 | The Door of Humility |  |
99
ROME
101
XXXVII
i
The last warm gleams of sunset fadeFrom cypress spire and stonepine dome,
And, in the twilight's deepening shade,
Lingering, I scan the wrecks of Rome.
ii
Husht the Madonna's Evening Bell;The steers lie loosed from wain and plough;
The vagrant monk is in his cell,
The meek nun-novice cloistered now.
iii
Pedant's presumptuous voice no moreVexes the spot where Cæsar trod,
And o'er the pavement's soundless floor
Come banished priest and exiled God.
102
iv
The lank-ribbed she-wolf, couched amongThe regal hillside's tangled scrubs,
With doting gaze and fondling tongue
Suckles the Vestal's twin-born cubs.
v
Yet once again Evander leadsÆneas to his wattled home,
And, throned on Tiber's fresh-cut reeds,
Talks of burnt Troy and rising Rome.
vi
From out the tawny dusk one hearsThe half-feigned scream of Sabine maids,
The rush to arms, then swift the tears
That separate the clashing blades.
vii
The Lictors with their fasces throngTo quell the Commons' rising roar,
As Tullia's chariot flames along,
Splashed with her murdered father's gore.
103
viii
Her tresses free from band or comb,Love-dimpled Venus, lithe and tall,
And fresh as Fiumicino's foam,
Mounts her pentelic pedestal.
ix
With languid lids, and lips apart,And curving limbs like wave half-furled,
Unarmed she dominates the heart,
And without sceptre sways the world.
x
Nerved by her smile, avenging MarsStalks through the Forum's fallen fanes,
Or, changed of mien and healed of scars,
Threads sylvan slopes and vineyard plains.
xi
With waves of song from wakening lyreApollo routs the wavering night,
While, parsley-crowned, the white-robed choir
Wind chanting up the Sacred Height,
104
xii
Where Jove, with thunder-garlands wreathed,And crisp locks frayed like fretted foam,
Sits with his lightnings half unsheathed,
And frowns against the foes of Rome.
xiii
You cannot kill the Gods. They stillReclaim the thrones where once they reigned,
Rehaunt the grove, remount the rill,
And renovate their rites profaned.
xiv
Diana's hounds still lead the chase,Still Neptune's Trident crests the sea,
And still man's spirit soars through space
On feathered heels of Mercury.
xv
No flood can quench the Vestals' Fire;The Flamen's robes are still as white
As ere the Salii's armoured choir
Were drowned by droning anchorite.
105
xvi
The saint may seize the siren's seat,The shaveling frown where frisked the Faun;
Ne'er will, though all beside should fleet,
The Olympian Presence be withdrawn.
xvii
Here, even in the noontide glare,The Gods, recumbent, take their ease;
Go look, and you will find them there,
Slumbering behind some fallen frieze.
xviii
But most, when sunset glow hath paled,And come, as now, the twilight hour,
In vesper vagueness dimly veiled
I feel their presence and their power.
xix
What though their temples strew the ground,And to the ruin owls repair,
Their home, their haunt, is all around;
They drive the cloud, they ride the air.
106
xx
And, when the planets wend their wayAlong the never-ageing skies,
“Revere the Gods” I hear them say;
“The Gods are old, the Gods are wise.”
xxi
Build as man may, Time gnaws and peersThrough marble fissures, granite rents;
Only Imagination rears
Imperishable monuments.
xxii
Let Gaul and Goth pollute the shrine,Level the altar, fire the fane:
There is no razing the Divine;
The Gods return, the Gods remain.
107
XXXVIII
i
Christ is arisen. The place whereinThey laid Him shows but cerements furled,
And belfry answers belfry's din
To ring the tidings round the world.
ii
Grave Hierarchs come, an endless band,In jewelled mitre, cope embossed,
Who bear Rome's will to every land
In all the tongues of Pentecost.
iii
Majestic, along marble floor,Walk Cardinals in blood-red robe,
Martyrs for Faith and Christ no more,
Who gaze as though they ruled the globe.
108
iv
With halberds bare and doublets slashed,Emblems that war will never cease,
Come martial guardians, unabashed,
And march afront the Prince of Peace.
v
Then, in his gestatorial ChairSee Christ's vicegerent, bland, benign,
To crowds all prostrate as in prayer
Lean low, and make the Holy Sign.
vi
Then trumpets shrill, and organ peals,Throughout the mighty marble pile,
Whileas a myriad concourse kneels
In dense-packed nave and crowded aisle.
vii
Hark to the sudden hush! AloftFrom unseen source in empty dome
Swells prayerful music silvery-soft,
Borne from far-off celestial Home.
109
viii
Then, when the solemn rite is done,The worshippers stream out to where
Dance fountains glittering in the sun,
While expectation fills the air.
ix
Now on high balcony He stands,And—save for the Colonna curse,—
Blesses with high-uplifted hands
The City and the Universe.
x
Christ is arisen! But scarce as when,On the third day of death and gloom,
Came ever-loving Magdalen
With tears and spices to His tomb.
110
XXXIX
i
The Tiber winds its sluggish wayThrough niggard tracts whence Rome's command
Once cast the shadow of her sway,
O'er Asian city, Afric sand.
ii
Nor even yet doth She resignHer sceptre. Still the spell is hers,
Though she may seem a rifled shrine
'Mid circumjacent sepulchres.
iii
One after one, they came, they come,Gaul, Goth, Savoy, to work their will;
She answers, when She most seems dumb,
“I wore the Crown, I wear it still.
111
iv
“From Jove I first received the gift,I from Jehovah wear it now,
Nor shall profane invader lift
The diadem from off my brow.
v
“The Past is mine, and on the PastThe Future builds; and Time will rear
The next strong structure on the last,
Where men behold but shattered tier.
vi
“The Teuton hither hies to teach,To prove, disprove, to delve and probe.
Fool! Pedant! Does he think to reach
The deep foundations of the globe?”
vii
For me, I am content to treadOn Sabine dust and Gothic foe.
Leave me to deepening silent dread
Of vanished Empire's afterglow.
112
viii
In this Imperial wildernessWhy rashly babble and explore?
O, let me know a little less,
So I may feel a little more!
113
XL
i
For upward of one thousand years,Here men and women prayed to Jove,
With smiles and incense, gifts and tears,
In secret shrine, or civic grove;
ii
And, when Jove did not seem to heed,Sought Juno's mediatorial power,
Or begged fair Venus intercede
And melt him in his amorous hour.
iii
Sages invoked Minerva's might;The Poet, ere he struck the lyre,
Prayed to the God of Song and Light
To touch the strings with hallowed fire.
114
iv
With flaming herbs were altars smokedSprinkled with blood and perfumed must,
And gods and goddesses invoked
To second love or sanction lust.
v
And did they hear and heed the prayer,Or, through that long Olympian reign,
Were they divinities of air
Begot of man's fantastic brain?
vi
In Roman halls their statues stillSerenely stand, but no one now
Ascends the Capitolian Hill,
To render thanks, or urge the vow.
vii
Through now long centuries hath RomeThroned other God, preached other Creed,
That here still have their central home,
And feed man's hope, content his need.
115
viii
Against these, too, will Time prevail?No! Let whatever gestates, be,
Secure will last the tender tale
From Bethlehem to Calvary.
ix
Throughout this world of pain and loss,Man ne'er will cease to bend his knee
To Crown of Thorns, to Spear, to Cross,
And Doorway of Humility.
116
XLI
i
If Reason be the sole safe guideIn man implanted from above,
Why crave we for one only face,
Why consecrate the name of Love?
ii
Faces there are no whit less fair,Yet ruddier lip, more radiant eye,
Same rippling smile, same auburn hair,
But not for us. Say, Reason, why.
iii
Why bound our hearts when April piedComes singing, or when hawthorn blows?
Doth logic in the lily hide,
And where's the reason in the rose?
117
iv
Why weld our keels and launch our ships,If Reason urge some wiser part,
Kiss England's Flag with dying lips
And fold its glories to the heart?
v
In this gross world we touch and see,If Reason be no trusty guide,
For world unseen why should it be
The sole explorer justified?
vi
The homing swallow knows its nest,Sure curves the comet to its goal,
Instinct leads Autumn to its rest,
And why not Faith the homing soul?
vii
Is Reason so aloof, aloft,It doth not 'gainst itself rebel,
And are not Reason's reasonings oft
By Reason proved unreasonable?
118
viii
He is perplexed no more, who prays,“Hail, Mary Mother, full of grace!”
O drag me from Doubt's endless maze,
And let me see my Loved One's face!
119
XLII
i
“Upon this rock!” Yet even hereWhere Christian God ousts Pagan wraith,
Rebellious Reason whets its spear,
And smites upon the shield of Faith.
ii
On sacred mount, down seven-hilled slopes,Fearless it faces foe and friend,
Saying to man's immortal hopes,
“Whatso began, perforce must end.”
iii
Not men alone, but gods too, die;Fanes are, like hearths, left bare and lone;
This earth will into fragments fly,
And Heaven itself be overthrown.
120
iv
Why then should Man immortal be?He is but fleeting form, to fade,
Like momentary cloud, or sea
Of waves dispersed as soon as made.
v
Yet if 'tis Force, not Form, survives,Meseems therein that one may find
Some comfort for distressful lives;
For, if Force ends not, why should Mind?
vi
Is Doubt more forceful than Belief?The doctor's cap than friar's cowl?
O ripeness of the falling leaf!
O wisdom of the moping owl!
vii
Man's Mind will ever stand apartFrom Science, save this have for goal
The evolution of the heart,
And sure survival of the Soul.
121
XLIII
i
The Umbilicum lonely standsWhere once rose porch and vanished dome;
But he discerns who understands
That every road may lead to Rome.
ii
Enthroned in Peter's peaceful Chair,The spiritual Cæsar sways
A wider Realm of earth and air
Than trembled at Octavian's gaze.
iii
His universal arms embraceThe saint, the sinner, and the sage,
And proffer refuge, comfort, grace
To tribulation's pilgrimage.
122
iv
Here scientific searchers findPrecursors for two thousand years,
Who in a drouthy world divined
Fresh springs for human doubts and fears.
v
Here fair chaste Agnes veils her faceFrom prowlers of the sensual den,
And pity, pardon, and embrace
Await repentant Magdalen.
vi
Princess and peasant-mother wendTo self-same altar, self-same shrine,
And Cardinal and Patriarch bend
Where lepers kneel, and beggars whine.
vii
And is there then, in my distress,No road, no gate, no shrine, for me?
The answer comes, “Yes, surely, yes!
The Doorway of Humility.”
123
viii
O rival Faiths! O clamorous Creeds!Would you but hush your strife in prayer,
And raise one Temple for our needs,
Then, then, we all might worship there.
ix
But dogma new with dogma oldClashes to soothe the spirit's grief,
And offer to the unconsoled
Polyglot Babel of Belief!
124
XLIV
i
The billows roll, and rise, and break,Around me; fixedly shine the stars
In clear dome overhead, and take
Their course, unheeding earthly jars.
ii
Yet if one's upward gaze could beBut stationed where the planets are,
The star were restless as the sea,
The sea be tranquil as the star.
iii
Hollowed like cradle, then like grave,Now smoothly curved, now shapeless spray,
Withal the undirected wave
Forms, and reforms, and knows its way.
125
iv
Then, waters, bear me on where He,Ere death absolved at Christian font,
Removed Rome's menaced majesty
Eastward beyond the Hellespont.
v
Foreseeing not what Fate concealed,But Time's caprice would there beget,
That Cross would unto Crescent yield,
Cæsar and Christ to Mahomet.
vi
Is it then man's predestined stateTo search for, ne'er to find, the Light?
Arise, my Star, illuminate
These empty spaces of the Night!
126
XLV
i
Last night I heard the cuckoo callAmong the moist green glades of home,
And in the Chase around the Hall
Saw the May hawthorn flower and foam.
ii
Deep in the wood where primrose starsPaled before bluebell's dazzling reign,
The nightingale's sad sobbing bars
Rebuked the merle's too joyful strain.
iii
The kine streamed forth from stall and byre,The foal frisked round its mother staid,
The meads, by sunshine warmed, took fire,
And lambs in pasture, bleating, played.
127
iv
The uncurbed rivulets raced to whereThe statelier river curled and wound,
And trout, of human step aware,
Shot through the wave without a sound.
v
Adown the village street, as clearAs in one's wakeful mid-day hours,
Beheld I Monica drawing near,
Her vestal lap one crib of flowers.
vi
Lending no look to me, she passedBy the stone path, as oft before,
Between old mounds Spring newly grassed,
And entered through the Little Door.
vii
Led by her feet, I hastened on,But, ere my feverish steps could get
To the low porch, lo! Morning shone
On Moslem dome and minaret!
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