 | The last night of Pompeii |  |
THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII.
CANTO I.
Mid mellow folds of softly floating gold,
The flowered pavilions of the spirit winds,
That waved in music to the Ausonian breeze,
And blent, like heart-smiles, with the deep blue vault
Of beautiful Campania, like a God,
(Titan in ancient dreams, whose faintest smile
Elysian splendors breathed through ocean's realm,)
Casting aside earth's throbbing dust, to put
His diadem of deathless glory on,
The sun went slowly down the Appenines.
Far up the living dome of heaven, the clouds,
Pearling the azure, like a seraph's robe,
Wreathed o'er the blessed and beaming face of heaven,
And glanced, mid blush and shadow, o'er the sky,
Full of the gentle spirit of the air,
The flowered pavilions of the spirit winds,
That waved in music to the Ausonian breeze,
And blent, like heart-smiles, with the deep blue vault
Of beautiful Campania, like a God,
(Titan in ancient dreams, whose faintest smile
Elysian splendors breathed through ocean's realm,)
Casting aside earth's throbbing dust, to put
His diadem of deathless glory on,
The sun went slowly down the Appenines.
Far up the living dome of heaven, the clouds,
Pearling the azure, like a seraph's robe,
Wreathed o'er the blessed and beaming face of heaven,
And glanced, mid blush and shadow, o'er the sky,
Full of the gentle spirit of the air,
10
The mediator of the elements.
As if imbued with virgin thought, the leaves
Tenderly smiled their loveliness, and sighed,
O'er the hushed summer earth, their music, soft
As the sky-hymns o'er wandering souls forgiven.
The hills cast giant shadows, in whose depth
Wild jagged rocks, and solitary floods,
And forests gnarled and hoar, looking deep awe,
Like the vast deserts of a dream, replied
To voices of unresting phantoms, there
Till day-dreams, wrapt in dark sublimities.
On the fair shores and sea-worn promontories,
Where many a Doric palace, proudly built,
And overwhelmed by grandeur, silent stood,
Save when the twilight waters whispered low
Their vigil anthem, childlike slumbered now,
In speechless beauty, the last light; afar,
The avalanche in the ravine glimmered back
The trembling and most transitory glow;
The beaked and burnished galleys on the wave
With quivering banners hung, and gay triremes
Passed by each isle and headland like the shade
Of Enna's idol through the realm of Dis.
All nature, in her holy hour of love,
Lifted in rapture the heart's vesper prayer.
As if imbued with virgin thought, the leaves
Tenderly smiled their loveliness, and sighed,
O'er the hushed summer earth, their music, soft
As the sky-hymns o'er wandering souls forgiven.
The hills cast giant shadows, in whose depth
Wild jagged rocks, and solitary floods,
And forests gnarled and hoar, looking deep awe,
Like the vast deserts of a dream, replied
To voices of unresting phantoms, there
Till day-dreams, wrapt in dark sublimities.
On the fair shores and sea-worn promontories,
Where many a Doric palace, proudly built,
And overwhelmed by grandeur, silent stood,
Save when the twilight waters whispered low
Their vigil anthem, childlike slumbered now,
In speechless beauty, the last light; afar,
The avalanche in the ravine glimmered back
The trembling and most transitory glow;
The beaked and burnished galleys on the wave
With quivering banners hung, and gay triremes
Passed by each isle and headland like the shade
Of Enna's idol through the realm of Dis.
All nature, in her holy hour of love,
Lifted in rapture the heart's vesper prayer.
11
And thus from Pompeii's Field of Tombs the voice
Of Vesta's priestess, o'er the sepulchres
Bending beneath the holy Heaven, sent up
The anguish of bereavement, and the doubts
Of an immortal mind that knew not yet
Its immortality, yet seeking e'er
A deathless hope and sighing o'er the pomp
Profane of paynim adoration vain.
Of Vesta's priestess, o'er the sepulchres
Bending beneath the holy Heaven, sent up
The anguish of bereavement, and the doubts
Of an immortal mind that knew not yet
Its immortality, yet seeking e'er
A deathless hope and sighing o'er the pomp
Profane of paynim adoration vain.
THE VESTAL'S HYMN.
Zephyr of twilight! thine elysian breath
In spirit music steals through orange groves:
Bringst thou no memories from the home of death?
No whispered yearnings from departed loves?
Fann'd not thy wing, ere stars above thee glowed,
The pure pale brow that on my birth-hour smiled?
And bearst thou not from Destiny's abode
One kiss from mother to her vestal child?
Cold sleep the ashes of the heart that breathed
But for my bliss—when being's suns were few;
And hath the spirit no high hope bequeathed?
Or must it drink the grave's eternal dew?
In spirit music steals through orange groves:
Bringst thou no memories from the home of death?
No whispered yearnings from departed loves?
Fann'd not thy wing, ere stars above thee glowed,
The pure pale brow that on my birth-hour smiled?
And bearst thou not from Destiny's abode
One kiss from mother to her vestal child?
Cold sleep the ashes of the heart that breathed
But for my bliss—when being's suns were few;
And hath the spirit no high hope bequeathed?
Or must it drink the grave's eternal dew?
12
Hesper! the beauty of thy virgin light
Blossoms along the blue of yon sweet sky—
Yet vain my heart soars—from the deep of night
No voice or vision thrills my ear or eye.
From Vesta's vigil shrine no light ascends
Beyond this realm of sin, doubt, grief, and death;
Reveals no heaven where meet immortal friends,
Shadows no being victor over breath!
Sunlight and fragrance, dewbeam and still eve
Shed not their bliss and beauty on thine urn!
Has earth no hope time never can bereave?
No power again to bid the pale dust burn?
The rippling rills, the radiant morns, the flowers,
Bursting in beauty, showers of iris hues,
Starlight and love—the graces and the hours—
Each—all must vanish like the dial dews!
Budding to wither—lingering to impart
Life's hopeless pangs when thought shall sink in gloom—
Can song or mythos soothe the shuddering heart?
Or e'en the Thunderer's eye illume the tomb?
Blossoms along the blue of yon sweet sky—
Yet vain my heart soars—from the deep of night
No voice or vision thrills my ear or eye.
From Vesta's vigil shrine no light ascends
Beyond this realm of sin, doubt, grief, and death;
Reveals no heaven where meet immortal friends,
Shadows no being victor over breath!
Sunlight and fragrance, dewbeam and still eve
Shed not their bliss and beauty on thine urn!
Has earth no hope time never can bereave?
No power again to bid the pale dust burn?
The rippling rills, the radiant morns, the flowers,
Bursting in beauty, showers of iris hues,
Starlight and love—the graces and the hours—
Each—all must vanish like the dial dews!
Budding to wither—lingering to impart
Life's hopeless pangs when thought shall sink in gloom—
Can song or mythos soothe the shuddering heart?
Or e'en the Thunderer's eye illume the tomb?
13
Now from the mountain tent mid ilex woods
Or gay pavilions in the elysian vale,
Wandered, on twilight air, through clustering vines,
The cithern's music and the lute's soft strain
Echoed the soul of love-filled melody.
The hills seemed living with delight, for there
As Summer's burning solstice felt the breath
Of Autumn floating o'er its fires, retired,
From cities thronged with death, the wise and gay,
In fellowship or loneliness, to seek
Felicity or wisdom from the woods;
And there the dreams of Arcady—the thought,
That, in the elder days, inspired the soul
Of Phantasie and breathed through Nature's smiles
Elysian revelations, clothing earth
In mornstar robes of loveliness, became
The blest companions of the pure in heart.
The rose and purple radiance from the sky
Fled like Love's visions or the arrow's plume,
O'er the dim isles and sea of Italy,
Mid the dark foliage mingling like the hopes
Of earth with night-fears, when the shadows, cast
From thought, with high and pure revealments blend
Of beautiful existence far beyond
The mockery and the madness of this life.
Or gay pavilions in the elysian vale,
Wandered, on twilight air, through clustering vines,
The cithern's music and the lute's soft strain
Echoed the soul of love-filled melody.
The hills seemed living with delight, for there
As Summer's burning solstice felt the breath
Of Autumn floating o'er its fires, retired,
From cities thronged with death, the wise and gay,
In fellowship or loneliness, to seek
Felicity or wisdom from the woods;
And there the dreams of Arcady—the thought,
That, in the elder days, inspired the soul
Of Phantasie and breathed through Nature's smiles
Elysian revelations, clothing earth
In mornstar robes of loveliness, became
The blest companions of the pure in heart.
The rose and purple radiance from the sky
Fled like Love's visions or the arrow's plume,
O'er the dim isles and sea of Italy,
Mid the dark foliage mingling like the hopes
Of earth with night-fears, when the shadows, cast
From thought, with high and pure revealments blend
Of beautiful existence far beyond
The mockery and the madness of this life.
14
In shadowy grandeur lay the glorious sea,
Whose waters wafted spoils from orient realms,
And mirrored Nature's beauty, while dread war
Bathed Punic banners in the gore of Rome.
The evening isles of love and loveliness
Slept in the soothing solitude, wherein
The awful intellect of Rome sought peace
In grey philosophy while faction poured
Its hydra venom, or conspiracy
Walked the thronged Forum, dooming, at a glance,
The loftiest to extinction; here the bard
Unfolded earth's and heaven's mysteries,
Creating the world's creed and Fiction's brow
Wreathing with the immortal buds of truth.
Among the sanctities of groves and streams,
The worn and wearied bosom breathed again
Its birthlight bliss, and wisdom, born of woe,
Uttered its oracles to coming years;
And in the midst of all that thrills and charms,
Weds beauty unto grandeur, earth to heaven,
Here tyrant crime achieved, by nameless deeds,
The world's redemption from remorseless guilt.
Bland airs flew o'er the faded heavens, and streams,
That in the noonday dazzled, and e'en now
Drank the rich hues of eventide, purled on
Whose waters wafted spoils from orient realms,
And mirrored Nature's beauty, while dread war
Bathed Punic banners in the gore of Rome.
The evening isles of love and loveliness
Slept in the soothing solitude, wherein
The awful intellect of Rome sought peace
In grey philosophy while faction poured
Its hydra venom, or conspiracy
Walked the thronged Forum, dooming, at a glance,
The loftiest to extinction; here the bard
Unfolded earth's and heaven's mysteries,
Creating the world's creed and Fiction's brow
Wreathing with the immortal buds of truth.
Among the sanctities of groves and streams,
The worn and wearied bosom breathed again
Its birthlight bliss, and wisdom, born of woe,
Uttered its oracles to coming years;
And in the midst of all that thrills and charms,
Weds beauty unto grandeur, earth to heaven,
Here tyrant crime achieved, by nameless deeds,
The world's redemption from remorseless guilt.
Bland airs flew o'er the faded heavens, and streams,
That in the noonday dazzled, and e'en now
Drank the rich hues of eventide, purled on
15
With lovelier music, and the green still shores
Looked up to the blue mountains with the face—
The cherub face of sinless infancy—
With hope and joy perpetual in that look;
For, mid all changes, still the faded bloom
Shall be renewed—the slumbering heart revived.
And then the crescent streamed o'er air-winged clouds
With an ethereal lustre, and the stars,
The dread sabaoth of the unbounded air,
From the profound between each downy fold,
Gleamed like the eyes of seraphs, from the realms
Of immortality beholding earth.
Beneath the dying glories of the day,
And the unspeakable beauty of the night,
Yet in the haunt of peril—the dim home
Of dread and danger—looking o'er the domes
Of destined Pompeii—stood two shadowy Forms,
Pale, yet unfaltering—famished, yet in soul,
Fed from the altar of their risen God.
One—a tried warrior by his eye and brow
And dauntless port, leaned on the shattered ledge
Of a Vesuvian cavern, o'er which trailed
The matted and dark vines, and thickly hung
The cypress and dwarfed cedar, fleckering o'er
Looked up to the blue mountains with the face—
The cherub face of sinless infancy—
With hope and joy perpetual in that look;
For, mid all changes, still the faded bloom
Shall be renewed—the slumbering heart revived.
And then the crescent streamed o'er air-winged clouds
With an ethereal lustre, and the stars,
The dread sabaoth of the unbounded air,
From the profound between each downy fold,
Gleamed like the eyes of seraphs, from the realms
Of immortality beholding earth.
Beneath the dying glories of the day,
And the unspeakable beauty of the night,
Yet in the haunt of peril—the dim home
Of dread and danger—looking o'er the domes
Of destined Pompeii—stood two shadowy Forms,
Pale, yet unfaltering—famished, yet in soul,
Fed from the altar of their risen God.
One—a tried warrior by his eye and brow
And dauntless port, leaned on the shattered ledge
Of a Vesuvian cavern, o'er which trailed
The matted and dark vines, and thickly hung
The cypress and dwarfed cedar, fleckering o'er
16
The twilight of the vestibule with gloom,
And shutting from the inner vault, where slept
The banned and hunted Nazarenes, all beams
Of sunset, mornlight, and meridian, save
Light from the living fount of Deity.
Beside him, folding in Love's holiness
His wasted bosom, on his troubled brow,
Pouring the radiance of her dark eyes, stood
A Hebrew captive, dragged amid the spoils
And splendors of Moriah, when the hour
Of Desolation fell on Zion's towers,
To swell the victor's wild array and add
Another cup of vengeance and despair
To imperial, merciless, world-wasting Rome.
There Mariamne clung to Pansa's breast.
The melancholy loveliness of Love,
That dares the voiceless desert and inspires
The forest solitude, around her hung
Like star-gemmed clouds around an angel's form;
On her pale brow the very soul of faith
Rested as by its shrine; and earth's vain pride
And triumph from the vaulted refuge fled
Where Hope breathed Love's own immortality.
Like her, the sun-clothed vision, in whose crown
Gleamed the twelve orbs of glory as she stood
And shutting from the inner vault, where slept
The banned and hunted Nazarenes, all beams
Of sunset, mornlight, and meridian, save
Light from the living fount of Deity.
Beside him, folding in Love's holiness
His wasted bosom, on his troubled brow,
Pouring the radiance of her dark eyes, stood
A Hebrew captive, dragged amid the spoils
And splendors of Moriah, when the hour
Of Desolation fell on Zion's towers,
To swell the victor's wild array and add
Another cup of vengeance and despair
To imperial, merciless, world-wasting Rome.
There Mariamne clung to Pansa's breast.
The melancholy loveliness of Love,
That dares the voiceless desert and inspires
The forest solitude, around her hung
Like star-gemmed clouds around an angel's form;
On her pale brow the very soul of faith
Rested as by its shrine; and earth's vain pride
And triumph from the vaulted refuge fled
Where Hope breathed Love's own immortality.
Like her, the sun-clothed vision, in whose crown
Gleamed the twelve orbs of glory as she stood
17
Amid the floating moon's young shadowy light,
When the red sceptered Dragon cast from heaven
The blossomed beams of the universe, and watched
His spoil in breathless rapture; so, mid grief
And want and loneliness and danger stood
The daughter of the east, in every woe
Fearless, in every peril quick in thought
And action, whether dread calamity
Waited the wanderings of her wedded love,
Or through the clouds of fear upon her came.
Thoughts, winnowed from the gross and grovelling dust
Of earth, and glistering with the hues of heaven,
Passed o'er their mingled spirits in the depth
Of the hoar Appenines; [1] and thus the heart
Of the changed Roman spake, whose home had been
The tented battlefield, whose joy, the spoil
Of nations gasping 'neath the banner folds
Of conquest, ere amid the flames and shrieks
Of Solyma, he heard the Voice that fills
Infinity, with immeasurable awe,
And worshipped mid the scorn of pagan hands.
Relentless as the edict he obeyed,
His dauntless soul, in other years, had roamed
Through carnage, and, in triumph, mocked the moans
Of fallen mortality, as his fellows did,
When the red sceptered Dragon cast from heaven
The blossomed beams of the universe, and watched
His spoil in breathless rapture; so, mid grief
And want and loneliness and danger stood
The daughter of the east, in every woe
Fearless, in every peril quick in thought
And action, whether dread calamity
Waited the wanderings of her wedded love,
Or through the clouds of fear upon her came.
Thoughts, winnowed from the gross and grovelling dust
Of earth, and glistering with the hues of heaven,
Passed o'er their mingled spirits in the depth
Of the hoar Appenines; [1] and thus the heart
Of the changed Roman spake, whose home had been
The tented battlefield, whose joy, the spoil
Of nations gasping 'neath the banner folds
Of conquest, ere amid the flames and shrieks
Of Solyma, he heard the Voice that fills
Infinity, with immeasurable awe,
And worshipped mid the scorn of pagan hands.
Relentless as the edict he obeyed,
His dauntless soul, in other years, had roamed
Through carnage, and, in triumph, mocked the moans
Of fallen mortality, as his fellows did,
18
The legions of the loveless; but the faith,
Whose founder wept o'er doomed and ruthless foes,
Sunk on his bosom as the sunset sinks
Upon the wild and savage mountain peak,
Clothing its barrenness with beauty!—Thus
His saddened but serene mind communed now.
“Oh, the still, sacred, soothing light that bathes
The blue, world-studded heavens—while the breath
Of Antumn gushes music, and inspires
The purified and thrilled spirit with the power
To cast aside the thrall of flesh and soar
To converse with the seraphim and prayer
And sacrifice beneath the throne of God!
The madness and the misery, that rend
The heart no skill can renovate, come not
Within the bosom's temple that imbibes
The oracles of Truth in every breeze.
Thou needest not thy tephilim [2] to lift
Thy thoughts within the veil, nor seek I more
The prestiges of augurs to impart
The destined future, nor vain amulets
To guard what He, who gave, can well preserve.
Look, Mariamne! on the dimpled sea,
That slumbers like the jasper waters seen
In the apocalypse of Patmos, hang
The crowding sails of merchant barks delayed,
Whose founder wept o'er doomed and ruthless foes,
Sunk on his bosom as the sunset sinks
Upon the wild and savage mountain peak,
Clothing its barrenness with beauty!—Thus
His saddened but serene mind communed now.
“Oh, the still, sacred, soothing light that bathes
The blue, world-studded heavens—while the breath
Of Antumn gushes music, and inspires
The purified and thrilled spirit with the power
To cast aside the thrall of flesh and soar
To converse with the seraphim and prayer
And sacrifice beneath the throne of God!
The madness and the misery, that rend
The heart no skill can renovate, come not
Within the bosom's temple that imbibes
The oracles of Truth in every breeze.
Thou needest not thy tephilim [2] to lift
Thy thoughts within the veil, nor seek I more
The prestiges of augurs to impart
The destined future, nor vain amulets
To guard what He, who gave, can well preserve.
Look, Mariamne! on the dimpled sea,
That slumbers like the jasper waters seen
In the apocalypse of Patmos, hang
The crowding sails of merchant barks delayed,
19
The altars at their prows casting pale gleams,
While by the dagon deities of earth,
The terrible apotheoses, wrought
From desolating passions, vainly now
The mariners invoke the gale to bear
Their treasures to the imperial mart—and lo!
The living leaves stir not the gemdew, wept
By twilight o'er the forest, in reply.”
Rapt by the charm and majesty—the bloom
And dreamy verdure of the world and skies—
Yet looking far beyond them, thus replied
The High Priest's banished child unto the thought
Of the baptized and scorned Decurion.
“Methinks, my Pansa!—as we gaze around—
The shadows of the hoar and giant woods,
The sea's unearthly and hushed gleam, the eyes
Of the unlimited and soul-peopled heaven,
Thus calm and awful, and the silence, throned
Amid the universe, sink on my soul
With an unwonted dread, and throng my brain
Like breathless ministers of doom. Among
The woven cedar-boughs and oak canopies,
The pale green moss, thick shrubs and mazy vines
Of these dark rocks, a spirit seems to fill
While by the dagon deities of earth,
The terrible apotheoses, wrought
From desolating passions, vainly now
The mariners invoke the gale to bear
Their treasures to the imperial mart—and lo!
The living leaves stir not the gemdew, wept
By twilight o'er the forest, in reply.”
Rapt by the charm and majesty—the bloom
And dreamy verdure of the world and skies—
Yet looking far beyond them, thus replied
The High Priest's banished child unto the thought
Of the baptized and scorned Decurion.
“Methinks, my Pansa!—as we gaze around—
The shadows of the hoar and giant woods,
The sea's unearthly and hushed gleam, the eyes
Of the unlimited and soul-peopled heaven,
Thus calm and awful, and the silence, throned
Amid the universe, sink on my soul
With an unwonted dread, and throng my brain
Like breathless ministers of doom. Among
The woven cedar-boughs and oak canopies,
The pale green moss, thick shrubs and mazy vines
Of these dark rocks, a spirit seems to fill
20
The air with revelations none can hear,
Save they who, fearing God, fear not vain man.
Like the mysterious and unvoiced Name,
Upon the white gem written, which none beheld
But the anointed, fearful characters
Seem to my startled vision forming now
Among you dense and thought-winged thunder-clouds.
Whose dusky peaks ascend above the hills;
And, see! with what a brow of majesty
Vesuvius, through the bland transparent air,
And vivid moonlight, o'er our vigil bends!
Dwells there not terror in earth's breathlessness?
And peril in the slumber of the mount?”
Sadly the Roman turned his gaze below
Upon the fated city, gleaming now
With countless lights o'er pageantries and feasts,
That flared in mockery of the hallowed heaven,
Then answered mournfully his dreading bride.
“The happy deem not so—discern not ought
Beyond their splendor, fame and luxury;
For, knowing not the evil, which, as clouds
Impart a lovelier glory to the skies,
(Else dim with sultriness) invests all good
With loftier attributes; they cannot fear
Save they who, fearing God, fear not vain man.
Like the mysterious and unvoiced Name,
Upon the white gem written, which none beheld
But the anointed, fearful characters
Seem to my startled vision forming now
Among you dense and thought-winged thunder-clouds.
Whose dusky peaks ascend above the hills;
And, see! with what a brow of majesty
Vesuvius, through the bland transparent air,
And vivid moonlight, o'er our vigil bends!
Dwells there not terror in earth's breathlessness?
And peril in the slumber of the mount?”
Sadly the Roman turned his gaze below
Upon the fated city, gleaming now
With countless lights o'er pageantries and feasts,
That flared in mockery of the hallowed heaven,
Then answered mournfully his dreading bride.
“The happy deem not so—discern not ought
Beyond their splendor, fame and luxury;
For, knowing not the evil, which, as clouds
Impart a lovelier glory to the skies,
(Else dim with sultriness) invests all good
With loftier attributes; they cannot fear
21
The forfeiture of wealth, or any change
To adverse fortune; mark the gorgeous pomp,
The maskings, orgies, agonalia now
In mirth and madness echoing o'er our watch
From Pompeii's lava streets; her sculptured domes
Flash back the torchlights of the riot throng,
And countless chariots, rivalling their God
Of Morn, are hurled along the trembling side
Of this most awful mount, as if the fire
Had never wreathed to heaven and poured the heart
Of earth in blood-red torrents! By yon gate,
Towers the proud temple of the idol first
Made and adored by earth's first Rebel—him
Called Nimrod, and exalted to a God
By the debased and impious sons of Ham.—
There Parian columns and Mosaic floors
And golden shrines and lavers, and proud forms
Wrought by Praxiteles with godlike skill,
And pictures glowing with unshadowed charms
To tempt, or mythologic pomp to awe
The enthusiast and the sceptic, can attest
Idolatry's magnificence. Within,
The secret stair—the victim, whose wild shrieks
Are oracles—the flamen at his wine
Or darker deeds of sacrilege, while throngs
To adverse fortune; mark the gorgeous pomp,
The maskings, orgies, agonalia now
In mirth and madness echoing o'er our watch
From Pompeii's lava streets; her sculptured domes
Flash back the torchlights of the riot throng,
And countless chariots, rivalling their God
Of Morn, are hurled along the trembling side
Of this most awful mount, as if the fire
Had never wreathed to heaven and poured the heart
Of earth in blood-red torrents! By yon gate,
Towers the proud temple of the idol first
Made and adored by earth's first Rebel—him
Called Nimrod, and exalted to a God
By the debased and impious sons of Ham.—
There Parian columns and Mosaic floors
And golden shrines and lavers, and proud forms
Wrought by Praxiteles with godlike skill,
And pictures glowing with unshadowed charms
To tempt, or mythologic pomp to awe
The enthusiast and the sceptic, can attest
Idolatry's magnificence. Within,
The secret stair—the victim, whose wild shrieks
Are oracles—the flamen at his wine
Or darker deeds of sacrilege, while throngs
22
Of blind adorers, manacled without
By fear's inflicted madness, bend in awe
And pile first fruits and gold around her shrine—
These are the illusions and the destinies
Of Isis and her earthborn vassals, love!
Think they of aspects men believe they rule?
Think they of perils in their revelry?
Know they the God whose least respected works
They mock, as deities, by all excess
Loathsome and nameless to the human ear?”
“The destined hour of justice and despair,
When they shall gather wisdom, flings its shade
Upon the dial of the conqueror's doom.”
Thought hurried fast through Mariamne's soul.
“Said not the Christ from the bright Olive Mount,
Looking in sorrow on the temple clothed
With peerless glory, that the Holy Place
Should be defiled—the city trampled—all
Its princely dwellers captive, slain, or strewn
Like sear leaves o'er the unreceiving world,
Or scorned for uttering creeds the torture taught?
And not one stone upon another left
To mark where once the sanctuary stood?
Alas! she sleeps in desolation's arms,
By fear's inflicted madness, bend in awe
And pile first fruits and gold around her shrine—
These are the illusions and the destinies
Of Isis and her earthborn vassals, love!
Think they of aspects men believe they rule?
Think they of perils in their revelry?
Know they the God whose least respected works
They mock, as deities, by all excess
Loathsome and nameless to the human ear?”
“The destined hour of justice and despair,
When they shall gather wisdom, flings its shade
Upon the dial of the conqueror's doom.”
Thought hurried fast through Mariamne's soul.
“Said not the Christ from the bright Olive Mount,
Looking in sorrow on the temple clothed
With peerless glory, that the Holy Place
Should be defiled—the city trampled—all
Its princely dwellers captive, slain, or strewn
Like sear leaves o'er the unreceiving world,
Or scorned for uttering creeds the torture taught?
And not one stone upon another left
To mark where once the sanctuary stood?
Alas! she sleeps in desolation's arms,
23
The city of my childhood, and not one
Of all the pleasant haunts, the palmgrove plain
Of Sharon and Siloam's holy fount,
And Lebanon's pavilioned wood—which thought,
At morn or even twilight, sanctified,
Looks from the ruins of my home! but thou,
My Pansa! art my home and temple now,
And the Atoner, whom my people slew,
The God of this wrecked heart—wrecked when it felt
Its father slain, its race to bondage sold
Beneath the patriarch's Terebinth! alas!
That bigot faction—pride unquenched by woe—
And thanklessness and treachery and wrath,
Perpetuated by all punishment,
And, more than either, the one awful crime
That ne'er shall be forgiven, till the faith—
They mocked and shall mock, ages hence, the same
Without a country, law, chief, priest and home
They were, in glory, with them all—shall fill
Their dark and desolated minds with light—
That these led on the Roman to the spoil
And allied with his bands to our despair!
—But I do grieve thee, love! by selfish plaint,
And shut my soul to knowledge of the rites
And ministrations of thy monarch race.
Of all the pleasant haunts, the palmgrove plain
Of Sharon and Siloam's holy fount,
And Lebanon's pavilioned wood—which thought,
At morn or even twilight, sanctified,
Looks from the ruins of my home! but thou,
My Pansa! art my home and temple now,
And the Atoner, whom my people slew,
The God of this wrecked heart—wrecked when it felt
Its father slain, its race to bondage sold
Beneath the patriarch's Terebinth! alas!
That bigot faction—pride unquenched by woe—
And thanklessness and treachery and wrath,
Perpetuated by all punishment,
And, more than either, the one awful crime
That ne'er shall be forgiven, till the faith—
They mocked and shall mock, ages hence, the same
Without a country, law, chief, priest and home
They were, in glory, with them all—shall fill
Their dark and desolated minds with light—
That these led on the Roman to the spoil
And allied with his bands to our despair!
—But I do grieve thee, love! by selfish plaint,
And shut my soul to knowledge of the rites
And ministrations of thy monarch race.
24
Power and impunity with them, as all,
Forestall, I dread, their death-doom; yet again
As we behold Campania's loveliest realm
Unfolded far beneath us, let me learn
The polity and faith of Italy.
Yon vast pile, in the centre, looking o'er
The Appian with a mild magnificence”—?
“'Twas once, ere Freedom perished, and the car
Of conquest bore the tyrant to his throne,
The thronged and venerated home of Right,
Liberty's temple, where the tribune's voice
Forbade the consul's edict, and none dared,
Without their will, to decimate for war,
Or spoil, in peace, the conscious citizen.
Now, beautified by Parian colonnades,
And jetting fountains and immortal busts
Of Rome's immortal mind, when power, conferred
In peril, was resigned in safety's arms,
Mid the Mosaic corridors and halls,
And priceless trophies of the matchless thought
Of Zeuxis and Apelles, and the forms
Of Phidias, warrior statues, giant steeds,
And consuls stern in look, austere in life,
Dispensing bondage from the Capitol,
Forestall, I dread, their death-doom; yet again
As we behold Campania's loveliest realm
Unfolded far beneath us, let me learn
The polity and faith of Italy.
Yon vast pile, in the centre, looking o'er
The Appian with a mild magnificence”—?
“'Twas once, ere Freedom perished, and the car
Of conquest bore the tyrant to his throne,
The thronged and venerated home of Right,
Liberty's temple, where the tribune's voice
Forbade the consul's edict, and none dared,
Without their will, to decimate for war,
Or spoil, in peace, the conscious citizen.
Now, beautified by Parian colonnades,
And jetting fountains and immortal busts
Of Rome's immortal mind, when power, conferred
In peril, was resigned in safety's arms,
Mid the Mosaic corridors and halls,
And priceless trophies of the matchless thought
Of Zeuxis and Apelles, and the forms
Of Phidias, warrior statues, giant steeds,
And consuls stern in look, austere in life,
Dispensing bondage from the Capitol,
25
Or tributary diadems to earth—
Now o'er this pomp of intellect and might
The serpent spirit of a helot race,
Licking the dust of purple tyranny,
And crushing in its poison folds all thought
That dares be fetterless, and dreads but guilt—
Leaving the slime of ruin, with the hiss
Of shame and desolation, ever glides.
Mark the long pillared ranges to the east—
(A sceptered figure overtops the dome,
Her brazen scales are superfluities—)
In the Ausonian days ere heaven revoked
Its holiest gift to man; ere granite gods,
Sphynxes, cabiri, [3] apes and crocodiles
Became corrupted nature's deities,
There reigned Astraea, bright Aurora's child,
The Titan's seraph—gentle e'en to crime,
Radiant in beauty to the Good; the clouds
Of passion never darkened her sweet brow,
Revenge and hate and venal compact ne'er
Confronted her calm look of sanctity.
Then the Basilicæ were temples meet
For prayer and hymn to the Divinity,
And majesty and wisdom, peace and love
Dwelt with a sad yet just humanity.
Now o'er this pomp of intellect and might
The serpent spirit of a helot race,
Licking the dust of purple tyranny,
And crushing in its poison folds all thought
That dares be fetterless, and dreads but guilt—
Leaving the slime of ruin, with the hiss
Of shame and desolation, ever glides.
Mark the long pillared ranges to the east—
(A sceptered figure overtops the dome,
Her brazen scales are superfluities—)
In the Ausonian days ere heaven revoked
Its holiest gift to man; ere granite gods,
Sphynxes, cabiri, [3] apes and crocodiles
Became corrupted nature's deities,
There reigned Astraea, bright Aurora's child,
The Titan's seraph—gentle e'en to crime,
Radiant in beauty to the Good; the clouds
Of passion never darkened her sweet brow,
Revenge and hate and venal compact ne'er
Confronted her calm look of sanctity.
Then the Basilicæ were temples meet
For prayer and hymn to the Divinity,
And majesty and wisdom, peace and love
Dwelt with a sad yet just humanity.
26
Alas, for the brief vision! and alas
For the world's madness! giant evil rushed
Through wrecked hearts and crushed spirits and o'erspread
All realms with unmasked vice, impurities
Unnameable, atrocities beyond
The untaught conception of the savage, till,
Casting earth's soil and burden from her wings,
The goddess rose to the elysian throne
She left to meet derision and despair.
Then grovelling men, amid abasements, groped
Through sacrilege and malady and vice,
The agonies of guilt without its shame,
Remorselessness and misery, to their home—
The sepulchre of painted infamies!
Thus felt, though feigning, pagan Rome's best minds:
And since the fated hour when faction raised
The tyrant's beacon banner and the blood
Of Cæsar stained his rival's pillar, none
Have stayed the deluge of unpunished wrong.
The Ambracian waters [4] were not deeper dyed
Than judgment in yon courts; there's not a stone,
That bears not witness, to the soul, of woe,
Injustice, calumny and death; wrung tears
Have stained the Prætor's seat of perfidy;
And sighs unsolaced through the long arcades
Echoed like voices of accusing ghosts;
For the world's madness! giant evil rushed
Through wrecked hearts and crushed spirits and o'erspread
All realms with unmasked vice, impurities
Unnameable, atrocities beyond
The untaught conception of the savage, till,
Casting earth's soil and burden from her wings,
The goddess rose to the elysian throne
She left to meet derision and despair.
Then grovelling men, amid abasements, groped
Through sacrilege and malady and vice,
The agonies of guilt without its shame,
Remorselessness and misery, to their home—
The sepulchre of painted infamies!
Thus felt, though feigning, pagan Rome's best minds:
And since the fated hour when faction raised
The tyrant's beacon banner and the blood
Of Cæsar stained his rival's pillar, none
Have stayed the deluge of unpunished wrong.
The Ambracian waters [4] were not deeper dyed
Than judgment in yon courts; there's not a stone,
That bears not witness, to the soul, of woe,
Injustice, calumny and death; wrung tears
Have stained the Prætor's seat of perfidy;
And sighs unsolaced through the long arcades
Echoed like voices of accusing ghosts;
27
And hopeless shrieks ascended from the cells
Beneath the proud tribunal, where the will
Of one, that cannot be arraigned, dooms all
To endless anguish or unwitnessed death.
Alas, my Mariamne! while I gaze
On those most dreaded mansions, burning fears
Thrill my awed bosom, lest this mountain vault,
Dismal and dripping—the dark home of want—
And guiding to the abyss of flame or flood,
Perchance—may fail to shield us from the grasp
Of Diomede's apparitors! [5] forefend,
O Heaven! the hour of our betrayal! once
My stricken and stunned soul beheld the death—
Let us within, my love! my heart misgives
Even at the imagination of the power,
Ferocity and wantonness of him,
Whose sire—(and ne'er had father truer son)
Sejanus taught, Tiberius trusted in,
Caligula exalted; Nero loved
This subtle, quick Sicilian, and all since
Upon the imperial throne have left in place
Pompeii's Prætor—for his heart feels not!
Honored by these, what have not we to fear?
His minion's glance is ruin unto both!
My life, his prey, thy beauty—stand not so,
Beneath the proud tribunal, where the will
Of one, that cannot be arraigned, dooms all
To endless anguish or unwitnessed death.
Alas, my Mariamne! while I gaze
On those most dreaded mansions, burning fears
Thrill my awed bosom, lest this mountain vault,
Dismal and dripping—the dark home of want—
And guiding to the abyss of flame or flood,
Perchance—may fail to shield us from the grasp
Of Diomede's apparitors! [5] forefend,
O Heaven! the hour of our betrayal! once
My stricken and stunned soul beheld the death—
Let us within, my love! my heart misgives
Even at the imagination of the power,
Ferocity and wantonness of him,
Whose sire—(and ne'er had father truer son)
Sejanus taught, Tiberius trusted in,
Caligula exalted; Nero loved
This subtle, quick Sicilian, and all since
Upon the imperial throne have left in place
Pompeii's Prætor—for his heart feels not!
Honored by these, what have not we to fear?
His minion's glance is ruin unto both!
My life, his prey, thy beauty—stand not so,
28
Beyond the shadow of the precipice!
His seekers are abroad—the assassin games
Of you vast amphitheatre will feast,
Ere long, the merciless idolaters!
Enter the cavern, Mariamne! hark!
Some lichens fell from the steep rocks o'erhead—
A sandal hath dislodged them—yet no eye
Of mortal may discern us from the crag
That beetles there—again! I hear the fall
Of guarded steps—so, softly, love! within!”
Darkness along the rugged crypt—(wherein
The pard had sorted with the serpent, ere
The Roman Convert made his home there, sought
By the fierce demon of the idol faith)—
Floated in wreaths, and round the jutting rocks,
Whence trickled the hill fountains, drop by drop,
Mocking the pulses of each lingering hour,
Hung in its home of centuries; but now
Gloom e'en more terrible from thunder clouds
Rushed on the tempest's wings o'er every star
Of bright blue ether and the laughing earth,
(Breathed o'er by Zephyr from his vesper throne,
Late, when the oreads danced upon the mount,)
And winds in moaning gusts, like spirits doomed,
His seekers are abroad—the assassin games
Of you vast amphitheatre will feast,
Ere long, the merciless idolaters!
Enter the cavern, Mariamne! hark!
Some lichens fell from the steep rocks o'erhead—
A sandal hath dislodged them—yet no eye
Of mortal may discern us from the crag
That beetles there—again! I hear the fall
Of guarded steps—so, softly, love! within!”
Darkness along the rugged crypt—(wherein
The pard had sorted with the serpent, ere
The Roman Convert made his home there, sought
By the fierce demon of the idol faith)—
Floated in wreaths, and round the jutting rocks,
Whence trickled the hill fountains, drop by drop,
Mocking the pulses of each lingering hour,
Hung in its home of centuries; but now
Gloom e'en more terrible from thunder clouds
Rushed on the tempest's wings o'er every star
Of bright blue ether and the laughing earth,
(Breathed o'er by Zephyr from his vesper throne,
Late, when the oreads danced upon the mount,)
And winds in moaning gusts, like spirits doomed,
29
Swept through the cavern; and the giant trees
Through their vast canopies their voices cast
Upon the whirlwind; and the Appenines
Loomed through the ghastly midnight, shadowing forms
Like earth-gods in the revel of their wrath,
Limitless and robed in vengeance hoarded up
Through ages of quick agony; and, whirled
In fury o'er the crags, huge boughs and leaves
And dust, leaving the gnarled grotesque roots bare,
Quivered along the sky; and lightning leapt
O'er cloven yet contending woods, from mass
To mass of all the surging sea of clouds,
That rioted amid the firmament,
Flashing like edicts from the infinite Mind
Of Godhead; and from sea, shore, cliff and vale
A deep wild groan in shuddering echoes passed
Through the earth's heart, and met the crash and howl
Of momentary thunders in mid air.
In silence from the moss couch of their cell,
Mid the deep arches of the grotto, prayer
Ascended from the pale lips but tried hearts
Of earth's unfriended exiles—heaven's redeemed;
And there, as o'er their voiceless orisons
The wild tornado's music rushed, the Faith
Through their vast canopies their voices cast
Upon the whirlwind; and the Appenines
Loomed through the ghastly midnight, shadowing forms
Like earth-gods in the revel of their wrath,
Limitless and robed in vengeance hoarded up
Through ages of quick agony; and, whirled
In fury o'er the crags, huge boughs and leaves
And dust, leaving the gnarled grotesque roots bare,
Quivered along the sky; and lightning leapt
O'er cloven yet contending woods, from mass
To mass of all the surging sea of clouds,
That rioted amid the firmament,
Flashing like edicts from the infinite Mind
Of Godhead; and from sea, shore, cliff and vale
A deep wild groan in shuddering echoes passed
Through the earth's heart, and met the crash and howl
Of momentary thunders in mid air.
In silence from the moss couch of their cell,
Mid the deep arches of the grotto, prayer
Ascended from the pale lips but tried hearts
Of earth's unfriended exiles—heaven's redeemed;
And there, as o'er their voiceless orisons
The wild tornado's music rushed, the Faith
30
Sublime, which through all torture and all dread
The Christian martyr in heaven's triumph bore,
Pervaded every thought that soared beyond
The doubt and fear and anguish of their fate.
The first vast masses of dark vapor poured
Their deluge, and the torrents from ravines
And precipices hurried, in wild foam,
To channels bright with verdure and dry beds
Of mountain lakes, flinging their turbid floods
Down the deep boiling chasm and with the sea,
Now hurling its tumultuous waves along
The echoing shores and up the promontories,
Conflicting for the masterdom. Each glen,
Tangled with thorns and shrubs, and each defile,
O'erhung with jagged cliffs, to the dread hymn
Of the night storm, shouted their oracles;
And from the summit of Vesuvius curled
A pyramid of dusky vapor, tinged
With a strange, smothered and unearthly light.
Portents and prophecies more awful fell
On every vigilant and awed sense than e'er,
From Pythia shrieking on the tripod, sent
Terror and madness to the undoubting heart.
But, while the hollow dirge of the strong blast
Startled the dreaming world, the unruffled minds
The Christian martyr in heaven's triumph bore,
Pervaded every thought that soared beyond
The doubt and fear and anguish of their fate.
The first vast masses of dark vapor poured
Their deluge, and the torrents from ravines
And precipices hurried, in wild foam,
To channels bright with verdure and dry beds
Of mountain lakes, flinging their turbid floods
Down the deep boiling chasm and with the sea,
Now hurling its tumultuous waves along
The echoing shores and up the promontories,
Conflicting for the masterdom. Each glen,
Tangled with thorns and shrubs, and each defile,
O'erhung with jagged cliffs, to the dread hymn
Of the night storm, shouted their oracles;
And from the summit of Vesuvius curled
A pyramid of dusky vapor, tinged
With a strange, smothered and unearthly light.
Portents and prophecies more awful fell
On every vigilant and awed sense than e'er,
From Pythia shrieking on the tripod, sent
Terror and madness to the undoubting heart.
But, while the hollow dirge of the strong blast
Startled the dreaming world, the unruffled minds
31
Of the disciples with the Paraclete
Communed, and gathered from the cross new power
O'er famine, danger, loneliness and death.
“Thou fear'st not now, my Pansa! though the Mount
Unquenchable beneath us quakes; thy dread
Of human wrath—consorts it with thy trust
In God? thine eye shrinks not when all the heavens
Blaze, and thine ear shuts not when thunders burst,
Shocking the immensity; why fear'st thou man?”
“I know him; knowledge brings to all or hate
Or scorn or apprehension, as his deeds
Or our own nature waken: He, who died
For crime not his, hath taught my else fierce heart
Humility; derision and revenge
Assail me not, and, therefore, fear invades
My too acquainted spirit when the shade
Of Diomede along my lone thoughts stalks.
But from his revelations I do know
The Maker, and his loftiest name is Love,
And that consists not with the sceptic's dread.
Man, gifted with a might above all law,
With every passion by impunity
And rivalry of imperial guilt inflamed.
Communed, and gathered from the cross new power
O'er famine, danger, loneliness and death.
“Thou fear'st not now, my Pansa! though the Mount
Unquenchable beneath us quakes; thy dread
Of human wrath—consorts it with thy trust
In God? thine eye shrinks not when all the heavens
Blaze, and thine ear shuts not when thunders burst,
Shocking the immensity; why fear'st thou man?”
“I know him; knowledge brings to all or hate
Or scorn or apprehension, as his deeds
Or our own nature waken: He, who died
For crime not his, hath taught my else fierce heart
Humility; derision and revenge
Assail me not, and, therefore, fear invades
My too acquainted spirit when the shade
Of Diomede along my lone thoughts stalks.
But from his revelations I do know
The Maker, and his loftiest name is Love,
And that consists not with the sceptic's dread.
Man, gifted with a might above all law,
With every passion by impunity
And rivalry of imperial guilt inflamed.
32
(And such is this proconsul) must become
A dreaded despot, and the helpless heart,
That weds a persecuted faith and loves
A banished mortal, who on earth to him
Is as elysium, must from peril quail,
And shudder e'en at shadows menacing.”
“Yet paynim hate but hurls our thoughts to heaven,”
(Said Mariamne, e'en in woe like hers,
Thinking the thoughts which Miriam from the shores
Of Egypt's sea breathed o'er the tyrant host,)
“Their fountain first and final home, as feigned
Thy poet, of the Titans, thrown to earth
By might supernal, yet unconquering:
They from the bosom of their mother sprung
With renovated strength and added wrath
And hourly towering majesty of mien.
Man may destroy, but cannot desecrate;
May mock, but never can make vain our faith;
And if our hopes, like Christ's own kingdom, are
Not of this world, why should we linger on
In this unworthy fear, and shun the crown
Laid up for martyred witnesses of truth?
Let the worst come in the worst agonies!
We shall not part, my love! but for an hour;
A dreaded despot, and the helpless heart,
That weds a persecuted faith and loves
A banished mortal, who on earth to him
Is as elysium, must from peril quail,
And shudder e'en at shadows menacing.”
“Yet paynim hate but hurls our thoughts to heaven,”
(Said Mariamne, e'en in woe like hers,
Thinking the thoughts which Miriam from the shores
Of Egypt's sea breathed o'er the tyrant host,)
“Their fountain first and final home, as feigned
Thy poet, of the Titans, thrown to earth
By might supernal, yet unconquering:
They from the bosom of their mother sprung
With renovated strength and added wrath
And hourly towering majesty of mien.
Man may destroy, but cannot desecrate;
May mock, but never can make vain our faith;
And if our hopes, like Christ's own kingdom, are
Not of this world, why should we linger on
In this unworthy fear, and shun the crown
Laid up for martyred witnesses of truth?
Let the worst come in the worst agonies!
We shall not part, my love! but for an hour;
33
Nor shall we leave—the spoil of heathen scorn—
Bright sons and gentle daughters to endure
Inherited affliction, homeless need,
Perpetuated vengeance; round our hearts,
In the dread trial hour of tortured flesh,
The parent's matchless and undying love,
With all its blest endearments, and the charms
Of budding childhood's rainbow pleasantries,
Gushings of the soul's springtime, falling o'er
Maturer years, like sunbright dews of heaven,
Will never cling and chain our daunted minds
To earth's vain interests. We shall depart
Like sunbows from the cataract, renewed
By luminaries that have no twilight—where
Winter and hoar age, doubt, care, strife and fear,
The desert and the samiel, the realm
Of flowers and pestilence, the purple pomp
And tattered want of human life are not.
What say the Greek and Latin sages, love?
What Judah's peerless monarch, [6] mid the wealth,
The radiance and the perfumes and the power,
The majesty of thrones and diadems,
And the excess of mortal pleasure, said
In his immortal wisdom (how 't was soiled
By passion, in his age, for idol charms,
Bright sons and gentle daughters to endure
Inherited affliction, homeless need,
Perpetuated vengeance; round our hearts,
In the dread trial hour of tortured flesh,
The parent's matchless and undying love,
With all its blest endearments, and the charms
Of budding childhood's rainbow pleasantries,
Gushings of the soul's springtime, falling o'er
Maturer years, like sunbright dews of heaven,
Will never cling and chain our daunted minds
To earth's vain interests. We shall depart
Like sunbows from the cataract, renewed
By luminaries that have no twilight—where
Winter and hoar age, doubt, care, strife and fear,
The desert and the samiel, the realm
Of flowers and pestilence, the purple pomp
And tattered want of human life are not.
What say the Greek and Latin sages, love?
What Judah's peerless monarch, [6] mid the wealth,
The radiance and the perfumes and the power,
The majesty of thrones and diadems,
And the excess of mortal pleasure, said
In his immortal wisdom (how 't was soiled
By passion, in his age, for idol charms,
34
Heaven knows and sorrows o'er humanity,)
Ambition, pride, pomp, pleasure—all
Are but the vanities that tempt man on
To shame, satiety and death—or worse,
Reckless dishonor and shunned solitude,
Living with dire remembrances of joy.”
“The God, my Mariamne! that for guilt,
Incurred in other states or other worlds,
Ere the great cycles brought our being here,
(As some have deemed, if erring or inspired
I know not) clothed our spirits in this robe
Of frail flesh, subject to necessities
From birth to burial, ne'er debased the mind
Unto the body's weakness, yet left not
Thought, at all seasons, master of our clay.
Wander not oft the wisest? sink not oft
The strong? and blench the fearless? and delay
To reason with blasphemers the most skilled?
And tamper with temptation, the most pure?
In the imparted strength of heaven I trust,
When the last trial of my faith shall come,
That the disciple will not prove apostate.
But having thee, my bride! e'en from the mouth
Of this wild Cacus vault, that looks beneath
Ambition, pride, pomp, pleasure—all
Are but the vanities that tempt man on
To shame, satiety and death—or worse,
Reckless dishonor and shunned solitude,
Living with dire remembrances of joy.”
“The God, my Mariamne! that for guilt,
Incurred in other states or other worlds,
Ere the great cycles brought our being here,
(As some have deemed, if erring or inspired
I know not) clothed our spirits in this robe
Of frail flesh, subject to necessities
From birth to burial, ne'er debased the mind
Unto the body's weakness, yet left not
Thought, at all seasons, master of our clay.
Wander not oft the wisest? sink not oft
The strong? and blench the fearless? and delay
To reason with blasphemers the most skilled?
And tamper with temptation, the most pure?
In the imparted strength of heaven I trust,
When the last trial of my faith shall come,
That the disciple will not prove apostate.
But having thee, my bride! e'en from the mouth
Of this wild Cacus vault, that looks beneath
35
Into the chaos of the mountain gorge,
The air, the forest, the blue glimmering waves,
The meadows with their melodies, the cliffs
Curtained by countless waving vines, or dark
With desolate magnificence, o'erwhelm
My soul with grandeur, love and beauty, till,
Uttering to thee the bliss which nature breathes,
And thrilled by her seraphic eloquence,
I mingle with the tenderness and bloom,
The music, majesty, and loveliness
Of her unfolded scenes, and shrink to meet
The power that rends away these charms—this love
So sternly proved through each uncertain hour
Since from the sanctuary wreathed with flame
I snatched thee, as the Judge of that wild night
Did from the dark faith of the Pharisee.
Life pure amid corruption, will to bear
Protracted evil, gratitude for all
The gifts of God, and prayer and praise in grief,
May prove a sacrifice to heaven not less
Than all the tortures of the martyrdom.
The tempest passes, and the night wears on;
The dome of heaven is filled with prophecies!
With voices low, but heard where breathless thoughts
Are oft the most accepted music, let
Our evening hymn ascend, and then to rest.”
The air, the forest, the blue glimmering waves,
The meadows with their melodies, the cliffs
Curtained by countless waving vines, or dark
With desolate magnificence, o'erwhelm
My soul with grandeur, love and beauty, till,
Uttering to thee the bliss which nature breathes,
And thrilled by her seraphic eloquence,
I mingle with the tenderness and bloom,
The music, majesty, and loveliness
Of her unfolded scenes, and shrink to meet
The power that rends away these charms—this love
So sternly proved through each uncertain hour
Since from the sanctuary wreathed with flame
I snatched thee, as the Judge of that wild night
Did from the dark faith of the Pharisee.
Life pure amid corruption, will to bear
Protracted evil, gratitude for all
The gifts of God, and prayer and praise in grief,
May prove a sacrifice to heaven not less
Than all the tortures of the martyrdom.
The tempest passes, and the night wears on;
The dome of heaven is filled with prophecies!
With voices low, but heard where breathless thoughts
Are oft the most accepted music, let
Our evening hymn ascend, and then to rest.”
[1]
Note 1, p. 17.—The hoar Apennines:
I have represented Mount Vesuvius throughout the poem as a
portion of the Campanian hills.
[2]
Note 2, p. 18.—Thou needest not thy tephilim—
The prestiges of Augurs.
Charms in Hebrew and pagan worship, the tricks of jugglers
and imaginary protections against evil spirits and earthly
calamities.
[4]
Note 4, p. 26.—The Ambracian waters were not deeper dyed.
The battle of Actium, fought upon the Ambracian gulf, for
ever decided the fate of Roman liberty. The glory of Octavius
Cæsar rose from the blood of that fearful day, and most fearfully
did it glow till barbarian retribution made Italy's charms a curse.
[5]
Note 5, p. 27.—Diomede's apparitors.
I have appropriated to the chief Ruler of Pompeii the name
of its wealthiest citizen. It has been asserted, by some, that he
was only a freedman, yet the Emperors seldom hesitated to confer
their judicial or fiscal offices upon any who scrupled not to
embrace the most oppressive means in the irresponsible administration
of power. His character, therefore, as I have attempted
to depict it, would synchronize with the condition of the age and
the avowed crimes of Pompeii. Apparitors were officers of justice
or injustice—bailiffs—so called from their suddenly appearing
when undesired.
36
THE MIDNIGHT PRAYER.
From the wild cavern's still profound,
From cliffs that bend o'er viewless flame,
Our spirits soar beyond the bound
Of being to THY hallowed name.
In gloom and peril, God! thou art
Our hope amid the lion's lair,
And from the desolated heart,
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
The lustres of our lives are few,
On darkened earth, our bliss still less,
Yet daybeam fragrance, evelight dew
Hear our heart-hymns in lone distress:
By no green banks, as prayed our sires,
Our thoughts win heaven to Time's despair,
But we are heard by seraph choirs—
Hear thou, O Christ! our midnight prayer!
No magian charms or mystic dreams,
Or Delian voices, uttering doubt,
By fountains dim and shadowy streams,
The fear, the awe of doom breathe out;
From cliffs that bend o'er viewless flame,
Our spirits soar beyond the bound
Of being to THY hallowed name.
In gloom and peril, God! thou art
Our hope amid the lion's lair,
And from the desolated heart,
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
The lustres of our lives are few,
On darkened earth, our bliss still less,
Yet daybeam fragrance, evelight dew
Hear our heart-hymns in lone distress:
By no green banks, as prayed our sires,
Our thoughts win heaven to Time's despair,
But we are heard by seraph choirs—
Hear thou, O Christ! our midnight prayer!
No magian charms or mystic dreams,
Or Delian voices, uttering doubt,
By fountains dim and shadowy streams,
The fear, the awe of doom breathe out;
37
By shrines, red bolts have sanctified,
While dragons haunted meteor air,
We worship not as shadows glide—
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
The breathing earth, the gleaming heaven,
The song of sea, mount, vale, and stream,
While dimness waves o'er holy even,
Blend our glad souls with beauty's beam;
But darkness, danger, torrents raise
Our hope to Thee, Death-victor! where
In virgin light fly tearless days—
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
The bard bereaved from Orcus' gloom,
Through Hades, led his love to light,
And thine adorers from thy tomb
Drink glory in their being's night;
More blest to need, as thou didst, Lord!
Than be the Phrygian monarch's heir,
Wanting the rapture of thy word—
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
Judea's incense-hills are dim
And silent, where the song went up;
Hushed holy harp and temple hymn—
The slayer drinks the spoiler's cup!
While dragons haunted meteor air,
We worship not as shadows glide—
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
The breathing earth, the gleaming heaven,
The song of sea, mount, vale, and stream,
While dimness waves o'er holy even,
Blend our glad souls with beauty's beam;
But darkness, danger, torrents raise
Our hope to Thee, Death-victor! where
In virgin light fly tearless days—
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
The bard bereaved from Orcus' gloom,
Through Hades, led his love to light,
And thine adorers from thy tomb
Drink glory in their being's night;
More blest to need, as thou didst, Lord!
Than be the Phrygian monarch's heir,
Wanting the rapture of thy word—
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
Judea's incense-hills are dim
And silent, where the song went up;
Hushed holy harp and temple hymn—
The slayer drinks the spoiler's cup!
38
Earth o'er the sophist's vision sighs,
O'er deeds, king, priest, and people dare,
And wilt thou not from pitying skies,
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
Loosed from dark homage unto Fear,
Imaged in lar and teraphim,
And Delphian voice and Ebal seer,
Thy bright revealments round us swim,
Pouring upon the path we tread,
Though perill'd, lone, and rough and bare,
Light that inspires the martyred dead!
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
In sleep and vigil, guard and guide,
In secret quest of earthly food,
From outward foes and inward pride,
And the fiend's wiles in solitude!
O'er idol rites Thy radiance pour,
Till, like the myriad worlds of air,
The Universe, as one, adore!
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
“What terrible and ghastly blaze flares through
The cavern, filling its abyss with flame?”
Said Pansa, startling from the grotto's gloom,
As the last gentle breathings of the song
O'er deeds, king, priest, and people dare,
And wilt thou not from pitying skies,
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
Loosed from dark homage unto Fear,
Imaged in lar and teraphim,
And Delphian voice and Ebal seer,
Thy bright revealments round us swim,
Pouring upon the path we tread,
Though perill'd, lone, and rough and bare,
Light that inspires the martyred dead!
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
In sleep and vigil, guard and guide,
In secret quest of earthly food,
From outward foes and inward pride,
And the fiend's wiles in solitude!
O'er idol rites Thy radiance pour,
Till, like the myriad worlds of air,
The Universe, as one, adore!
Redeemer! hear our midnight prayer!
“What terrible and ghastly blaze flares through
The cavern, filling its abyss with flame?”
Said Pansa, startling from the grotto's gloom,
As the last gentle breathings of the song
39
Whispered along the arches, and with step
Like hunted antelope he sprung to the edge
Of his dark home of banishment. “Behold!
The surges of the tempest fluctuate
In fierce tumultuous masses 'neath yon orb
Of livid fire that from the north careers
O'er the astonished and convulsed firmament!
Nor terror nor surprise is in thy look,
For well thou know'st that awful herald, seen
Through uncreated shadows of events
By Him who mourned o'er ruin while the pomp
Of thy Jerusalem before Him glowed.
The comet! meteor of despair to man!
Like a condemned, demolished world of flame,
With a vast atmosphere of torrent fire,
It traverses immensity with speed
Confounding thought, hurled on by viewless power
Omnipotent and unimagined, robed
In dreadful beauty—heaven's volcano—home,
Perchance, of those gigantic spirits cast
From holiness to hopelessness for pride.
Lo! how it sweeps o'er the sky's ocean! wreaths
Of purple light along its borders mount
What seem innumerable colonnades
Like hunted antelope he sprung to the edge
Of his dark home of banishment. “Behold!
The surges of the tempest fluctuate
In fierce tumultuous masses 'neath yon orb
Of livid fire that from the north careers
O'er the astonished and convulsed firmament!
Nor terror nor surprise is in thy look,
For well thou know'st that awful herald, seen
Through uncreated shadows of events
By Him who mourned o'er ruin while the pomp
Of thy Jerusalem before Him glowed.
The comet! meteor of despair to man!
Like a condemned, demolished world of flame,
With a vast atmosphere of torrent fire,
It traverses immensity with speed
Confounding thought, hurled on by viewless power
Omnipotent and unimagined, robed
In dreadful beauty—heaven's volcano—home,
Perchance, of those gigantic spirits cast
From holiness to hopelessness for pride.
Lo! how it sweeps o'er the sky's ocean! wreaths
Of purple light along its borders mount
What seem innumerable colonnades
40
Wrought by the seraphim, most meet to bear
A temple huge as Atlas; and the hues
Deeper and lovelier than prismatic lights,
Curl o'er the quivering arch as if to roof
The vast mysterious fabric of the sea
Of clouds that throng eternity, to which
Egypt's most mighty pyramid were not
More than a tinted shell to Caucasus.
Are those, that swirl like wrecks amid the surf,
Vast mountains wrenched from their abysses, thrown
From one fire billow's bosom and engulphed
To be again hurled on another's crest?
Lo! through the sky, air-rocks, hissing and red,
From the volcanic worlds of heaven descend!
What terrors of infinity they speak!
What revelations of undying power!
What be yon dark and spectral images
That through the bickering fiery waves move slow
Yet haughtily? oh, what a furnace glare
Rolled o'er the shadows then, and left their forms
Radiant with ruin! and above, methinks,
Broad wings of diamond brilliance wave and flash.
Gift me thy wisdom, Love! what said thy sires
Of such revealments of divinity?”
A temple huge as Atlas; and the hues
Deeper and lovelier than prismatic lights,
Curl o'er the quivering arch as if to roof
The vast mysterious fabric of the sea
Of clouds that throng eternity, to which
Egypt's most mighty pyramid were not
More than a tinted shell to Caucasus.
Are those, that swirl like wrecks amid the surf,
Vast mountains wrenched from their abysses, thrown
From one fire billow's bosom and engulphed
To be again hurled on another's crest?
Lo! through the sky, air-rocks, hissing and red,
From the volcanic worlds of heaven descend!
What terrors of infinity they speak!
What revelations of undying power!
What be yon dark and spectral images
That through the bickering fiery waves move slow
Yet haughtily? oh, what a furnace glare
Rolled o'er the shadows then, and left their forms
Radiant with ruin! and above, methinks,
Broad wings of diamond brilliance wave and flash.
Gift me thy wisdom, Love! what said thy sires
Of such revealments of divinity?”
41
“Seldom they came and brandished o'er the world
Their flickering and serpent tongues of flame:
Seldom—for generations, centuries passed,
And men saw not the burning heavens o'erwrit
In gory characters of forewarned fate.
Yet deemed our sages, least of dust, that all
The meteors warring with the myriad worlds,
That circle through the abyss of air, had been,
Ere man, time, death, or sin was, stars of bloom,
Casting their beauty and their fragrance on
The zephyr, hymning on their flight through space
The Maker, and awaiting life to fill
Their groves and valleys with the prayer and song.
Yon shattered mass of boiling minerals
Thus in its whirlwind madness driven on
O'er shocked and startled ether, star-skilled eyes
Of the Captivity's prophetic eld,—
(When from the Temple in his triumph all
Jehovah's holy shrines to wanton Jove
Were borne by the proud Flavian victor) saw
Beneath the horizon, ere, in arcs and wreaths
And pillars canopied by thunder folds,
The spiral torrents of volcanic fire
Precipitated through the sphere of earth.
Much in dread visions when between the wings
Their flickering and serpent tongues of flame:
Seldom—for generations, centuries passed,
And men saw not the burning heavens o'erwrit
In gory characters of forewarned fate.
Yet deemed our sages, least of dust, that all
The meteors warring with the myriad worlds,
That circle through the abyss of air, had been,
Ere man, time, death, or sin was, stars of bloom,
Casting their beauty and their fragrance on
The zephyr, hymning on their flight through space
The Maker, and awaiting life to fill
Their groves and valleys with the prayer and song.
Yon shattered mass of boiling minerals
Thus in its whirlwind madness driven on
O'er shocked and startled ether, star-skilled eyes
Of the Captivity's prophetic eld,—
(When from the Temple in his triumph all
Jehovah's holy shrines to wanton Jove
Were borne by the proud Flavian victor) saw
Beneath the horizon, ere, in arcs and wreaths
And pillars canopied by thunder folds,
The spiral torrents of volcanic fire
Precipitated through the sphere of earth.
Much in dread visions when between the wings
42
Of cherubim the Glory rested—much
In banishment and desert solitude—
And more in ruin to the soul of seers
Was given to know; more than all human thought
By all its systems can impart to man.
Yet with least erring eye the Apostle saw,
What time he felt the martyr's hovering crown.
The cohorts of the conqueror, when we trod—
(A banished nation, from our birth-soil rent,
Helpless and homeless, hurled upon the spear),—
The path of bondage, paused beneath the hill
Of sycamores, when the meridian sun
Flung his fierce arrowy splendors; and around
The cool o'ershadowed fountains, scowling on
The scorched and agonizing captives, lay
The imperial legions, casting bitter scorn
And ribald merriment on each who passed
Among their stern battalions to assuage
His deadly thirst:—scarce deigned plebeian hate
This solitary solace;—and they held
Each pilgrim by the beard to bid him bow
In worship to the dread Labarum, [7] ere,
In terms of mockery, they questioned him
Of the sacked temple's holy spoils—what gold
The chalices, cups, lavers, shrines would bring
In banishment and desert solitude—
And more in ruin to the soul of seers
Was given to know; more than all human thought
By all its systems can impart to man.
Yet with least erring eye the Apostle saw,
What time he felt the martyr's hovering crown.
The cohorts of the conqueror, when we trod—
(A banished nation, from our birth-soil rent,
Helpless and homeless, hurled upon the spear),—
The path of bondage, paused beneath the hill
Of sycamores, when the meridian sun
Flung his fierce arrowy splendors; and around
The cool o'ershadowed fountains, scowling on
The scorched and agonizing captives, lay
The imperial legions, casting bitter scorn
And ribald merriment on each who passed
Among their stern battalions to assuage
His deadly thirst:—scarce deigned plebeian hate
This solitary solace;—and they held
Each pilgrim by the beard to bid him bow
In worship to the dread Labarum, [7] ere,
In terms of mockery, they questioned him
Of the sacked temple's holy spoils—what gold
The chalices, cups, lavers, shrines would bring
43
To the vast coffers of the Palatine.
With lips unmoistened, weary, sick in soul,
I turned aside into a dreary rift
Of rock o'erbowered with briar and aconite,
To pray and perish, for I had on earth
No friend! my father, on that morn, had laid
His weary head upon my breaking heart
And died. They bound him to a blighted tree
Upon a desert crag, and, to my shrieks
Shouting, “The traitor may forget the path
The Avenger treads! let him look on to Rome!”
The savage spoilers dragged me from his corse.
Thus to the earth I cast me, wailing low,
When a hand lifted me, and I beheld
A form, a face, so towering, worn and full
Of blended intellect and sanctity,
Of majesty and mildness, that, methought,
'Twas the Love-Angel! and his look o'erspread
My soul with joy inscrutable, he held
The very spirit so; and then his voice
Passed through the mind's depths like a cherub hymn.
“Daughter!” he said, “one doom is sealed in blood!
The Holy City, stained by guilt, defiled
By treason, sacrilege and rapine, sleeps
In dust—and who but God shall bid her wake?
With lips unmoistened, weary, sick in soul,
I turned aside into a dreary rift
Of rock o'erbowered with briar and aconite,
To pray and perish, for I had on earth
No friend! my father, on that morn, had laid
His weary head upon my breaking heart
And died. They bound him to a blighted tree
Upon a desert crag, and, to my shrieks
Shouting, “The traitor may forget the path
The Avenger treads! let him look on to Rome!”
The savage spoilers dragged me from his corse.
Thus to the earth I cast me, wailing low,
When a hand lifted me, and I beheld
A form, a face, so towering, worn and full
Of blended intellect and sanctity,
Of majesty and mildness, that, methought,
'Twas the Love-Angel! and his look o'erspread
My soul with joy inscrutable, he held
The very spirit so; and then his voice
Passed through the mind's depths like a cherub hymn.
“Daughter!” he said, “one doom is sealed in blood!
The Holy City, stained by guilt, defiled
By treason, sacrilege and rapine, sleeps
In dust—and who but God shall bid her wake?
44
Yet judgment tarries not, because the arm
Of Rome's proud Desolator worked the will
Of heaven, fulfilling his own ruthless lust.
Thou shalt behold the destiny of them
Who from the furnace of ambition cast
Their brands of ruin o'er the world—for me—
The numbered hours rush on. My daughter! hear!
Thou art the child's child of one great in all
That magnifies the mind and fills the heart
With earth's sublimest influences—all
That clothes our flesh with spotless robes, and claims
Man's loftiest veneration, and heaven's love.
Gamaliel, thy wise ancestor”— My soul
Glowed at the name, and, gazing on that face
Which never blanched with fear though tyrants frowned,
Nor in success exulted, proud of gifts,
Quickly I said, “Who should have talked with him,
Master in Israel, and yet survive
When all, save this wrecked spirit, dream not now?”
“'Tis Saul of Tarsus!” said he, with his eyes
Downcast in pale contrition: “he who first
Bore faggot, brand and crucifix, and watched
O'er the red garments of the martyred saint;
And, when the Temple's vail was rent, and heaven
Of Rome's proud Desolator worked the will
Of heaven, fulfilling his own ruthless lust.
Thou shalt behold the destiny of them
Who from the furnace of ambition cast
Their brands of ruin o'er the world—for me—
The numbered hours rush on. My daughter! hear!
Thou art the child's child of one great in all
That magnifies the mind and fills the heart
With earth's sublimest influences—all
That clothes our flesh with spotless robes, and claims
Man's loftiest veneration, and heaven's love.
Gamaliel, thy wise ancestor”— My soul
Glowed at the name, and, gazing on that face
Which never blanched with fear though tyrants frowned,
Nor in success exulted, proud of gifts,
Quickly I said, “Who should have talked with him,
Master in Israel, and yet survive
When all, save this wrecked spirit, dream not now?”
“'Tis Saul of Tarsus!” said he, with his eyes
Downcast in pale contrition: “he who first
Bore faggot, brand and crucifix, and watched
O'er the red garments of the martyred saint;
And, when the Temple's vail was rent, and heaven
45
Shuddered as the pale King of Shadows waved
His sceptre o'er the Son of God,—was held
Aloft, amidst the people, to behold
Him by our sires blasphemed and slain.—If toil,
Baffled temptation, patient suffering,
Perils by land and wave, and every ill
Mortality hath borne—added to zeal
And many years of vigil thought, may hope
For pardon of my crime, I have not lacked.
But, daughter! as I rested on my path,
Girdled by foes exulting, I beheld
Thee clinging to thy parted sire, and sought
In secret to unfold, now in thy grief,
The sole Redemption our lost fathers spurned.””
She paused as on its wandering orbit now
Rushed madlier the lost star, and, gazing, cried;
“—But mark red Ruin's summoner! beneath
The quivering zenith and the zodiac dimmed
By his storm glories, how the herald scorns
The dominations of the dust, and dares
The loftiest hierarchies of the heaven!
Ghastly with lava light, the molten clouds
In cloven masses swirl before his path,
And with the crash and uproar of the war
Of all the antagonizing elements,
The demon comet cleaves the shuddering air!”
His sceptre o'er the Son of God,—was held
Aloft, amidst the people, to behold
Him by our sires blasphemed and slain.—If toil,
Baffled temptation, patient suffering,
Perils by land and wave, and every ill
Mortality hath borne—added to zeal
And many years of vigil thought, may hope
For pardon of my crime, I have not lacked.
But, daughter! as I rested on my path,
Girdled by foes exulting, I beheld
Thee clinging to thy parted sire, and sought
In secret to unfold, now in thy grief,
The sole Redemption our lost fathers spurned.””
She paused as on its wandering orbit now
Rushed madlier the lost star, and, gazing, cried;
“—But mark red Ruin's summoner! beneath
The quivering zenith and the zodiac dimmed
By his storm glories, how the herald scorns
The dominations of the dust, and dares
The loftiest hierarchies of the heaven!
Ghastly with lava light, the molten clouds
In cloven masses swirl before his path,
And with the crash and uproar of the war
Of all the antagonizing elements,
The demon comet cleaves the shuddering air!”
46
“And now the fiend-king of the meteor flings
His glance on the voluptuous wantonness
Of Baiae and Pausylipo, upon
The fairest bosom of earth's beauty laid
To stain, defile and desecrate! beyond,
The waters of Parthenope, along
The curved and blossomed shores, from the dark brow
Of the Misenum to Surrentum rocks
And Capreae's isle of carnage, curl and moan,
Darkened with gory hues; and on the expanse
So beautiful in crystal claritude
On yester morn, the trailing glare hangs now
With tempest gloom contending, yet unmixed.
The promontories and proud Appenines
Seem to uplift their precipices o'er
The wild air and affrighted sea in dread;
And the deep forests, quaking yet beneath
The Alpine torrent blast, through all their clouds
Of leaves, drink the dark crimson streams that pour
In lurid cataracts of flame from heaven:
And every breathing thing—man, beast, tree, flower—
Pants in the siroc that from Lybian sands
Hastens to mingle with the withering breath
Of yon gigantic world of Death!—my frame
Is numbed by torpor, yet the terror holds
His glance on the voluptuous wantonness
Of Baiae and Pausylipo, upon
The fairest bosom of earth's beauty laid
To stain, defile and desecrate! beyond,
The waters of Parthenope, along
The curved and blossomed shores, from the dark brow
Of the Misenum to Surrentum rocks
And Capreae's isle of carnage, curl and moan,
Darkened with gory hues; and on the expanse
So beautiful in crystal claritude
On yester morn, the trailing glare hangs now
With tempest gloom contending, yet unmixed.
The promontories and proud Appenines
Seem to uplift their precipices o'er
The wild air and affrighted sea in dread;
And the deep forests, quaking yet beneath
The Alpine torrent blast, through all their clouds
Of leaves, drink the dark crimson streams that pour
In lurid cataracts of flame from heaven:
And every breathing thing—man, beast, tree, flower—
Pants in the siroc that from Lybian sands
Hastens to mingle with the withering breath
Of yon gigantic world of Death!—my frame
Is numbed by torpor, yet the terror holds
47
My spirit captive to the majesty
Of the unearthly Desolator!—Love!
Thou with the great Apostle didst commune—
O God! I saw him die!—the prophet said?”
“ “Fulfilled, by Christian faith, the Law, whose voice
Was judgment to our fathers, by the blood
Of the One Victim unto all becomes
The very soul of Love!” Thus he began,
And with an angel eloquence, that thrilled
My humbled heart, interpreted the law,
That spake in thunders from the Desert Mount,—
He, the Awakener of nations, whose high gifts,
E'en in the grandest spheres of fame, had won
The palm and laurel crown, but that in vain
Cajoling tempters spread their blandishments
And the seducings of apt sophistries
Tangled their meshes round him. Affluence,
Dominion o'er the treasures and the thoughts
Of traitor worshippers, the feigned awe breathed
By vassal sycophants through tainted courts,
Thronged temples, porticoes, and schools of seets,
He cast aside as winds do dust to dust.
He felt his intellect's supremacy,
And shrunk from moulded clay that lipped his name
Of the unearthly Desolator!—Love!
Thou with the great Apostle didst commune—
O God! I saw him die!—the prophet said?”
“ “Fulfilled, by Christian faith, the Law, whose voice
Was judgment to our fathers, by the blood
Of the One Victim unto all becomes
The very soul of Love!” Thus he began,
And with an angel eloquence, that thrilled
My humbled heart, interpreted the law,
That spake in thunders from the Desert Mount,—
He, the Awakener of nations, whose high gifts,
E'en in the grandest spheres of fame, had won
The palm and laurel crown, but that in vain
Cajoling tempters spread their blandishments
And the seducings of apt sophistries
Tangled their meshes round him. Affluence,
Dominion o'er the treasures and the thoughts
Of traitor worshippers, the feigned awe breathed
By vassal sycophants through tainted courts,
Thronged temples, porticoes, and schools of seets,
He cast aside as winds do dust to dust.
He felt his intellect's supremacy,
And shrunk from moulded clay that lipped his name
48
In interested ecstacies—he knew
Himself and sought not other knowledge here.
In place of men's dissembled treacheries,
He, clothed with immortality's own light,
Pictured the Passion, spread the Eucharist,
Bade peril and the equinox obey,
Soothed the quick pangs of lonely malady,
Warded the fold of faith assailed, and stood
In every danger on the vanward tower
To watch, guard, counsel, lead, bear scorn, and die!
Brief was our converse, for the Flavian trump,
In triumph echoes, startled the great host.
But, from that hour, through agony and shame,
I have not trembled to confess the Word,
Whose smile is, e'en in the worst evil, heaven.
“Farewell! my captive child!” he said, “when power
Purples the rills with Christian sacrifice,
And wanton crime mocks thy unpitied moans,
Forget not Calvary and Gethsemane!
Forget not that my eye beholds e'en now,
Down the dark lapses of Time unconceived,
A terrible atonement of the doom
Knelled o'er the domes of Salem; wildly o'er
Infinitude the vision rushes—earth
With shrieks of wrath and quick convulsions hails
Himself and sought not other knowledge here.
In place of men's dissembled treacheries,
He, clothed with immortality's own light,
Pictured the Passion, spread the Eucharist,
Bade peril and the equinox obey,
Soothed the quick pangs of lonely malady,
Warded the fold of faith assailed, and stood
In every danger on the vanward tower
To watch, guard, counsel, lead, bear scorn, and die!
Brief was our converse, for the Flavian trump,
In triumph echoes, startled the great host.
But, from that hour, through agony and shame,
I have not trembled to confess the Word,
Whose smile is, e'en in the worst evil, heaven.
“Farewell! my captive child!” he said, “when power
Purples the rills with Christian sacrifice,
And wanton crime mocks thy unpitied moans,
Forget not Calvary and Gethsemane!
Forget not that my eye beholds e'en now,
Down the dark lapses of Time unconceived,
A terrible atonement of the doom
Knelled o'er the domes of Salem; wildly o'er
Infinitude the vision rushes—earth
With shrieks of wrath and quick convulsions hails
49
The herald of despair—it whirls and leaps,
Like living madness now, and tosses o'er
Unterminating and unsounded air
Perpetual deluges of flame, to warn
The scoffer and the rioter, who mark
No beam beyond their revel glare! Farewell!
Desolate daughter of a slaughtered sire!
Forget not! and the Paraclete console
Thy lingering sorrows! mine are almost done!”
The fountain of my heart o'erflowed; I looked,
Yet never more beheld the godlike brow
Of Christendom's apostle; through the shades
Of the descending cavern slowly waved
His mantle, the white turban seemed to hang
A moment in the gloom; his sandalled feet
Sent back a few low sounds—and he had passed
Unto his mission and his martyrdom!
But tell me, love! beneath this ghastly light,
The story of his doom [8]—how passed his soul
From torture into triumph when the flesh
Clung round the spirit in its agony?”
“In calm magnificence—in meekness fit
To awe earth's congregated dynasties,
From gloom to glory, through its martyrdom,
Like living madness now, and tosses o'er
Unterminating and unsounded air
Perpetual deluges of flame, to warn
The scoffer and the rioter, who mark
No beam beyond their revel glare! Farewell!
Desolate daughter of a slaughtered sire!
Forget not! and the Paraclete console
Thy lingering sorrows! mine are almost done!”
The fountain of my heart o'erflowed; I looked,
Yet never more beheld the godlike brow
Of Christendom's apostle; through the shades
Of the descending cavern slowly waved
His mantle, the white turban seemed to hang
A moment in the gloom; his sandalled feet
Sent back a few low sounds—and he had passed
Unto his mission and his martyrdom!
But tell me, love! beneath this ghastly light,
The story of his doom [8]—how passed his soul
From torture into triumph when the flesh
Clung round the spirit in its agony?”
“In calm magnificence—in meekness fit
To awe earth's congregated dynasties,
From gloom to glory, through its martyrdom,
50
It passed—triumphing mid the jeers of men!”
Said Pansa, casting on the o'erhung crags
And piles of rifted scoriæ half green'd o'er,
(Beauty embracing ruin), mid the intense hush
Of o'erworn nature, glances of quick thought,
As silently he caught faint smothered sounds
Like breaths held back, and then, at intervals,
Gasping in sobs, like night sighs of the surf.
With startled ear, strained eye and quivering brow,
Listened the Christian; but the dells lay still
In their green blessedness, the hills looked down
From their cold solitudes; above, the flame
Of the banned star flared far and dim—beneath,
Lay Pompeii, folded in the sleep that flings
Oblivion o'er the exhaustion of desire;
And, breathing terror from his burdened heart,
He thus portrayed the passion of the Saint.
“No psalteries or cymbals poured their waves
Of music round his death-hour; no grand hymn
Gushed from the tabret, and no gentle voice
Of sorrow from the harp, to wail his doom.
Alone amid his slayers and the foes
Of Him they crucified, Paul calmly stood,
Nor daring pagan hate nor dreading it,
His white hair streaming on the autumnal wind;
His countenance, treached o'er by thought and care
Said Pansa, casting on the o'erhung crags
And piles of rifted scoriæ half green'd o'er,
(Beauty embracing ruin), mid the intense hush
Of o'erworn nature, glances of quick thought,
As silently he caught faint smothered sounds
Like breaths held back, and then, at intervals,
Gasping in sobs, like night sighs of the surf.
With startled ear, strained eye and quivering brow,
Listened the Christian; but the dells lay still
In their green blessedness, the hills looked down
From their cold solitudes; above, the flame
Of the banned star flared far and dim—beneath,
Lay Pompeii, folded in the sleep that flings
Oblivion o'er the exhaustion of desire;
And, breathing terror from his burdened heart,
He thus portrayed the passion of the Saint.
“No psalteries or cymbals poured their waves
Of music round his death-hour; no grand hymn
Gushed from the tabret, and no gentle voice
Of sorrow from the harp, to wail his doom.
Alone amid his slayers and the foes
Of Him they crucified, Paul calmly stood,
Nor daring pagan hate nor dreading it,
His white hair streaming on the autumnal wind;
His countenance, treached o'er by thought and care
51
And toil and suffering, gathered, as he looked
Upon the Prætor on his throne of power,
The grandeur of his youth, the matchless light
Of a triumphant intellect that grasped
An immortality of bliss, and feared
No mortal agony when joy was death.
`Thou art a Christian?' Paul held up the Cross.
`Thou art a Hebrew?' `Ay, I was, and worse.'
`Thou art a Traitor?' `Not to God or man!'
Cried the Apostle, and his monarch form
Rose from the ruins of his years, and stood,
Like the unpeered statue of Olympian Jove,
Before the quailing Paynim. `Edicts, hurled
By Agrippina's son, had Rome a soul,
E'en from blasphemed humanity would call
For vengeance on the utterer. Where's the guilt
Of thought? the crime of faith, whose very soul
Is low-voiced worship and still charities?
The loftiest mind most loves humility!
The imperial ban ('twas uttered by the banned)
Leaves deeds untouched but criminates the thought;
Hales famished, homeless and (for this vain world)
Hopeless believers of an humble faith,
To judgment, not to trial, and allows
The apostacy, it arraigns as crime
Upon the Prætor on his throne of power,
The grandeur of his youth, the matchless light
Of a triumphant intellect that grasped
An immortality of bliss, and feared
No mortal agony when joy was death.
`Thou art a Christian?' Paul held up the Cross.
`Thou art a Hebrew?' `Ay, I was, and worse.'
`Thou art a Traitor?' `Not to God or man!'
Cried the Apostle, and his monarch form
Rose from the ruins of his years, and stood,
Like the unpeered statue of Olympian Jove,
Before the quailing Paynim. `Edicts, hurled
By Agrippina's son, had Rome a soul,
E'en from blasphemed humanity would call
For vengeance on the utterer. Where's the guilt
Of thought? the crime of faith, whose very soul
Is low-voiced worship and still charities?
The loftiest mind most loves humility!
The imperial ban ('twas uttered by the banned)
Leaves deeds untouched but criminates the thought;
Hales famished, homeless and (for this vain world)
Hopeless believers of an humble faith,
To judgment, not to trial, and allows
The apostacy, it arraigns as crime
52
Death or denial! is the only law
Of Rome, whose wings are o'er the world, to men
So poor, they have no pillow, and so few,
They have no power; and yet the Palatine
Fears they—they may subert its giant might!
Is truth so terrible to the `immortal gods,'
That they in triumph tremble at a voice?
Dreads the fierce Thunderer the cicada's song?
Or your gay god of Revels, lest the charm
Of his wreathed thyrsus may depart when woods
And caverns are the palaces, and rills
And berries all the banquet of his foes?
Yet none of all thy fabled deities,
Save hirsute fauns and lonely oreads,
Behold our rites, or need shrink to behold.
How should conspiracy consort with want
And weakness so extreme, they lack the power
To lift the dying head or bear the corse
Beyond the grotto where they weep and pray?
And who of all Rome's judges can arraign
The Christian for a deed that could design
Possession of a hamlet? or a hut?
We seek no empire save untrammelled thought;
We court no patron save The Crucified;
We win no crown save that of martyrdom.'
Of Rome, whose wings are o'er the world, to men
So poor, they have no pillow, and so few,
They have no power; and yet the Palatine
Fears they—they may subert its giant might!
Is truth so terrible to the `immortal gods,'
That they in triumph tremble at a voice?
Dreads the fierce Thunderer the cicada's song?
Or your gay god of Revels, lest the charm
Of his wreathed thyrsus may depart when woods
And caverns are the palaces, and rills
And berries all the banquet of his foes?
Yet none of all thy fabled deities,
Save hirsute fauns and lonely oreads,
Behold our rites, or need shrink to behold.
How should conspiracy consort with want
And weakness so extreme, they lack the power
To lift the dying head or bear the corse
Beyond the grotto where they weep and pray?
And who of all Rome's judges can arraign
The Christian for a deed that could design
Possession of a hamlet? or a hut?
We seek no empire save untrammelled thought;
We court no patron save The Crucified;
We win no crown save that of martyrdom.'
53
`Smite, silence the blasphemer!' shrieked the judge,
Robing his fear in wrath; `too long we waste
The Empire's time—chain the conspirator!
And, lictors! guard his cross from slaves, and all
The baser multitudes that throng to hear
The maniac treasons of the Nazarenes.
Hoar breeder of sedition, thou must die!'
`Nature said that when I was born, and God,
Ere that, a thousand ages, when sin rose
From Hades; not in vain have all the power,
Splendor and guilt of Rome before me passed
In danger yet in solitude, and now
I fold unto my bosom that deep death
I never sought nor feared, and thank the ruth
Of that derision which ordains the Cross.
The master of your vast—of every realm,
Sea, earth and sky hold, taught me by His groan
That the last breath was agony, but He
Hath sent the Paraclete to o'ershadow all
Who perish by his passion, and I go,
Purple idolater! having wandered long
Through many years of weariness, to rest,
Where, couldst thou ever share my bliss, this hour,
With less of anguish, would pass o'er my soul!'
Robing his fear in wrath; `too long we waste
The Empire's time—chain the conspirator!
And, lictors! guard his cross from slaves, and all
The baser multitudes that throng to hear
The maniac treasons of the Nazarenes.
Hoar breeder of sedition, thou must die!'
`Nature said that when I was born, and God,
Ere that, a thousand ages, when sin rose
From Hades; not in vain have all the power,
Splendor and guilt of Rome before me passed
In danger yet in solitude, and now
I fold unto my bosom that deep death
I never sought nor feared, and thank the ruth
Of that derision which ordains the Cross.
The master of your vast—of every realm,
Sea, earth and sky hold, taught me by His groan
That the last breath was agony, but He
Hath sent the Paraclete to o'ershadow all
Who perish by his passion, and I go,
Purple idolater! having wandered long
Through many years of weariness, to rest,
Where, couldst thou ever share my bliss, this hour,
With less of anguish, would pass o'er my soul!'
54
Then led they him unto [9] the Accursed Field
Beyond the Patriot's Precipice, mid bands
Of mailed Prætorians, bearing in the blaze
Of noon Cæsar's Labarum (ne'er unfurled
But in the triumph's tempest;) in the van
The aruspices in purple trabeæ walked, [10]
Their oakleaf chaplets waving: then in throngs,
The Luperci, the maddened priests of Mars,
In crimson togas and broad burnished plates
Of brass that mirrored carnage, followed quick.
And the wild flamens of Cybele, stained
By the red vintage, and the countless crowd
Of magi, augurs, senators and slaves,
Paphians and vestals, through the marble streets,
From dusky lanes and sculptured palaces,
Temple and forum and Cimmerian den,
Outpoured in pageantry or squalid want,
Like Scylla's whirlpool floods, to feast on death.
'Twas ever thus in Rome; she nursed her horde
Of bandits, from the first, on blood, and war,
Wedding with carnage, wrote her very creed
In groans, and wrought her gods from myriad crimes.
So on they led the martyr stooping low
Beneath the felon cross, his glorious brow,
Oft wet with dungeon dew, soiled by the dust
Beyond the Patriot's Precipice, mid bands
Of mailed Prætorians, bearing in the blaze
Of noon Cæsar's Labarum (ne'er unfurled
But in the triumph's tempest;) in the van
The aruspices in purple trabeæ walked, [10]
Their oakleaf chaplets waving: then in throngs,
The Luperci, the maddened priests of Mars,
In crimson togas and broad burnished plates
Of brass that mirrored carnage, followed quick.
And the wild flamens of Cybele, stained
By the red vintage, and the countless crowd
Of magi, augurs, senators and slaves,
Paphians and vestals, through the marble streets,
From dusky lanes and sculptured palaces,
Temple and forum and Cimmerian den,
Outpoured in pageantry or squalid want,
Like Scylla's whirlpool floods, to feast on death.
'Twas ever thus in Rome; she nursed her horde
Of bandits, from the first, on blood, and war,
Wedding with carnage, wrote her very creed
In groans, and wrought her gods from myriad crimes.
So on they led the martyr stooping low
Beneath the felon cross, his glorious brow,
Oft wet with dungeon dew, soiled by the dust
55
Of the armed cohort, yet his undimmed eye
Flashing its birthlight radiance unto heaven,
Drinking revealments of God's paradise.
Oath, menace, jeer and ribald mockeries,
The vulgar's worship of all greatness, passed
Like the sirocco o'er Campanian flowers
Or snowpiles of the Appenines, gathering bloom
And zephyr coolness, o'er his sainted soul.
His lofty nature did, a moment, seem
Burning in scorn upon his lips, and once,
Clasping the heavy cross as't were a wand,
He lifted his proud form and matchless head,
And o'er the helmed lictors looked upon
The mockers—and they shrunk beneath his glance
Like grass beneath the samiel; yet no more,
Hushing the spirit of his grandeur, he
Deigned to deem earth his home, or earthly things
Fit wakeners of his thought. And so he came
Unto the Accursed Field, and one, all shunned,
Loathing, drave down the massy cross. whereon,
With lingering patience, he had stretched and nailed,
Through palm and sole, the Martyr, every blow
Tearing the impaled nerves, and through heart and brain
Sending a sick convulsion; but the pangs
Passed quickly o'er his features, though the limbs
Flashing its birthlight radiance unto heaven,
Drinking revealments of God's paradise.
Oath, menace, jeer and ribald mockeries,
The vulgar's worship of all greatness, passed
Like the sirocco o'er Campanian flowers
Or snowpiles of the Appenines, gathering bloom
And zephyr coolness, o'er his sainted soul.
His lofty nature did, a moment, seem
Burning in scorn upon his lips, and once,
Clasping the heavy cross as't were a wand,
He lifted his proud form and matchless head,
And o'er the helmed lictors looked upon
The mockers—and they shrunk beneath his glance
Like grass beneath the samiel; yet no more,
Hushing the spirit of his grandeur, he
Deigned to deem earth his home, or earthly things
Fit wakeners of his thought. And so he came
Unto the Accursed Field, and one, all shunned,
Loathing, drave down the massy cross. whereon,
With lingering patience, he had stretched and nailed,
Through palm and sole, the Martyr, every blow
Tearing the impaled nerves, and through heart and brain
Sending a sick convulsion; but the pangs
Passed quickly o'er his features, though the limbs
56
Quivered, and, as he looked to heaven, a light,
Brighter than universes of bright suns,
Fell round the Martyr in his agony!
`A Prodigy! Jove flashes wrath! the gods
Forbid the death!' shouted the multitude,
Like foliage fluctuating, as the spells
Of all-believing Fear fell on their hearts.
`All Rome shall perish if the Christian dies!'
`Hence, vassals! fools! home to your huts! away!'
Rose the proud Prefect's quick, stern, ruthless voice,
Whose echo was an oracle. `Ye slaves!
The beast should batten on the slain, I know,
And ye can taunt and torture helplessness,
And dread the very shade of danger's ghost;
But, by the Spectre River! Rome's best spears
Shall search your dastard dust, if ye but speak
Ere each adores his hearth-god! hence! away!'
The Gracchi from the Aventine dragged forth [11]
For senators to slaughter well displayed
The liberties of Rome; and they, who held
The Briton chief barbarian, shrunk away,
When a patrician bade, without a voice!
But bondage and brute violence are one.
Then, as the steps of the vast throng retired
Brighter than universes of bright suns,
Fell round the Martyr in his agony!
`A Prodigy! Jove flashes wrath! the gods
Forbid the death!' shouted the multitude,
Like foliage fluctuating, as the spells
Of all-believing Fear fell on their hearts.
`All Rome shall perish if the Christian dies!'
`Hence, vassals! fools! home to your huts! away!'
Rose the proud Prefect's quick, stern, ruthless voice,
Whose echo was an oracle. `Ye slaves!
The beast should batten on the slain, I know,
And ye can taunt and torture helplessness,
And dread the very shade of danger's ghost;
But, by the Spectre River! Rome's best spears
Shall search your dastard dust, if ye but speak
Ere each adores his hearth-god! hence! away!'
The Gracchi from the Aventine dragged forth [11]
For senators to slaughter well displayed
The liberties of Rome; and they, who held
The Briton chief barbarian, shrunk away,
When a patrician bade, without a voice!
But bondage and brute violence are one.
Then, as the steps of the vast throng retired
57
Like dying waves, the priests and guards outspread
Their banquet on the plain beneath the tents—
(The kalends of the seventh month had come)
They bore to shield the sun, while there they watched
The fever, famine, thirst and pangs of death.
Pheasants, Falernian, mirth, song, jest and oath
Inspired the revel 'neath the cross, and all
Care and command, save that which bade them see
The Martyr die, fled from their spirits now.
Wanton with wine, the priest revealed to scorn
His wiles and sophistries and oracles,
Blessing the phantom gods that shadows held
Dominion o'er the conscious fears of men.
Warriors portrayed, in tales of other climes,
Numidia, Arcady or Syrian realms,
The splendor of the spoil, the gems and gold,
The perfumes, luxuries and regal robes,
Fair slaves and diamonds, wafted from the shores
Of the Orient, in homage to the diadem
That circled nations. Many a demon deed
And dark career of crime then first to light
Leapt from the dizzy brain of guilt, and moved
Applause and rival histories of acts
O'erpast; how dusky kings in palaces,
Amid their pomp, gleaming magnificence,
Their banquet on the plain beneath the tents—
(The kalends of the seventh month had come)
They bore to shield the sun, while there they watched
The fever, famine, thirst and pangs of death.
Pheasants, Falernian, mirth, song, jest and oath
Inspired the revel 'neath the cross, and all
Care and command, save that which bade them see
The Martyr die, fled from their spirits now.
Wanton with wine, the priest revealed to scorn
His wiles and sophistries and oracles,
Blessing the phantom gods that shadows held
Dominion o'er the conscious fears of men.
Warriors portrayed, in tales of other climes,
Numidia, Arcady or Syrian realms,
The splendor of the spoil, the gems and gold,
The perfumes, luxuries and regal robes,
Fair slaves and diamonds, wafted from the shores
Of the Orient, in homage to the diadem
That circled nations. Many a demon deed
And dark career of crime then first to light
Leapt from the dizzy brain of guilt, and moved
Applause and rival histories of acts
O'erpast; how dusky kings in palaces,
Amid their pomp, gleaming magnificence,
58
Did perish in the flame, and none could save
The victim, though they bore his coffers forth
How queens and virgin princes in their bowers,
On broidered couches slumbering, while their robes,
Like zodiacs, glittered in the purple light,
Felt not the serpent that trailed o'er their sleep,
But died in their pavilions, voicelessly!
Then senators and knights, with mutual mirth,
Discoursed of laws enacted or suppressed
As suited Cæsar, and quenched liberties,
Naming them treason; and asserted rights,
They branded as seditions; and revealed
To the unshuddering guards the mysteries
Of Rome's proud Forum, where the agonies
Of desolated kingdoms, and the shrieks
Of nations in their bondage, and the tears
Of eloquent affection to the lords
Of power were music and unholy mirth.
Then round the martyr mingled voices rose
Louder, and laughter to impiety
Replied, and men, the gods, truth, chastity,
Love, honor, courage and fidelity,
All were but mockeries to the rioters.
“Hercle! is this the Lupercal? ye howl
Like Conscript Fathers when the spoil is lost!
The victim, though they bore his coffers forth
How queens and virgin princes in their bowers,
On broidered couches slumbering, while their robes,
Like zodiacs, glittered in the purple light,
Felt not the serpent that trailed o'er their sleep,
But died in their pavilions, voicelessly!
Then senators and knights, with mutual mirth,
Discoursed of laws enacted or suppressed
As suited Cæsar, and quenched liberties,
Naming them treason; and asserted rights,
They branded as seditions; and revealed
To the unshuddering guards the mysteries
Of Rome's proud Forum, where the agonies
Of desolated kingdoms, and the shrieks
Of nations in their bondage, and the tears
Of eloquent affection to the lords
Of power were music and unholy mirth.
Then round the martyr mingled voices rose
Louder, and laughter to impiety
Replied, and men, the gods, truth, chastity,
Love, honor, courage and fidelity,
All were but mockeries to the rioters.
“Hercle! is this the Lupercal? ye howl
Like Conscript Fathers when the spoil is lost!
59
Peace!” said the Prefect—“see ye not the lips
Of yon hoar traitor trembling with quick thought?
Listen! he speaks his last,—his heart 's too old
To linger in the torture of the tree!”
“The isles shall wait, Jehovah! for thy law, [12]
And knowledge to and fro shall spread, till earth
Utter Thy praise like voices of the sea!”
Thus spake the victim, in delirium,
Wrought by deep anguish, wandering yet among
The dear homes of his mission. “Dangers wave
Their wings around us, brethren! and the waste,
Boundless and shadowless, must still be trod!
Yet not by dim lights of a doubting faith
Are ye led on through wrong and woe and want,
For the Anointed hath not left us here
Without a Comforter, and hath He not
Laid up, in many mansions, crowns of joy,
Where mortal doth put on immortality?
Grieve not the Spirit! yet a little while,
And ye shall reap the harvest and rejoice;
And though, ere then, this flesh must see decay,
Yet I shall mingle with your prayer and hymn,
By morn and eve—and breathe the Savior's smile
O'er the glad isles of Gentiles so beloved!”
Of yon hoar traitor trembling with quick thought?
Listen! he speaks his last,—his heart 's too old
To linger in the torture of the tree!”
“The isles shall wait, Jehovah! for thy law, [12]
And knowledge to and fro shall spread, till earth
Utter Thy praise like voices of the sea!”
Thus spake the victim, in delirium,
Wrought by deep anguish, wandering yet among
The dear homes of his mission. “Dangers wave
Their wings around us, brethren! and the waste,
Boundless and shadowless, must still be trod!
Yet not by dim lights of a doubting faith
Are ye led on through wrong and woe and want,
For the Anointed hath not left us here
Without a Comforter, and hath He not
Laid up, in many mansions, crowns of joy,
Where mortal doth put on immortality?
Grieve not the Spirit! yet a little while,
And ye shall reap the harvest and rejoice;
And though, ere then, this flesh must see decay,
Yet I shall mingle with your prayer and hymn,
By morn and eve—and breathe the Savior's smile
O'er the glad isles of Gentiles so beloved!”
60
Then spasms of vivid pain passed o'er his face,
His eyes rolled back upon the brain, and left
The pale streaked orbs writhing in gloom—the lids
Now folded to their lashes, coiling now
In nature's deep convulsion, till the veins,
O'erfraught and purple, on his cloven brow,
Seemed bursting o'er the altar of his soul.
His livid lips, parted by torture, breathed
Deep undistinguished murmurs, then compressed
Like sculptured curves and lines of thought; the limbs,
Meantime, grew cold, and the dark gathering blood
Forsook its own familiar temple, when
The shadows of the sepulchre stole on.
“Dis leaves his realm to welcome him,” said one.
“Peace! thou discourteous knight! jeers skill not now;
Thy mirth is motlied with mortality,
And thou thyself mayst pray for Lethe ere
The graceless Stygian grasps thine obolus.
Put on thy knighthood! peace! he speaks again!”
And the proud Prefect flung his casque to earth.
In moans, like autumn gusts, the martyr spake,
Hovering o'er shattered memories like the sun
O'er broken billows of the shoreless sea!
“Let me behold thy domes, Damascus! meet
His eyes rolled back upon the brain, and left
The pale streaked orbs writhing in gloom—the lids
Now folded to their lashes, coiling now
In nature's deep convulsion, till the veins,
O'erfraught and purple, on his cloven brow,
Seemed bursting o'er the altar of his soul.
His livid lips, parted by torture, breathed
Deep undistinguished murmurs, then compressed
Like sculptured curves and lines of thought; the limbs,
Meantime, grew cold, and the dark gathering blood
Forsook its own familiar temple, when
The shadows of the sepulchre stole on.
“Dis leaves his realm to welcome him,” said one.
“Peace! thou discourteous knight! jeers skill not now;
Thy mirth is motlied with mortality,
And thou thyself mayst pray for Lethe ere
The graceless Stygian grasps thine obolus.
Put on thy knighthood! peace! he speaks again!”
And the proud Prefect flung his casque to earth.
In moans, like autumn gusts, the martyr spake,
Hovering o'er shattered memories like the sun
O'er broken billows of the shoreless sea!
“Let me behold thy domes, Damascus! meet
61
It is the arrows of Life's penitence
Should pierce the persecutor.—Oh, farewell!
My brother! blessed in Pisidia be
Thy walk and watching!—To the Unknown God!
Are ye the worshipped wisdom of all Greece,
When ye disdain your thrice ten thousand gods,
Adoring Doubt or Demon, knowing not
The Deity revealed?—Ye can attest,
I have not coveted the gold of earth,
The gorgeous raiment or vain pomp of men,
But ministered, in all, unto myself!
Ay, driven to and fro in Adria
Upon Euroclydon, no hope is left
But in the Wielder of the wave and wind.
Despair not! though sun, moon and stars are hid,
Jehovah watches from eternity!
Contend not, brethren! untaught man may win
Redemption from the deep crimes of his age,
And be a law unto himself; e'en Rome
Hath in her years of darkest guilt had such.
Oh, sorrow not like them who have no hope!
The seed shall not decay though I am dust!
—Why do ye scourge me, soldiers? know ye not
I am a Roman? I appeal to Cæsar!
—Bring me a winter robe when thou dost come
Should pierce the persecutor.—Oh, farewell!
My brother! blessed in Pisidia be
Thy walk and watching!—To the Unknown God!
Are ye the worshipped wisdom of all Greece,
When ye disdain your thrice ten thousand gods,
Adoring Doubt or Demon, knowing not
The Deity revealed?—Ye can attest,
I have not coveted the gold of earth,
The gorgeous raiment or vain pomp of men,
But ministered, in all, unto myself!
Ay, driven to and fro in Adria
Upon Euroclydon, no hope is left
But in the Wielder of the wave and wind.
Despair not! though sun, moon and stars are hid,
Jehovah watches from eternity!
Contend not, brethren! untaught man may win
Redemption from the deep crimes of his age,
And be a law unto himself; e'en Rome
Hath in her years of darkest guilt had such.
Oh, sorrow not like them who have no hope!
The seed shall not decay though I am dust!
—Why do ye scourge me, soldiers? know ye not
I am a Roman? I appeal to Cæsar!
—Bring me a winter robe when thou dost come
62
Again—the night is cold among the hills,
And I am very weary! so, farewell!”
Then the bare nerves and sinews sent their pangs
For the last time upon his fainting heart,
And, as beyond the trembling battlements
Of agonizing flesh, the spirit strove
To flee, beholding heaven, the bitter strife
O'erawed the infidel, and round the cross
Stood silent pagan revellers! Once more
The apostle's peerless mind gleamed out—his eyes,
Living in the dark light of boyhood, flung
Their dying splendors o'er the Imperial Hills,
The mountains and the waters—while his pulse
Intensely throbbed and paused—and the heart's chill
And fever rushed to life's deep fount and spread
A shuddering faintness and sick gasping sense
Of falling through infinitude, o'er all
The vital functions of his frame. “My God!”
'Twas but a hollow echo from the tomb,
Yet it said “Jesus! let me—see—Thy face!”
And Saul of Tarsus stood before his God!”
“As thou shalt stand before Gaetulia's king,
The Barcan lion!” cried the ruthless voice
Of Diomede's outwatching messenger,
And I am very weary! so, farewell!”
Then the bare nerves and sinews sent their pangs
For the last time upon his fainting heart,
And, as beyond the trembling battlements
Of agonizing flesh, the spirit strove
To flee, beholding heaven, the bitter strife
O'erawed the infidel, and round the cross
Stood silent pagan revellers! Once more
The apostle's peerless mind gleamed out—his eyes,
Living in the dark light of boyhood, flung
Their dying splendors o'er the Imperial Hills,
The mountains and the waters—while his pulse
Intensely throbbed and paused—and the heart's chill
And fever rushed to life's deep fount and spread
A shuddering faintness and sick gasping sense
Of falling through infinitude, o'er all
The vital functions of his frame. “My God!”
'Twas but a hollow echo from the tomb,
Yet it said “Jesus! let me—see—Thy face!”
And Saul of Tarsus stood before his God!”
“As thou shalt stand before Gaetulia's king,
The Barcan lion!” cried the ruthless voice
Of Diomede's outwatching messenger,
63
The undeterred achiever of his will—
Grasping the Christian while his fellows rushed
Upon his pale but dreadless Hebrew bride.
“Well!” said the minion, “traitors serve, sometimes,
The empire's weal, and martyrdom, methinks,
Hath a rare syren music, for ye stood
Grandly before us in the comet light,
Wrapt in your exalted Nazarene,
Till we could climb the cliffs and do the hest
Of the proconsul, unfulfilled too long!
Come, Rabbi! thou art skilled in subterfuge,
And hast not scorned the sword in better times—
The games shall test thy genius—on with me!
The Gladiator's banquet waits, and thou
Shalt quaff the massic or the tears of Christ. [13]
Veles! thou hast thy charge! the Prætor's coin
Rewards not slack obedience, though his wrath
Ne'er palters with a thought of treachery!
The lady—Venus! but she hath a brow
Like the coy Delian queen!—must be disposed,
With all respect,—lead on! the daystar wanes!”
“Thraso! we were not foes when, side by side,
We scaled Antonia's tower, and saw the walls
Of Zion crushed—Why now? thou art disguised,”
Grasping the Christian while his fellows rushed
Upon his pale but dreadless Hebrew bride.
“Well!” said the minion, “traitors serve, sometimes,
The empire's weal, and martyrdom, methinks,
Hath a rare syren music, for ye stood
Grandly before us in the comet light,
Wrapt in your exalted Nazarene,
Till we could climb the cliffs and do the hest
Of the proconsul, unfulfilled too long!
Come, Rabbi! thou art skilled in subterfuge,
And hast not scorned the sword in better times—
The games shall test thy genius—on with me!
The Gladiator's banquet waits, and thou
Shalt quaff the massic or the tears of Christ. [13]
Veles! thou hast thy charge! the Prætor's coin
Rewards not slack obedience, though his wrath
Ne'er palters with a thought of treachery!
The lady—Venus! but she hath a brow
Like the coy Delian queen!—must be disposed,
With all respect,—lead on! the daystar wanes!”
“Thraso! we were not foes when, side by side,
We scaled Antonia's tower, and saw the walls
Of Zion crushed—Why now? thou art disguised,”
64
Said Pansa, with the heart's best eloquence,
As down the steep crags turned the lictor band,
Bearing his bride. “Why from my heart, by guile
Betrayed, by violence asunder rent,
Tearst thou my Mariamne, mocking thus?”
“And dost thou ask, apostate? hast thou not
Contemned the gods, scorning thy father's faith?
Forsaken the eagle banners, deeming rocks
Better than camps? and sowed sedition, thick
As sand-clouds, through the legions? thou hast wed
A captive, too, whom, though with all thy gold
Thou bought'st, poor fool! yet hast not held, as bids
The law, in bondage! dost thou ask again?
Mine office deigns no farther word, but more
Thou soon shalt learn in bitterness! lead on!”
“Bear me with her, where'er ye drag, whate'er
Ye or your lords in lawlessness inflict!
No more my voice shall crave or ye deny!”
“The Prætor's edict suits no purposes
Apostates may desire; your destinies
Have separate mansions, renegade!” Along
Ravine and precipice and lava bed,
As down the steep crags turned the lictor band,
Bearing his bride. “Why from my heart, by guile
Betrayed, by violence asunder rent,
Tearst thou my Mariamne, mocking thus?”
“And dost thou ask, apostate? hast thou not
Contemned the gods, scorning thy father's faith?
Forsaken the eagle banners, deeming rocks
Better than camps? and sowed sedition, thick
As sand-clouds, through the legions? thou hast wed
A captive, too, whom, though with all thy gold
Thou bought'st, poor fool! yet hast not held, as bids
The law, in bondage! dost thou ask again?
Mine office deigns no farther word, but more
Thou soon shalt learn in bitterness! lead on!”
“Bear me with her, where'er ye drag, whate'er
Ye or your lords in lawlessness inflict!
No more my voice shall crave or ye deny!”
“The Prætor's edict suits no purposes
Apostates may desire; your destinies
Have separate mansions, renegade!” Along
Ravine and precipice and lava bed,
65
Vineyard, pomegranate grove and vale of bloom,
The Pagan haled his victims, till the gate
Of Pompeii flew wide, and Pansa saw,
In speechless agony, a moment ere
The Mamertine abysses [14] were his home,
Pale shuddering Mariamne through the gloom
Of statues, pillars, temples and hushed streets,
Where fountains only witnessed deeds of death,
Borne like a shadow to a nameless doom.
The Pagan haled his victims, till the gate
Of Pompeii flew wide, and Pansa saw,
In speechless agony, a moment ere
The Mamertine abysses [14] were his home,
Pale shuddering Mariamne through the gloom
Of statues, pillars, temples and hushed streets,
Where fountains only witnessed deeds of death,
Borne like a shadow to a nameless doom.
END OF CANTO I.
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[8]
Note 8, p. 49.—The story of his doom.
Both the time and mode of St. Paul's martyrdom are problematical.
The opinion is generally received that he died during the persecution
of Nero, about ten years before the period of my story;
but as chronologists differ and biographers cannot agree, I have
assumed the right to narrate his death, in the person of Pansa, as
in the text.
[9]
Note 9, p. 54.—The Accursed field.
The Campus Sceleratus, where vestal virgins were buried
alive when they followed the example of Rhœa Sylvia. The
Tarpeian Rock was not far removed from such appropriate
neighborhood.
[10]
Note 10, p. 54.—The aruspices in purple trabeæ walked.
The prognosticators of Rome were allowed extraordinary
honors; and their trabeæ or robes of office nearly resembled
those of the Emperors. Every superstition exalts its expositors;
and the Roman priests well knew the power which fear and ignorance
conferred upon them, and abhorred in the same degree that
they dreaded the illumination of Christianity. The fasces, the
trabeæ, pretextæ, and curule chair were introduced by Tarquin
Priscus from conquered Tuscany.
[11]
Note 11, p. 56.—The Gracchi from the Aventine dragged forth.
For attempting by the enactment of the Agrarian Law, to
restrain the exorbitant power of the patricians, Tiberius Gracchus
was assassinated in the Capitol by Scipio Nasica; Caius Gracchus
and Fulvius Flaceus were killed by Opimius, the consul;
Saturnmus the tribune was murdered by a mob of Conscript
Fathers; and Livius Drusus, on the same account, was slain in
his own house. All in Rome, who could not trace their descent
from the highwayman Romulus or some one of his least merciful
banditti, were esteemed no better than vassals. The Romans
never understood either justice, mercy, or freedom; their dominion
was acquired by the sword without remorse, and it perished
by the sword without regret.
[12]
Note 12, p. 59.—The isles shall wait, Jehovah! for thy law.
I have made the dying ejaculations of St. Paul to consist
mostly of portions of his own powerful writings. Nothing more
beautiful or splendid can be found in any compositions—more vivid
with the heart's best emotions and the mind's most lofty conceptions—than
303
who devoted himself to the propagation of that religion he
had once assailed, with an energy and enthusiasm and utter
oblivion of self, which should find more imitators among the curates
of men's souls.
[13]
Note 13, p. 63.—Shalt quaff the massic or the tears of Christ.
The wine of Mount Vesuvius is profanely called Lacrymæ
Christi.
[14]
Note 14, p. 65.—The Mamertine abysses.
Dungeons even more horrible than those of Venitian and
Austrian tyranny, dug immediately beneath the elevated seat of
the Prætor, in the hall of judgment; and so called from the
Roman consul Mamertinus, who planned their construction, and
who should have been, like Phalaris and the inventor of the
guillotine, the first to test the merit of his philanthropic ingenuity.
| The last night of Pompeii | |