University of Virginia Library

THE MOTHER'S JEWELS.

“These are my gems,” the Roman mother cried,
Her bright lip wreathed in smiles of sunny pride;
“These are my gems,” as o'er each infant head
Superbly fond her high-born hands she spread:
This, with dark eyes, and hyacinthine flow
Of raven tresses down a neck of snow;
That, golden-haired, with orbs whose azure hue
Had dimmed the Indian sapphire's deathless blue.
“These are my gems! bring ye the rarest stone
That ever flashed from Eastern tyrant's throne;
Bring amber, such as those sad sisters gave,
Vain bribes to still the rash, relentless wave,
Bring diamonds such as that false matron wore,
Bought by their sheen to break the faith she swore,
Who lured to death foredoomed her prophet lord—
To death more certain than the Theban sword;
Bring gauds, like those which caught Tarpeia's eye,
Fated beneath her treason's price to die,—
And I will match them—yea, their worth outvie
With that nor art can frame, nor treasure buy,
Nor force subdue, nor dungeon walls control,—
Each precious gem a freeborn Roman soul!
Know ye not how, when quaked the solid earth,
And shook the seven hills, as at Titan's birth;
When the proud forum yawned—a gulf so wide,
Rome's navy in its space secure might ride;
When pale-eyed prophets did the fate declare
That dread abyss should yawn forever there,
Till Rome's best jewel, darkly tombed within,
The gods should soothe, and expiate the sin,—
Know ye not how their robes of Syrian hue
To the sad king the trembling matrons threw?
What flower-crowned captives bled the abyss to close?
What Syrian perfumes from the brink arose?
What sculptured vases of barbaric gold,
What trophied treasures, through its void were rolled?
What sun-bright gems—onyx, and agate rare,
And deathless adamant—were scattered there?
But not in gold, nor gems, nor Tyrian dye,
Trophies, nor slaves, did Rome's best treasure lie.
His limbs superb in war's triumphant guise,
His soul's high valor flashing from his eyes,
His courser chafing, impotently bold,
Against the hand that well his fire controlled,
Forth—forth he rode, in native worth sublime,
Unstained by fetters, ignorant of crime!
Forth—forth he rode, to play the martyr's part—
Rome's richest jewel—a right Roman heart!
‘So may the gods avert my country's doom,
I rush in triumph to my living tomb!
Rome hath no jewel worthier earth's embrace
Than one free warrior of her fearless race.
Fearless I come and free! Accept the gift,
Dark Hades!’ Leaped the youth, and closed the rift,
And rolled the cloudless thunder—Jove's assent
That Rome's best jewel to the abyss was sent,
These are my gems! Each for his country's weal
Devote to raging fire, or rending steel,
So long to live, so soon to die, as she—
She only—shall determine and decree!
Blest that I am to call such jewels mine,
All else to fate contented I resign.
Contented if they mount the curule chair,
Its best adornment: I shall view them there:
Contented if they fill a timeless grave;
Their wounds, their wounds of honor, I shall lave!
Secure in each event, Cornelia's race
Shall live with glory, die without disgrace:
Secure that neither, even in hopeless strife,
Shall turn upon his heel to save his life;
Secure that neither, heaven itself to buy,
A foe shall flatter or a friend deny.
These are my gems! Give ye your country such.
So shall ye put your vauntings to the touch;
Or, yielding me the palm, your boast disown:
Your diamonds may not match what I have shown!”