne;
Where God, in light, alone,
52
Severing the sons of man, dooms each his last abode.
Thus, by the Sistine walls encompass'd round,
Lone, on forbidden ground,
The mighty master wrought his boundless plan:
Bequeathing earth the image of his mind,
The noblest heritage man ere to man,
Genius to Art consign'd.
There—while 'twas giv'n th' insatiate eye to trace
Its bright, original grace,
Ere yet the shadow of invidious Time
Had pal'd its glowing hue,
And dim'd the grandeur of the forms sublime:
When first Bramante's arm the veil withdrew,
There youthful Raffaelle, kindling at the sight,
Drank the creative beam that filled his soul with light.
Lone, on forbidden ground,
The mighty master wrought his boundless plan:
Bequeathing earth the image of his mind,
The noblest heritage man ere to man,
Genius to Art consign'd.
There—while 'twas giv'n th' insatiate eye to trace
Its bright, original grace,
Ere yet the shadow of invidious Time
Had pal'd its glowing hue,
And dim'd the grandeur of the forms sublime:
When first Bramante's arm the veil withdrew,
There youthful Raffaelle, kindling at the sight,
Drank the creative beam that filled his soul with light.
Forms, then, sublimer far than ever earth
Her dust to mould our frail existence gave;
Forms, that n'er left a transitory birth
To moulder in the grave:
But such as nigh th' eternal throne
Live, and move in light alone;
Such as around Ezekiel glow'd,
And imag'd rapt Isaiah's ode,
On Raffaelle's vision deign'd to gleam,
And mingled with his earthly dream—
And when his spirit pass'd from earth away,
To hallowing wonder turn'd a nation's tear:
As Rome, in veneration o'er his bier
The tablet hung, that to the adoring eye
Shone like a vision of eternal day.
Death on the mortal lay:
But o'er his brow beam'd immortality:
Bright beam'd from Tabor, that divinely blaz'd,
While the Apostles, tranc'd with holiest fear,
Beheld, in glory of the Godhead rais'd
Above our earthly sphere,
O'ershadowing with light the noon-day sky,
Soar the transfigur'd form, sun'd with divinity.—
Her dust to mould our frail existence gave;
Forms, that n'er left a transitory birth
To moulder in the grave:
But such as nigh th' eternal throne
Live, and move in light alone;
Such as around Ezekiel glow'd,
And imag'd rapt Isaiah's ode,
53
And mingled with his earthly dream—
And when his spirit pass'd from earth away,
To hallowing wonder turn'd a nation's tear:
As Rome, in veneration o'er his bier
The tablet hung, that to the adoring eye
Shone like a vision of eternal day.
Death on the mortal lay:
But o'er his brow beam'd immortality:
Bright beam'd from Tabor, that divinely blaz'd,
While the Apostles, tranc'd with holiest fear,
Beheld, in glory of the Godhead rais'd
Above our earthly sphere,
O'ershadowing with light the noon-day sky,
Soar the transfigur'd form, sun'd with divinity.—
I leave awhile unsought
Each statue breathing of the olden time:
Wrecks of the wonderous works that Phidias wrought,
By Homer's song inspir'd.—
Here, Sculpture, in his own Italian clime,
By Ariosto charm'd, or Dante fir'd,
Fashions the shapeless marble, and beholds
Beneath him, at his touch creative, start
Life from the rock, and forms unrivall'd found
At each far limit of contrasted art:
Now, stern, sublime, by awful terror crown'd,
A Pallas issuing from the brow of Jove:
Now, grac'd with all the Cestus could impart:
A Venus in omnipotence of love.
Each statue breathing of the olden time:
Wrecks of the wonderous works that Phidias wrought,
By Homer's song inspir'd.—
Here, Sculpture, in his own Italian clime,
By Ariosto charm'd, or Dante fir'd,
Fashions the shapeless marble, and beholds
Beneath him, at his touch creative, start
Life from the rock, and forms unrivall'd found
54
Now, stern, sublime, by awful terror crown'd,
A Pallas issuing from the brow of Jove:
Now, grac'd with all the Cestus could impart:
A Venus in omnipotence of love.
Long ages roll'd their course those bounds between
Slow, at its rise, ere Leo's golden time,
When first by Arno's gifted natives seen
Art faintly dawn'd, in youth's impatient prime
Bold Angelo, amid the quarry's gloom,
Rude Nature's shapeless womb,
Struck the rock mass.—Forth from th' impassion'd stroke,
Like giants starting from repose, awoke
Grandeur and Strength.—The rock, in after hour,
Tam'd into softness by Canova's art,
Stole from his touch, his soul, th' enticing pow'r
That woos, and wins the heart.
Sculptor of Beauty! on thy grave
Death broke the mould the Graces gave;
Death has relax'd th' unweary'd arm,
That, bright'ning Nature's brightest charm,
Repos'd not till its touch could trace
The glidings of embellish'd grace
Along the polish'd marble seen to move:
Now Hebe's bosom moulds, or subtly bends
A Nymph's light foot, whose dance on air ascends,
Or smiles on Psyche's lip, warm'd by the breath of Love.
Slow, at its rise, ere Leo's golden time,
When first by Arno's gifted natives seen
Art faintly dawn'd, in youth's impatient prime
Bold Angelo, amid the quarry's gloom,
Rude Nature's shapeless womb,
Struck the rock mass.—Forth from th' impassion'd stroke,
Like giants starting from repose, awoke
Grandeur and Strength.—The rock, in after hour,
Tam'd into softness by Canova's art,
Stole from his touch, his soul, th' enticing pow'r
That woos, and wins the heart.
Sculptor of Beauty! on thy grave
Death broke the mould the Graces gave;
Death has relax'd th' unweary'd arm,
That, bright'ning Nature's brightest charm,
Repos'd not till its touch could trace
The glidings of embellish'd grace
Along the polish'd marble seen to move:
55
A Nymph's light foot, whose dance on air ascends,
Or smiles on Psyche's lip, warm'd by the breath of Love.
'Tis not the skill, though exquisite, nor all
That Grace e'er gave, or Beauty can impart,
Tho' Grace and Beauty the charm'd sense enthrall:
It is not these that to the sculptor's art
Fetter th' impassion'd soul: 'tis then, alone,
When Sympathy, whose touch subdues the heart,
Draws forth the tear, that to ourselves unknown
Glides, as we stilly bend, like statues, o'er the stone.—
That Grace e'er gave, or Beauty can impart,
Tho' Grace and Beauty the charm'd sense enthrall:
It is not these that to the sculptor's art
Fetter th' impassion'd soul: 'tis then, alone,
When Sympathy, whose touch subdues the heart,
Draws forth the tear, that to ourselves unknown
Glides, as we stilly bend, like statues, o'er the stone.—
'Twas thus with me, when stole upon my view
Thy image, Maid divine!
Laid on the tomb beneath thy votive shrine.
As one, whose rest was slumber, thou did'st seem:
And so the chisel had that slumber wrought,
That when I lowly o'er thee hung, methought
My breath would have dissolv'd thy living dream:
Yet 'twas not sleep, but Death had there imprest
Sleep's soft similitude, that quiet rest
Which seals the eye-lid of an infant, laid
On the maternal breast.
Yet thine no painless, thine no natural death:
I saw upon thy marble neck display'd
The severance of the blade,
The wound that immaturely clos'd thy breath.
Thus, in an after age, thy form was found
Within the tomb—'tis said—
Fresh, fragrant, undecay'd.
Thus wert thou seen: so wav'd thy parted hair
In many a graceful braid:
Thus, to the sword's descending edge resign'd,
That beauteous neck, more smooth, more pure, more fair
Than monumental marble, low inclin'd.
And thou did'st turn from sight,
When pass'd thy spirit to the realm of light;
So as I view'd thy statue where it lay,
And turn'd from sight away,
As if the image that thy form display'd
Thy secret thought had known,
And there thy last—thy only fear betray'd:
That, ere entomb'd, some daring eye unblest
Should on thy earthly charms too rashly rest,
And draw from heav'nly bliss thy spirit down.
'Twas thus I saw thy character imprest,
Thy soul, celestial Maid! so sculptur'd on that stone.
Thy image, Maid divine!
Laid on the tomb beneath thy votive shrine.
As one, whose rest was slumber, thou did'st seem:
And so the chisel had that slumber wrought,
That when I lowly o'er thee hung, methought
My breath would have dissolv'd thy living dream:
Yet 'twas not sleep, but Death had there imprest
Sleep's soft similitude, that quiet rest
Which seals the eye-lid of an infant, laid
56
Yet thine no painless, thine no natural death:
I saw upon thy marble neck display'd
The severance of the blade,
The wound that immaturely clos'd thy breath.
Thus, in an after age, thy form was found
Within the tomb—'tis said—
Fresh, fragrant, undecay'd.
Thus wert thou seen: so wav'd thy parted hair
In many a graceful braid:
Thus, to the sword's descending edge resign'd,
That beauteous neck, more smooth, more pure, more fair
Than monumental marble, low inclin'd.
And thou did'st turn from sight,
When pass'd thy spirit to the realm of light;
So as I view'd thy statue where it lay,
And turn'd from sight away,
As if the image that thy form display'd
Thy secret thought had known,
And there thy last—thy only fear betray'd:
That, ere entomb'd, some daring eye unblest
Should on thy earthly charms too rashly rest,
And draw from heav'nly bliss thy spirit down.
'Twas thus I saw thy character imprest,
Thy soul, celestial Maid! so sculptur'd on that stone.
57
Why bends the pilgrim in religious gloom
Before yon form colossal?—There, behold
The man of God, the prophet, deeply fraught,
Bold Angelo! with thy sublimest thought
Sculptur'd on Julius' tomb.
Before yon form colossal?—There, behold
The man of God, the prophet, deeply fraught,
Bold Angelo! with thy sublimest thought
Sculptur'd on Julius' tomb.
Thrice-guerdon'd Angelo!
Thy arm, that grac'd the Sistine, upward bore
Agrippa's dome, and, pois'd in ether, hung:
And Sculpture, who beheld thee brooding o'er
The Torso's giant mould,
Bad thee, alone, thee sole, the chisel hold,
Whose stroke, like lightning flame,
Shiver'd the rock, when from the marble came
Th' Avenger. But—why burst yon flakes of fire
Forth from his front? Why more than mortal ire
Deepens his furrow'd brow?
Thus Moses erst to Israel's host appear'd;
Thus wav'd in thick voluminous fold
The dark profusion of his unshorn beard,
Like wreaths of storm-toss'd flames around him roll'd:
When down the reeling mount th' Avenger trod,
And rent in wrath the veil, which dim'd the glow
That round him blaz'd: what time the living God,
Mov'd by his servant's pray'r, on Sinai's stand
Descendent, deign'd before his mortal eye
In mercy spread the shadow of his hand,
While pass'd his Glory by.—
Thy arm, that grac'd the Sistine, upward bore
Agrippa's dome, and, pois'd in ether, hung:
And Sculpture, who beheld thee brooding o'er
The Torso's giant mould,
Bad thee, alone, thee sole, the chisel hold,
Whose stroke, like lightning flame,
Shiver'd the rock, when from the marble came
Th' Avenger. But—why burst yon flakes of fire
Forth from his front? Why more than mortal ire
Deepens his furrow'd brow?
Thus Moses erst to Israel's host appear'd;
Thus wav'd in thick voluminous fold
The dark profusion of his unshorn beard,
Like wreaths of storm-toss'd flames around him roll'd:
When down the reeling mount th' Avenger trod,
And rent in wrath the veil, which dim'd the glow
That round him blaz'd: what time the living God,
58
Descendent, deign'd before his mortal eye
In mercy spread the shadow of his hand,
While pass'd his Glory by.—
Go, and insatiate, o'er and o'er,
Th' exhaustless Vatican explore.
Thro' labyrinthine courts pursue,
Thro' galleries length'ning on the view,
Hall after hall, dome after dome,
Treasuries of Ægypt, Greece, and Rome,
Where, all above, around, beneath,
The marble generations breathe,
And plunder'd tombs their wrecks supply,
To line the walls with imag'ry;
And golden roofs their radiance throw
O'er rich mosaics spread below;
And fountains in perpetual play
Temper with sparkling show'rs the day.
There, oft retrace, when Night has laid
O'er all her solitude of shade,
The forms that live along the walls,
When one lone torch illumes the halls,
Impregnate with Promethean light;
Lo! bolder beauties rise on sight,
And subtler graces outward steal,
Than suns with all their beams reveal.
Th' exhaustless Vatican explore.
Thro' labyrinthine courts pursue,
Thro' galleries length'ning on the view,
Hall after hall, dome after dome,
Treasuries of Ægypt, Greece, and Rome,
Where, all above, around, beneath,
The marble generations breathe,
And plunder'd tombs their wrecks supply,
To line the walls with imag'ry;
And golden roofs their radiance throw
O'er rich mosaics spread below;
And fountains in perpetual play
Temper with sparkling show'rs the day.
There, oft retrace, when Night has laid
O'er all her solitude of shade,
The forms that live along the walls,
When one lone torch illumes the halls,
Impregnate with Promethean light;
Lo! bolder beauties rise on sight,
59
Than suns with all their beams reveal.
What giant of the elder time
Tow'rs from the Torso's wreck sublime?
Beneath the flames that broadly fell
In masses on the muscle's swell,
Methought that form colossal told
The wonders sung by bards of old.
Such was the column, that of yore,
When Atlas paus'd, the world upbore.
What tho', at close of mortal toil,
The victor of th' Hesperian spoil,
Look peaceful on a peaceful earth,
And claim of Jove to crown his birth:
Yet still those muscles, in their play,
Those sinews yet their strengh betray.
Thus, when the storm has ceas'd to rave,
O'er ocean heaves that swell of wave,
Whose rollings in each rise and fall
The force that shook the globe recall.
Tow'rs from the Torso's wreck sublime?
Beneath the flames that broadly fell
In masses on the muscle's swell,
Methought that form colossal told
The wonders sung by bards of old.
Such was the column, that of yore,
When Atlas paus'd, the world upbore.
What tho', at close of mortal toil,
The victor of th' Hesperian spoil,
Look peaceful on a peaceful earth,
And claim of Jove to crown his birth:
Yet still those muscles, in their play,
Those sinews yet their strengh betray.
Thus, when the storm has ceas'd to rave,
O'er ocean heaves that swell of wave,
Whose rollings in each rise and fall
The force that shook the globe recall.
Lo! as beneath that light,
Which, 'mid the depth of night,
Stream'd from the lamp in Psyche's lifted arm,
When softly-bending low
O'er Love's illumin'd brow
The dazzled bride imbib'd his heav'nly charm,
So bursts the Apollo radiant on the sight.
Which, 'mid the depth of night,
Stream'd from the lamp in Psyche's lifted arm,
60
O'er Love's illumin'd brow
The dazzled bride imbib'd his heav'nly charm,
So bursts the Apollo radiant on the sight.
Lift up the torch—A God I trace.
God of sublimity and grace,
Ne'er yet to man the pow'r was giv'n
To breathe in rocks the soul of heav'n.
By Hermes shap'd, his hand divine
That statue plac'd on Delos' shrine.
He mark'd thy mien, when onward roll'd
The Pythian dragon's scaly fold;
He mark'd thee, as thy arrow flew,
With brow uprais'd its death pursue,
When from thy front the parted hair
Stream'd floating on the void of air:
Then caught thy smile in proud disdain
Of conquest on an earthly plain:
And as thy step sublimely trod,
And, rob'd in glory, rose the God,
Embody'd to our mortal eye
The form of Immortality.
God of sublimity and grace,
Ne'er yet to man the pow'r was giv'n
To breathe in rocks the soul of heav'n.
By Hermes shap'd, his hand divine
That statue plac'd on Delos' shrine.
He mark'd thy mien, when onward roll'd
The Pythian dragon's scaly fold;
He mark'd thee, as thy arrow flew,
With brow uprais'd its death pursue,
When from thy front the parted hair
Stream'd floating on the void of air:
Then caught thy smile in proud disdain
Of conquest on an earthly plain:
And as thy step sublimely trod,
And, rob'd in glory, rose the God,
Embody'd to our mortal eye
The form of Immortality.
Son of Latona! Time has rudely hurl'd
From its rock-base beneath the double mount
That feeds Castalia's fount,
Thy dome, that o'er the centre of the world
Arose, the common refuge of mankind.
Thy image, in its sanctuary enshrin'd,
No more yields response to the nations: earth
No longer hymns thy birth,
Nor the fam'd isle that wander'd with the wave.
The gifts that empires gave,
The golden statues that, by monarchs plac'd,
Thy sacred precincts grac'd,
Are turn'd to dust:—the eagle on career,
From steep Parnassus' ice-encrusted height,
Rests on thy wreck his flight:
The wild swan from the Delian flood,
Smooth-balancing in air his silver wings,
Their shadow o'er it flings,
Nor dreads thy votary's shaft that sought his blood:
The Pythoness and Oracle are gone:
The god-head in thy image dwells alone.
From its rock-base beneath the double mount
61
Thy dome, that o'er the centre of the world
Arose, the common refuge of mankind.
Thy image, in its sanctuary enshrin'd,
No more yields response to the nations: earth
No longer hymns thy birth,
Nor the fam'd isle that wander'd with the wave.
The gifts that empires gave,
The golden statues that, by monarchs plac'd,
Thy sacred precincts grac'd,
Are turn'd to dust:—the eagle on career,
From steep Parnassus' ice-encrusted height,
Rests on thy wreck his flight:
The wild swan from the Delian flood,
Smooth-balancing in air his silver wings,
Their shadow o'er it flings,
Nor dreads thy votary's shaft that sought his blood:
The Pythoness and Oracle are gone:
The god-head in thy image dwells alone.
Son of Latona!
Tho' incense here before thee ne'er has glow'd,
Nor struggling victim bled,
Fragrance more sweet than Araby ere fed
Has round thy altar flow'd,
Breath'd from the lip of Love. A girl more fair
Than Cynthia, silvering night's summer air,
Glanc'd on thy sculptur'd form—she thrill'd—she knelt—
Her breast love's lightning felt,
Barb'd by the agony of deep despair.
Youth's waning light, and Beauty's fading bloom
Hope never can relume.
She loves: but chaster not the cloister'd nun
That will not view the sun:
But not more fond, not faithful more thy flow'r,
That tells its passion to the passing hour.
Thus the pale votaress to earth's pleaded suit,
Inanimate and mute,
Gaz'd on the God with unaverted eye,
That bright and brighter kindling with desire,
Sought not the aid of expiating fire
To consummate its gift—a virgin heart.
She saw thee in thy brightness, God of Day!
Beam on her, as her sense dissolved away,
Now—now—from life to part—
The victim melting on thy altar lay;
Her love's first glow, her love's last gleaming, thine:
Her death—an exhalation in thy shrine.
Tho' incense here before thee ne'er has glow'd,
Nor struggling victim bled,
Fragrance more sweet than Araby ere fed
62
Breath'd from the lip of Love. A girl more fair
Than Cynthia, silvering night's summer air,
Glanc'd on thy sculptur'd form—she thrill'd—she knelt—
Her breast love's lightning felt,
Barb'd by the agony of deep despair.
Youth's waning light, and Beauty's fading bloom
Hope never can relume.
She loves: but chaster not the cloister'd nun
That will not view the sun:
But not more fond, not faithful more thy flow'r,
That tells its passion to the passing hour.
Thus the pale votaress to earth's pleaded suit,
Inanimate and mute,
Gaz'd on the God with unaverted eye,
That bright and brighter kindling with desire,
Sought not the aid of expiating fire
To consummate its gift—a virgin heart.
She saw thee in thy brightness, God of Day!
Beam on her, as her sense dissolved away,
Now—now—from life to part—
The victim melting on thy altar lay;
Her love's first glow, her love's last gleaming, thine:
Her death—an exhalation in thy shrine.
63
Here cease awhile, my lyre!—but not with thee
The visions cease, that, like the zephyr's wing
Which wakes the Æolian string,
Gave to thy chord the voice of melody!
Still float around my haunts! and o'er and o'er
In day-dreams, or when spirits of the night
Hang their illusions on the sealed sight,
To Fancy's charmed eye the scenes restore:
Scenes, that my pilgrim step shall ne'er revisit more.
The visions cease, that, like the zephyr's wing
Which wakes the Æolian string,
Gave to thy chord the voice of melody!
Still float around my haunts! and o'er and o'er
In day-dreams, or when spirits of the night
Hang their illusions on the sealed sight,
To Fancy's charmed eye the scenes restore:
Scenes, that my pilgrim step shall ne'er revisit more.
Insensibly, the noiseless foot of Time
Has stol'n upon my path; and o'er my brow,
Age with soft hand has shed its silver snow.
Ere long, my staff will fail, my pilgrimage
Will cease for ever.—Yet, life's waning day
Will pass in peace away,
So heav'n consent, that in these tranquil bow'rs
That charm'd my boyhood hours,
And to my silent woe in after years
Their soothing shelter lent,
Should cease my earth career!—So heav'n consent
That, ere the unseen hand my eyelid close,
My farewell blessing, here, on those I love, repose!—
Has stol'n upon my path; and o'er my brow,
Age with soft hand has shed its silver snow.
Ere long, my staff will fail, my pilgrimage
Will cease for ever.—Yet, life's waning day
Will pass in peace away,
So heav'n consent, that in these tranquil bow'rs
That charm'd my boyhood hours,
And to my silent woe in after years
Their soothing shelter lent,
Should cease my earth career!—So heav'n consent
That, ere the unseen hand my eyelid close,
My farewell blessing, here, on those I love, repose!—
Yet—yet once more!—It will not be controll'd.
Have I not seen the signal—trac'd the woe,
That in the vision, in the dream of old
Prefigur'd Rome's o'erthrow?—
64
That in the vision, in the dream of old
Prefigur'd Rome's o'erthrow?—
Rome! thou art doom'd to perish, and thy days,
Like mortal man's, are numbered: number'd all,
Ere each fleet hour decays.
Tho' Pride yet haunt thy palaces, tho' Art
Thy sculptur'd marbles animate:
Tho' thousands, and ten thousands throng thy gate;
Tho' kings and kingdoms with thy idol mart
Yet traffic, and thy throned Priest adore:
Thy second reign shall pass-pass like thy reign of yore.—
Like mortal man's, are numbered: number'd all,
Ere each fleet hour decays.
Tho' Pride yet haunt thy palaces, tho' Art
Thy sculptur'd marbles animate:
Tho' thousands, and ten thousands throng thy gate;
Tho' kings and kingdoms with thy idol mart
Yet traffic, and thy throned Priest adore:
Thy second reign shall pass-pass like thy reign of yore.—
Hast thou forgot, when, girt with thunder, came
The Hun, the Exterminator, call'd of God,
And thron'd in pow'r, the sword and flame between,
On thy bow'd neck, thine, Monarch-People! trod,
And shouted unto earth that Rome “had been?”
Hast thou forgot how the unsparing axe
Flash'd, and the hewers, as thy glory lay
On earth, the shatter'd branches lop'd away,
Bough after bough? So fell thy strength of yore:
Thus thou again shalt fall:—thus fall—and rise no more.
The Hun, the Exterminator, call'd of God,
And thron'd in pow'r, the sword and flame between,
On thy bow'd neck, thine, Monarch-People! trod,
And shouted unto earth that Rome “had been?”
Hast thou forgot how the unsparing axe
Flash'd, and the hewers, as thy glory lay
On earth, the shatter'd branches lop'd away,
Bough after bough? So fell thy strength of yore:
Thus thou again shalt fall:—thus fall—and rise no more.
65
I see the sign foretold.—Ye, too, come forth;
Ye, who, 'mid Rome, an interdicted horde,
Steal out, when Morn unbars your guarded gate,
Beneath the uplifted sword:
And whom, late Eve with watchful eye beholds
Returning to a house, but not a home,
Like beasts in crowded folds.
Lone dwellers in the melancholy place,
Where ye are doomed your wretchedness to hide:
Come from the haunts where Tyber's wondering tide
Views the throng'd Ghetto multiply the race
That under wrath abide:
While they who, on the sun-lit heights above,
By crystal fountains wont with health to rest,
And tune the lute to love,
Chas'd by the tainted wing that bears the pest
Fly the paternal roof, and golden grove,
And halls where Painting speaks, and breathing marbles move.
Ye, who, 'mid Rome, an interdicted horde,
Steal out, when Morn unbars your guarded gate,
Beneath the uplifted sword:
And whom, late Eve with watchful eye beholds
Returning to a house, but not a home,
Like beasts in crowded folds.
Lone dwellers in the melancholy place,
Where ye are doomed your wretchedness to hide:
Come from the haunts where Tyber's wondering tide
Views the throng'd Ghetto multiply the race
That under wrath abide:
While they who, on the sun-lit heights above,
By crystal fountains wont with health to rest,
And tune the lute to love,
Chas'd by the tainted wing that bears the pest
Fly the paternal roof, and golden grove,
And halls where Painting speaks, and breathing marbles move.
Hebrew! come forth!
Miraculous and mystic link between
The Gospel and the Law!
Thou! that confirm'st the signs thy fathers saw
Of old, the marvels wrought on Ægypt's coast,
When, to their foot, on passage, upward stood
The wall of waters, and o'er Pharaoh's host
Clos'd the returning flood:
Thou, wanderer without home, wherever driv'n,
That bear'st upon thy forehead, broadly seen,
The seal and sentence of avenging heav'n:
The expiation of that day of dread
And darkness, when the veil was rent in twain,
Earth stagger'd, and the graves let loose their dead,
When by th' eternal Godhead glorify'd,
In bitterness of grief, and shame, and pain,
Christ bow'd the head, and dy'd.
Miraculous and mystic link between
The Gospel and the Law!
Thou! that confirm'st the signs thy fathers saw
Of old, the marvels wrought on Ægypt's coast,
When, to their foot, on passage, upward stood
66
Clos'd the returning flood:
Thou, wanderer without home, wherever driv'n,
That bear'st upon thy forehead, broadly seen,
The seal and sentence of avenging heav'n:
The expiation of that day of dread
And darkness, when the veil was rent in twain,
Earth stagger'd, and the graves let loose their dead,
When by th' eternal Godhead glorify'd,
In bitterness of grief, and shame, and pain,
Christ bow'd the head, and dy'd.
Thou, living wonder of Jehovah's word!
Thou, that without or priest, or sacrifice,
Ephod, or temple, lone 'mid human kind,
Cleavest to thy statutes with unswerving mind,
As tho', enthron'd upon his mercy-seat,
The spreading of the cherubims between,
Jehovah yet were seen!
Hebrew! come forth! dread not the light of day:
Dread not th' insulter's cry.
The arch that rose o'er thy captivity
No more shall turn thee from thy destin'd way.
The marble moulders, and the trophies fall,
That Salem's sculptur'd spoils and captive Ark recall.
Thou, that without or priest, or sacrifice,
Ephod, or temple, lone 'mid human kind,
Cleavest to thy statutes with unswerving mind,
As tho', enthron'd upon his mercy-seat,
The spreading of the cherubims between,
Jehovah yet were seen!
Hebrew! come forth! dread not the light of day:
Dread not th' insulter's cry.
The arch that rose o'er thy captivity
No more shall turn thee from thy destin'd way.
67
That Salem's sculptur'd spoils and captive Ark recall.
That arch was bas'd in strength: and they, who rais'd
The pile, and on each stone a trophy grav'd;
And Rome, that on the sculptur'd triumph gaz'd;
Deem'd, that the fabric would have tow'r'd sublime
O'er generations yet unborn, and brav'd
The beating of the iron wings of Time.
They deem'd that there the stranger would have trac'd
The last memorial of th' infuriate brood,
Who Rome, in her omnipotence, withstood,
And perish'd.—Lo! her trophies, day by day,
Moulder, and pass away.
But they, the race despis'd, the race abhorr'd,
The scatter'd remnant of Rome's merciless sword,
From north to south, from east to west, o'er earth,
Beneath the shadow of Jehovah's word,
Tell out from realm to realm the wonders of their birth.
The pile, and on each stone a trophy grav'd;
And Rome, that on the sculptur'd triumph gaz'd;
Deem'd, that the fabric would have tow'r'd sublime
O'er generations yet unborn, and brav'd
The beating of the iron wings of Time.
They deem'd that there the stranger would have trac'd
The last memorial of th' infuriate brood,
Who Rome, in her omnipotence, withstood,
And perish'd.—Lo! her trophies, day by day,
Moulder, and pass away.
But they, the race despis'd, the race abhorr'd,
The scatter'd remnant of Rome's merciless sword,
From north to south, from east to west, o'er earth,
Beneath the shadow of Jehovah's word,
Tell out from realm to realm the wonders of their birth.
It comes—th' appointed hour.
Hebrew! beneath the arch of Titus, pause!
And in the closing scene of Rome's last pow'r
Thy Prophet's roll unfold.
Then view on that eventful theatre,
Where slow-born ages swept like shadows by,
Time, loftier tow'ring as the woe draws nigh,
'Mid the gigantic wrecks that round him low'r,
From the symbolic image seen of old
Casts back the mantle of obscurity;
And beck'ning on the vengeance of the Lord,
Points out the sign foretold:
“Lo! round Rome's iron feet the dust and ashes “roll'd.”—
Hebrew! beneath the arch of Titus, pause!
68
Thy Prophet's roll unfold.
Then view on that eventful theatre,
Where slow-born ages swept like shadows by,
Time, loftier tow'ring as the woe draws nigh,
'Mid the gigantic wrecks that round him low'r,
From the symbolic image seen of old
Casts back the mantle of obscurity;
And beck'ning on the vengeance of the Lord,
Points out the sign foretold:
“Lo! round Rome's iron feet the dust and ashes “roll'd.”—
So take thou up the harp, that whilom hung
Mute on the willows, as the wave flow'd on
That drank thy tear at Babylon:
And from their graves the shadowy kings recall,
That mock'd the Golden City's fall:
And strain the loudest chords to exultation strung.
Mute on the willows, as the wave flow'd on
That drank thy tear at Babylon:
And from their graves the shadowy kings recall,
That mock'd the Golden City's fall:
And strain the loudest chords to exultation strung.
Lift up thy voice!—The Day-spring from on high
Warns that the hour draws nigh:
The far seas, and the multitude of isles,
All in their tongues have heard,
Each lisps the living word.
Hebrew! on thee Redemption's angel smiles.
The stone cut out without a hand
Now spreads its shade o'er earth, and shall to heav'n expand.
Warns that the hour draws nigh:
The far seas, and the multitude of isles,
All in their tongues have heard,
Each lisps the living word.
Hebrew! on thee Redemption's angel smiles.
69
Now spreads its shade o'er earth, and shall to heav'n expand.
Tell the dispers'd, kings with their fleets shall come
To bear the wanderers home,
Their queens shall fold thy nurselings on their breast:
A light o'er earth shall flow
From Sion's hallow'd brow,
And there the Lord, thy God, enthron'd in glory rest!
To bear the wanderers home,
Their queens shall fold thy nurselings on their breast:
A light o'er earth shall flow
From Sion's hallow'd brow,
And there the Lord, thy God, enthron'd in glory rest!
Then, ask of Rome,—Where now the realms whose sway
Bad earth their voice obey?
The gold—the silver—and the brazen?—gone—
The mountain falls on Babylon.
Where art thou, Rome! thy second empire o'er?
Gone! like the chaff from out the summer-threshing floor.—
Bad earth their voice obey?
The gold—the silver—and the brazen?—gone—
The mountain falls on Babylon.
Where art thou, Rome! thy second empire o'er?
Gone! like the chaff from out the summer-threshing floor.—
| Italy and Other Poems | |