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85
III. POEMS IN LYRICAL METRES
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THE SONG OF THE PLASTER CAST.
In the following poem I have attempted to tell the story of a Greek statue; not of this or of that individual copy of it,—for of nearly every great antique, antiquity alone has given us four or five copies, which in modern times have been reproduced indefinitely in marble or plaster,—but of that which constitutes the identity of the statue—which makes us say, in the presence of a plaster cast, or merely of a drawing, “This is the Discobulus of Myron,” “This is the Faun of Praxiteles,”—in short, of the form, of the conception which arose in the mind of the sculptor, and which he, first, embodied, but which may be indefinitely repeated — the form which corresponds in the statue to that purely intellectual identity that makes the Iliad the Iliad, Paradise Lost Paradise Lost, in whichever of a hundred different editions it may be seen; as much in the half-crown copy which we buy to-dya, as in the earliest manuscript existing. This abstract form, and not its individual embodiment in stone or metal, is the statue; and my object has been to trace the many changes of substance through which the form of a renowned Greek Venus has been handed down to us in all its identity.
I am but an antique Form,
By Time's ever-raging Storm
Ever spared.
Even in this Plaster Cast,
Lives my beauty of the Past
Unimpaired.
For of old I was created
In an image all divine:
Aphrodité, newly risen
From the Ocean's bitter brine.
By Time's ever-raging Storm
Ever spared.
Even in this Plaster Cast,
Lives my beauty of the Past
Unimpaired.
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In an image all divine:
Aphrodité, newly risen
From the Ocean's bitter brine.
I have passed from clay to marble,
And from marble into bronze,
And to marble then reverted;
For my antique beauty dons
Now one substance, now the other;
And in each I have asserted
My identity to men.
Clay and bronze and marble perished,
But the statue did not die,
For its very form am I.
What the Sculptor's genius cherished,
What the Sculptor's genius gives,
That was saved, and in me lives.
And from marble into bronze,
And to marble then reverted;
For my antique beauty dons
Now one substance, now the other;
And in each I have asserted
My identity to men.
Clay and bronze and marble perished,
But the statue did not die,
For its very form am I.
What the Sculptor's genius cherished,
What the Sculptor's genius gives,
That was saved, and in me lives.
Twice a thousand years have rolled
Slowly, sadly o'er my head,
And the world has long grown old,
And the tongues I heard are dead,
Since the finger of the Greek
Made the dimple in my cheek.
Nations, creeds, and arts and glories
Came, and lived, and passed away;
But the dimple still endureth,
As upon my earliest day.
Dost thou ask me for the secret
Of my endless youth and fame?
I will tell thee how, unaltered,
Through the centuries I came.
Slowly, sadly o'er my head,
And the world has long grown old,
And the tongues I heard are dead,
Since the finger of the Greek
Made the dimple in my cheek.
Nations, creeds, and arts and glories
Came, and lived, and passed away;
But the dimple still endureth,
As upon my earliest day.
Dost thou ask me for the secret
Of my endless youth and fame?
I will tell thee how, unaltered,
Through the centuries I came.
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Greece alone could make me, Greece
In an age of strength and peace,
After Salamis was won;
When beneath his tempered sun,
Man, secure from every storm,
In the beauty of the form
Found his best and highest pleasure;
And the secret of all measure
He possessed;
When in marble he expressed
All his fancy's fair creations;
Gods of beauty, Gods of gladness,
Who, in human semblance dressed,
Ruled a world too young for sadness;
Or the motley brood of Pan,
Who, through wood and field and meadow,
In perennial riot ran.
In an age of strength and peace,
After Salamis was won;
When beneath his tempered sun,
Man, secure from every storm,
In the beauty of the form
Found his best and highest pleasure;
And the secret of all measure
He possessed;
When in marble he expressed
All his fancy's fair creations;
Gods of beauty, Gods of gladness,
Who, in human semblance dressed,
Ruled a world too young for sadness;
Or the motley brood of Pan,
Who, through wood and field and meadow,
In perennial riot ran.
Round the temple fair and stately,
On whose pediment I stood,
Moved a life
With beauty rife,
And rife with good.
Slowly wound the long procession
Through the temple-bordered street,
With its tall Corinthian columns
Which extended at my feet;
And a look the sun-burnt maidens
Often upwards to me cast,
As they passed,
With their load of fruits and flowers;
And the stalwart youths who followed,
In an endless cavalcade,
On whose pediment I stood,
Moved a life
With beauty rife,
And rife with good.
Slowly wound the long procession
Through the temple-bordered street,
With its tall Corinthian columns
Which extended at my feet;
And a look the sun-burnt maidens
Often upwards to me cast,
As they passed,
With their load of fruits and flowers;
And the stalwart youths who followed,
In an endless cavalcade,
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On their small and prancing horses,
All in colours bright arrayed;
And the many-voiced echoes
Of the games fell on my ear,
And the shouting of the crowd,
In its exultation loud,
To this day I seem to hear.
For the marble Gods looked on,
While the Olympic race was won;
While the noblest youths contended,
Strong of heart and lithe of limb;
And the loud triumphal hymn,
Hailed the victor, as he wended,
In his strength and beauty splendid,
With the palm to place his name
On the sacred roll of Fame,
Which all time should fail to dim.
All in colours bright arrayed;
And the many-voiced echoes
Of the games fell on my ear,
And the shouting of the crowd,
In its exultation loud,
To this day I seem to hear.
For the marble Gods looked on,
While the Olympic race was won;
While the noblest youths contended,
Strong of heart and lithe of limb;
And the loud triumphal hymn,
Hailed the victor, as he wended,
In his strength and beauty splendid,
With the palm to place his name
On the sacred roll of Fame,
Which all time should fail to dim.
But that life within my sight,
Grew less strong and grew less bright,
And the art which at my birth
Reached its zenith upon earth,
Slowly, slowly, slowly waned;
Shining with a fading splendour,
Growing softer and more tender,
Till at length,
Nought of greatness or of strength
There remained.
Grew less strong and grew less bright,
And the art which at my birth
Reached its zenith upon earth,
Slowly, slowly, slowly waned;
Shining with a fading splendour,
Growing softer and more tender,
Till at length,
Nought of greatness or of strength
There remained.
For it is decreed in Heaven,
That on Earth,
Seed of Death to all be given
At its birth.
All that groweth, all that greeneth,
Must decay.
Every star must at its zenith
Wane away.
Every fountain's rising column
Forms a curve;
All things this commandment solemn
Must observe.
Nought may at its zenith linger,
But must move;
Fate with its resistless Finger
Gives the shove.
Every art and every greatness
Spends its force,
And in earliness or lateness
Takes this course.
That on Earth,
Seed of Death to all be given
At its birth.
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Must decay.
Every star must at its zenith
Wane away.
Every fountain's rising column
Forms a curve;
All things this commandment solemn
Must observe.
Nought may at its zenith linger,
But must move;
Fate with its resistless Finger
Gives the shove.
Every art and every greatness
Spends its force,
And in earliness or lateness
Takes this course.
Not alone the chisel then
Was blunted in the hands of men,
As the sense of art decayed;
But the keen and shining blade,
Wrought by Freedom for the Greek,
Grew too quickly blunt and dim;
And the spirit and the limb
Both were weak.
Was blunted in the hands of men,
As the sense of art decayed;
But the keen and shining blade,
Wrought by Freedom for the Greek,
Grew too quickly blunt and dim;
And the spirit and the limb
Both were weak.
Then the fair Hellenic islands
First the heavy thraldom knew
Of the iron-sided masters
Of a world that ever grew;
And the accents unfamiliar
Of the terser Roman tongue
Sounded on the shores, where Pindar,
The immortal, once had sung.
First the heavy thraldom knew
Of the iron-sided masters
Of a world that ever grew;
And the accents unfamiliar
Of the terser Roman tongue
Sounded on the shores, where Pindar,
The immortal, once had sung.
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On the noblest works of beauty,
In the unresisting land,
On the statues that were fairest,
Fell the robbing Roman hand.
And the hard rapacious Prætors
Of the ever greedy Rome,
Dragged a marble people captive
From its beauteous island home.
In the unresisting land,
On the statues that were fairest,
Fell the robbing Roman hand.
And the hard rapacious Prætors
Of the ever greedy Rome,
Dragged a marble people captive
From its beauteous island home.
Thus I left the olive hills,
And the myrtle and the bay,
And the clear and rapid rills,
Whose unceasing murmur fills
Every valley on the way,
From the centre to the strand,
Of the little Attic land
Of my birth.
And the myrtle and the bay,
And the clear and rapid rills,
Whose unceasing murmur fills
Every valley on the way,
From the centre to the strand,
Of the little Attic land
Of my birth.
And the temple-crownéd headlands,
Stretching in a silvery sea,
Warm and calm;
And the rock-begirded islands,
Whence in noon's long dreamy hours,
Comes the scent of many flowers,
Hidden in the woods of palm.
Stretching in a silvery sea,
Warm and calm;
And the rock-begirded islands,
Whence in noon's long dreamy hours,
Comes the scent of many flowers,
Hidden in the woods of palm.
Through the crowded Roman streets
I was dragged;
And the soldier people bragged
Of their distant martial feats,
And the trophies they had got;
But they felt my beauty not.
I was dragged;
And the soldier people bragged
Of their distant martial feats,
And the trophies they had got;
But they felt my beauty not.
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And I passed from hand to hand,
As the tardy years went by,
In the houses of the great;
And my masters made me stand,
And look down upon their state
From my pedestal on high;
Till at last, placed and displaced,
Nero's golden house I graced;
Where I saw, amid the din
Of the orgie, all the sin
Of the worlds that slowly rot;
But my soul was sullied not.
As the tardy years went by,
In the houses of the great;
And my masters made me stand,
And look down upon their state
From my pedestal on high;
Till at last, placed and displaced,
Nero's golden house I graced;
Where I saw, amid the din
Of the orgie, all the sin
Of the worlds that slowly rot;
But my soul was sullied not.
Then I left the home of Cæsar
For the round gigantic Mole,
Tomb of Hadrian eternal,
And watched the yellow Tiber roll,
E'en as rolled the flood of Ages,
Towards a distant sea unknown;
Bearing creeds and arts and nations,
Leaving me behind alone.
From the shore of Time I watched them
Pass unconscious on their way,
While my brow remained unfurrowed,
Fair as on my native day.
For the beauty of the statue,
And the beauty of the bust,
Shall endure in youth untarnished,
Till they crumble into dust.
For the round gigantic Mole,
Tomb of Hadrian eternal,
And watched the yellow Tiber roll,
E'en as rolled the flood of Ages,
Towards a distant sea unknown;
Bearing creeds and arts and nations,
Leaving me behind alone.
From the shore of Time I watched them
Pass unconscious on their way,
While my brow remained unfurrowed,
Fair as on my native day.
For the beauty of the statue,
And the beauty of the bust,
Shall endure in youth untarnished,
Till they crumble into dust.
There I stood until the day
When the giant Mole, transformed
To a fortress stern and grey,
By the northern hosts was stormed.
Underneath, and far and wide,
Surged the fierce barbarian tide,
With a loud and angry roar,
Wave on wave against us bore,
And upward dashed,
While the ram resistless crashed,
And a thousand arrows rained
On to statues, on to men,
And the stainless marble then
Deep was stained.
In their ugly pools of red
Lay the dying and the dead,
At my feet.
From their high, time-honoured seat,
Statues, wonders of the world,
Headlong from the walls were hurled,
Through the missile-blackened air,
In the madness of despair.
And the flames of war rose high,
And a lurid radiance now,
Like a deeper sunset's glow,
Filled the sky.
When the giant Mole, transformed
To a fortress stern and grey,
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Underneath, and far and wide,
Surged the fierce barbarian tide,
With a loud and angry roar,
Wave on wave against us bore,
And upward dashed,
While the ram resistless crashed,
And a thousand arrows rained
On to statues, on to men,
And the stainless marble then
Deep was stained.
In their ugly pools of red
Lay the dying and the dead,
At my feet.
From their high, time-honoured seat,
Statues, wonders of the world,
Headlong from the walls were hurled,
Through the missile-blackened air,
In the madness of despair.
And the flames of war rose high,
And a lurid radiance now,
Like a deeper sunset's glow,
Filled the sky.
So the statue which, the earliest,
Bore my form in human sight,
Which had lived a thousand summers,
Perished in a single night.
Bore my form in human sight,
Which had lived a thousand summers,
Perished in a single night.
But I, its essence, did not perish;
'Twas the stone alone that died;
For, though men may seem to conquer,
'Tis the Gods alone decide.
'Twas the stone alone that died;
For, though men may seem to conquer,
'Tis the Gods alone decide.
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And a copy of my beauty
Stood beneath a golden dome,
In a long-deserted villa,
Of the dying, dying Rome.
Stood beneath a golden dome,
In a long-deserted villa,
Of the dying, dying Rome.
Old was the building, by patches the plaster
Fell with the frescoes each year from the walls;
Age and desertion worked faster and faster,
Now in the silent, still beautiful halls.
Only we statues, 'mid rank vegetation,
Peopled the portico, garden, and court;
Man seldom troubled the dull desolation,
Never he gave us a look or a thought.
Down from the ceilings, on floors of mosaic,
Crumbled the cornices, hiding them fast;
Till on what lingered of beauty Archaic,
Inward the roofs fell like thunder at last.
All was now shapeless; the statues, once splendid,
Lay in the heap, from their pedestals hurled;
Gently the mould, the encroacher, all ended:
That which was beauty had passed from the world.
Fell with the frescoes each year from the walls;
Age and desertion worked faster and faster,
Now in the silent, still beautiful halls.
Only we statues, 'mid rank vegetation,
Peopled the portico, garden, and court;
Man seldom troubled the dull desolation,
Never he gave us a look or a thought.
Down from the ceilings, on floors of mosaic,
Crumbled the cornices, hiding them fast;
Till on what lingered of beauty Archaic,
Inward the roofs fell like thunder at last.
All was now shapeless; the statues, once splendid,
Lay in the heap, from their pedestals hurled;
Gently the mould, the encroacher, all ended:
That which was beauty had passed from the world.
For a thousand years I lay,
Deep imbedded in the clay;
And the ground above the sleeper
Grew unnoticed ever deeper,
Day by day.
Deep imbedded in the clay;
And the ground above the sleeper
Grew unnoticed ever deeper,
Day by day.
Men and women
Overhead
Lived their little life
Of an hour,
Like the flower
And the herb.
Beauties courted and superb
Felt decay
And passed away,
Like a breath;
Knowing nothing of the beauty,
Ever radiant,
Underneath.
Overhead
Lived their little life
Of an hour,
Like the flower
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Beauties courted and superb
Felt decay
And passed away,
Like a breath;
Knowing nothing of the beauty,
Ever radiant,
Underneath.
And the change was great and solemn
Which had come upon the earth;
And the world's fair face had wrinkled,
Since the days which gave me birth.
Still the Sun's unwearied chariot
Crossed the ether as before;
But the young and radiant Phœbus
Held its golden reins no more.
Still the forest depths were shady,
Still were green the woodland lawns;
But they now no more were peopled
By the shy and happy fauns.
Still the streams and still the fountains
Murmured as they passed along;
But the Naiads now no longer
Turned their murmur into song.
In the fields there were no pipings,
For an unknown voice had said,
On the silent shores of Hellas,
Long ago, that Pan was dead.
In men's hearts there was no gladness;
Hushed was every sound of mirth.
But a litany incessant
Rose to Heaven from the Earth.
Which had come upon the earth;
And the world's fair face had wrinkled,
Since the days which gave me birth.
Still the Sun's unwearied chariot
Crossed the ether as before;
But the young and radiant Phœbus
Held its golden reins no more.
Still the forest depths were shady,
Still were green the woodland lawns;
But they now no more were peopled
By the shy and happy fauns.
Still the streams and still the fountains
Murmured as they passed along;
But the Naiads now no longer
Turned their murmur into song.
In the fields there were no pipings,
For an unknown voice had said,
On the silent shores of Hellas,
Long ago, that Pan was dead.
In men's hearts there was no gladness;
Hushed was every sound of mirth.
But a litany incessant
Rose to Heaven from the Earth.
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From the steeples, in the twilight,
Sounded now the evening bell;
And the world, no longer youthful,
Learned the meaning of a knell.
In the cloister's gloom, unloving,
Paced the morbid monk or nun,
Who a mortal sin esteemed it,
To feel young or love the Sun.
On the dark cathedral buttress,
Imps of stone with face of ape,
Carved by an ignoble chisel,
Mocked the godlike human shape,
While I, the human shape's perfection,
In the earth lay hidden deep,
Till a nobler generation
Should awake me from my sleep.
Sounded now the evening bell;
And the world, no longer youthful,
Learned the meaning of a knell.
In the cloister's gloom, unloving,
Paced the morbid monk or nun,
Who a mortal sin esteemed it,
To feel young or love the Sun.
On the dark cathedral buttress,
Imps of stone with face of ape,
Carved by an ignoble chisel,
Mocked the godlike human shape,
While I, the human shape's perfection,
In the earth lay hidden deep,
Till a nobler generation
Should awake me from my sleep.
But the day arrived at last
When the secret of the past
Was disclosed;
And when men the Venus found
Who for ages in the ground
Had reposed.
And again, as at my birth,
To all corners of the earth,
Hurried Fame;
But it was decreed by Fate,
That she should not tell the great
Sculptor's name;
And though I the secret ken,
I reveal it not to men,
Nor may speak:
This alone I can impart,
That he reached the height of art,
And was Greek.
And a thousand reproductions
Of my beauty were sent forth,
And were scattered 'mong the nations,
East and West, and South and North.
While I stand in marble costly
In the palaces at Rome,
I am seen in humble plaster,
In the poorest artist's home.
I am not the bronze, the marble,
Nor the ivory and gold,
But the form impressed upon them,
By a mighty hand of old;
Little matters what the substance;
And my beauty of the Past,
Liveth unimpaired and splendid,
Even in a Plaster Cast.
When the secret of the past
Was disclosed;
And when men the Venus found
Who for ages in the ground
Had reposed.
And again, as at my birth,
To all corners of the earth,
Hurried Fame;
But it was decreed by Fate,
That she should not tell the great
Sculptor's name;
And though I the secret ken,
I reveal it not to men,
Nor may speak:
This alone I can impart,
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And was Greek.
And a thousand reproductions
Of my beauty were sent forth,
And were scattered 'mong the nations,
East and West, and South and North.
While I stand in marble costly
In the palaces at Rome,
I am seen in humble plaster,
In the poorest artist's home.
I am not the bronze, the marble,
Nor the ivory and gold,
But the form impressed upon them,
By a mighty hand of old;
Little matters what the substance;
And my beauty of the Past,
Liveth unimpaired and splendid,
Even in a Plaster Cast.
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THE EVER-YOUNG.
Beauty's forms are ever young,
Sculptured, painted, writ, or sung;
For the ages o'er them pass,
Light as breezes o'er the grass.
While grows old the human clay,
Never can they feel decay;
But the while the world grows older
Grow no duller, grow no colder,
And from their eternal truth,
Live in a perpetual youth.
Sculptured, painted, writ, or sung;
For the ages o'er them pass,
Light as breezes o'er the grass.
While grows old the human clay,
Never can they feel decay;
But the while the world grows older
Grow no duller, grow no colder,
And from their eternal truth,
Live in a perpetual youth.
Say, has Time impressed a furrow
On the marble Venus' brow?
Was she younger on the morrow
Of her birth than she is now?
Yet above that marble head
Twenty centuries have fled!
Mars a single thread of silver
Saint Ceeilia's chestnut hair?
Is she older, is she colder
Than when Rafael was there?
On the marble Venus' brow?
Was she younger on the morrow
Of her birth than she is now?
Yet above that marble head
Twenty centuries have fled!
Mars a single thread of silver
Saint Ceeilia's chestnut hair?
Is she older, is she colder
Than when Rafael was there?
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Yet how many beauties, say,
Have since then grown old and grey!
Is our Shakespeare's Juliet older
Than the day she saw the light?
Would not Romeo still enfold her
In his arms, as on that night?
When a thousand years are cast
On the heap we call the Past,
Will the music of Mozart
Be less youthful for the heart?
Have since then grown old and grey!
Is our Shakespeare's Juliet older
Than the day she saw the light?
Would not Romeo still enfold her
In his arms, as on that night?
When a thousand years are cast
On the heap we call the Past,
Will the music of Mozart
Be less youthful for the heart?
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A PALIMPSEST.
I am an eternal verse,
Framed in language strong and terse;
Ye repeat and re-repeat me,
In your dull pedantic schools,
Till I lose all sense and beauty,
In the mouths of learnéd fools;
And they know not whence they got me,
Nor the reason of my fame;
And they ask not how, unaltered,
Through the centuries I came;
My perfection is undying,
As the love of Man for Art;
If by chance a Poet meets me,
Straight I reach unto his heart.
Framed in language strong and terse;
Ye repeat and re-repeat me,
In your dull pedantic schools,
Till I lose all sense and beauty,
In the mouths of learnéd fools;
And they know not whence they got me,
Nor the reason of my fame;
And they ask not how, unaltered,
Through the centuries I came;
My perfection is undying,
As the love of Man for Art;
If by chance a Poet meets me,
Straight I reach unto his heart.
For a thousand years I lay
In a monastery grey,
Hidden under other ink,
By the men who loved to pray,
And who knew not how to think.
But a day arrived at last,
When my beauty of the past,
Young as ever and as bright,
Saw again the heavens' light;
For a cunning hand effaced
Every word above me traced
On the parchment old and shrunk,
By the Monk.
In a monastery grey,
Hidden under other ink,
By the men who loved to pray,
And who knew not how to think.
But a day arrived at last,
When my beauty of the past,
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Saw again the heavens' light;
For a cunning hand effaced
Every word above me traced
On the parchment old and shrunk,
By the Monk.
Faint the writing I was clothed in,
As I thus appeared again;
But it yet was all-sufficient
Immortality to gain.
Beauty, hid 'neath dusty layers,
Oft no sign for ages gives;
But it lives;
And the moment you release it,
Will once more enchant and conquer;
For, like Truth,
Beauty lives in endless youth.
As I thus appeared again;
But it yet was all-sufficient
Immortality to gain.
Beauty, hid 'neath dusty layers,
Oft no sign for ages gives;
But it lives;
And the moment you release it,
Will once more enchant and conquer;
For, like Truth,
Beauty lives in endless youth.
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VENUS UNBURIED.
Deep in the bosom of the patient earth,
A statue slept;
And Time, the silent witness of her birth,
The secret kept.
A statue slept;
And Time, the silent witness of her birth,
The secret kept.
A female form, of Parian marble pure,
A face of love,
Of radiant beauty, such as would allure
The Gods above.
A face of love,
Of radiant beauty, such as would allure
The Gods above.
She once had stood within a lofty fane,
In the world's youth;
A temple raised to her who holds profane
All forms uncouth.
In the world's youth;
A temple raised to her who holds profane
All forms uncouth.
A stately city round the fane displayed
Its proud array;
The city grew and flourished, then decayed,
And passed away.
Its proud array;
The city grew and flourished, then decayed,
And passed away.
The ploughshare passed o'er the once busy hold
Of lord and slave,
And on the spot the ripened corn then rolled
Its golden wave.
Of lord and slave,
And on the spot the ripened corn then rolled
Its golden wave.
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A battle big with the world's fate was fought
Above her head;
And many bodies by her side were brought;
She touched the dead.
Above her head;
And many bodies by her side were brought;
She touched the dead.
The name of victor and of vanquished passed,
And left no trace;
Their very nations' names were wiped at last
From the earth's face.
And left no trace;
Their very nations' names were wiped at last
From the earth's face.
New creeds, new tongues, new states, new arts arose;
'Twas but to fall,
And still the statue, in her deep repose,
Outlived them all.
'Twas but to fall,
And still the statue, in her deep repose,
Outlived them all.
A forest grew where once the rustling breeze
The corn had stirred;
And o'er the sleeper browsed beneath the trees
An antlered herd.
The corn had stirred;
And o'er the sleeper browsed beneath the trees
An antlered herd.
In endless line acorn from oak, and oak
From acorn sprung;
But still no sound the sleeping goddess woke,
For ever young.
From acorn sprung;
But still no sound the sleeping goddess woke,
For ever young.
At last the forest dwindled down to earth,
And passed away;
All save a single oak of mighty girth,
All gnarled and grey.
And passed away;
All save a single oak of mighty girth,
All gnarled and grey.
The children wild, who, round the giant played
With merry dance,
Turned into lovers meeting in its shade,
With furtive glance.
With merry dance,
Turned into lovers meeting in its shade,
With furtive glance.
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Then into old folk, white with years and care,
All bent and shrunk;
Who sat and watched their children's children there,
Play round its trunk.
All bent and shrunk;
Who sat and watched their children's children there,
Play round its trunk.
The world was old, and had no memory now
Of its own youth;
And still the statue slept with radiant brow,
As pure as Truth.
Of its own youth;
And still the statue slept with radiant brow,
As pure as Truth.
One day men came with rope and axe, to fell
The giant oak;
It died, as giants die, resisting well
Stroke upon stroke.
The giant oak;
It died, as giants die, resisting well
Stroke upon stroke.
And as it reeled and fell with thundering sound,
The earth was cleft;
And where the roots had fastened in the ground,
A chasm left.
The earth was cleft;
And where the roots had fastened in the ground,
A chasm left.
One of the men peeped o'er the brink, but fled
In wild alarm,
And swore a form had beckoned from the dead,
With ghostly arm.
In wild alarm,
And swore a form had beckoned from the dead,
With ghostly arm.
The others laughed, and then the chasm scanned,
And there beheld
A lovely form, that with its marble hand
The rootlets held.
And there beheld
A lovely form, that with its marble hand
The rootlets held.
And so the statue saw the light again
Of heaven above;
And smiled on man, as in the distant Past,
The smile of love.
Of heaven above;
And smiled on man, as in the distant Past,
The smile of love.
106
So smiled soft Cypris, daughter of the Wave,
When, at her birth,
She wrung her hair, and by her presence gave
New life to earth.
When, at her birth,
She wrung her hair, and by her presence gave
New life to earth.
All men from North and South, and West and East,
The statue saw:
Prince, artist, poet, philosopher and priest,
And man of law.
The statue saw:
Prince, artist, poet, philosopher and priest,
And man of law.
And each man owned, as on that form he gazed,
The force of love;
And felt his soul by heavenly power raised
To spheres above.
The force of love;
And felt his soul by heavenly power raised
To spheres above.
They placed her in a stately hall, away
From sounds uncouth;
To tell her story of a distant day,
In the world's youth.
From sounds uncouth;
To tell her story of a distant day,
In the world's youth.
When Gods as men in every myrtle grove
Of Hellas trod;
And man, though proud of being man, yet strove
To be a God.
Of Hellas trod;
And man, though proud of being man, yet strove
To be a God.
When man, though fair, imagined fairer still
The human form;
And gave to marble life's celestial thrill,
And impulse warm;
The human form;
And gave to marble life's celestial thrill,
And impulse warm;
When life and art were one harmonious whole
To every Greek;
And man in all things found a hidden soul,
And made it speak.
To every Greek;
And man in all things found a hidden soul,
And made it speak.
107
THE SECRET OF THE BUSENTO.
Deep beneath the flowing river
Sleeps the great Barbarian King,
While his requiem for ever
Overhead the waters sing.
Sleeps the great Barbarian King,
While his requiem for ever
Overhead the waters sing.
There from man by nature guarded,
Was he laid in days of old,
In a triple bier enshrouded,
Wrought of silver, bronze, and gold.
Was he laid in days of old,
In a triple bier enshrouded,
Wrought of silver, bronze, and gold.
Say, Busento, thou its keeper,
Where lies Alaric the Goth?
Thou hast sworn to hide the sleeper?
Time absolves thee of thy oath.
Where lies Alaric the Goth?
Thou hast sworn to hide the sleeper?
Time absolves thee of thy oath.
In the dead of night they brought him
To the startled river-bank;
While the world still living thought him,
They the coffined monarch sank.
To the startled river-bank;
While the world still living thought him,
They the coffined monarch sank.
By the torches' light they laid him
Deep within its rocky bed,
And a last farewell they bade him,
Him the greatest of their dead.
Deep within its rocky bed,
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Him the greatest of their dead.
Ere the pearly light of morning
On the little party broke,
The Arian Chiefs a word of warning
To the listening River spoke:
On the little party broke,
The Arian Chiefs a word of warning
To the listening River spoke:
“Our nation's richest treasure
To thy bosom we confide;
Let thy depths no stranger measure,
But the King for ever hide.
To thy bosom we confide;
Let thy depths no stranger measure,
But the King for ever hide.
“As thy water onward dashes,
Let it keep his tomb from shame;
In thy charge we leave his ashes,
In the world's his endless fame.”
Let it keep his tomb from shame;
In thy charge we leave his ashes,
In the world's his endless fame.”
Thus in manner strange and hurried,
Under night's protecting wing,
Those stern Gothic warriors buried
Alaric their mighty King.
Under night's protecting wing,
Those stern Gothic warriors buried
Alaric their mighty King.
As the stream's retarded current
Rolled o'er his eternal home,
So the great barbaric torrent
Rolled on o'er the grave of Rome.
Rolled o'er his eternal home,
So the great barbaric torrent
Rolled on o'er the grave of Rome.
Goth and Vandal, Sueve and Lombard,
Hun and Alan, wave on wave,
None of all their kings unnumbered
Had as grand or safe a grave.
Hun and Alan, wave on wave,
None of all their kings unnumbered
Had as grand or safe a grave.
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Guardian of a lonely glory,
Well hast thou the secret kept,
Fourteen centuries of story,
Undisturbed the Goth has slept.
Well hast thou the secret kept,
Fourteen centuries of story,
Undisturbed the Goth has slept.
Noble river, none could firmer
Keep his plighted word than thou;
Alone the poet in thy murmur
Hears the name of Alaric now.
Keep his plighted word than thou;
Alone the poet in thy murmur
Hears the name of Alaric now.
110
THE VAULT OF THE ESCURIAL.
Within a dark sepulchral vault,
In death Spain's monarchs lay,
Around a lofty crucifix
In grand and dread array.
In death Spain's monarchs lay,
Around a lofty crucifix
In grand and dread array.
For twice ten years no step had waked
The hollow echoes there;
Upon its hinge no door had turned
To let in other air.
The hollow echoes there;
Upon its hinge no door had turned
To let in other air.
But lo! down yonder steps descends
A King with stifled breath:
That rapid flight of steps that kings
Descend not save in death.
A King with stifled breath:
That rapid flight of steps that kings
Descend not save in death.
The moving torches flickering high
His haggard face expose:
He comes to view the vault where soon
He shall himself repose.
His haggard face expose:
He comes to view the vault where soon
He shall himself repose.
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Amid the tranquil dwellers there
He seeks for one beloved;
The wife whom death had, youthful still,
In beauty's pride removed.
He seeks for one beloved;
The wife whom death had, youthful still,
In beauty's pride removed.
Unchanged by death's all-changing hand,
In seeming sleep she lies;
While, oh! how changed the face of him
That stares with straining eyes!
In seeming sleep she lies;
While, oh! how changed the face of him
That stares with straining eyes!
A single moment thus he gazed
Upon her upturned face,
Then, raving and blaspheming, fled
In madness from the place.
Upon her upturned face,
Then, raving and blaspheming, fled
In madness from the place.
112
PIETRO MICCA.
AUGUST 30, 1706.
“There is no time to lay the train!
The French are pouring in!
Away, away! 'tis all in vain,
And nought can save Turin!”
The French are pouring in!
Away, away! 'tis all in vain,
And nought can save Turin!”
Like bloodhounds suddenly at fault,
The sappers stood in doubt:
They heard from that dark bastion-vault
The foe's exulting shout;
The sappers stood in doubt:
They heard from that dark bastion-vault
The foe's exulting shout;
They heard, upon the upper floor,
A sound of many feet;
The French were thundering at the door,
To cut off their retreat.
A sound of many feet;
The French were thundering at the door,
To cut off their retreat.
'Twas then the sapper Micca said
Unto the other two:—
“Ye see the train could ne'er be laid;
Without a train we'll do.
Unto the other two:—
“Ye see the train could ne'er be laid;
Without a train we'll do.
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“The naked match will do as well,
And I will be the man;
The French are on us! quick! farewell!
Escape while still ye can.”
And I will be the man;
The French are on us! quick! farewell!
Escape while still ye can.”
His fellow-soldiers wondering heard
His speech with bated breath.
Small time there was to speak a word;
They left him to his death.
His speech with bated breath.
Small time there was to speak a word;
They left him to his death.
Yet, one upon his steps returned,
To shake his purpose wild;
And bade him, ere the match he burned,
Give thought to wife and child.
To shake his purpose wild;
And bade him, ere the match he burned,
Give thought to wife and child.
But Micca dragged him from the spot,
And cried, “'Twill be too late!
Run, while the minutes thou hast got,
Or thou shalt share my fate!”
And cried, “'Twill be too late!
Run, while the minutes thou hast got,
Or thou shalt share my fate!”
The man obeyed; and one by one
The fatal minutes fled,
And Micca, with his match alone,
Could hear the French o'erhead.
The fatal minutes fled,
And Micca, with his match alone,
Could hear the French o'erhead.
He heard them working at the wall;
Two companies were there.
Himself, the bastion, and them all,
He hurled into the air!
Two companies were there.
Himself, the bastion, and them all,
He hurled into the air!
All, all into the sky were hurled,
And as a fiery rain,
Upon the rent and quivering world,
Descended back again.
And as a fiery rain,
Upon the rent and quivering world,
Descended back again.
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And then a silence filled the air,
A silence strange and long;
Afraid the birds that morning were,
To sing their morning song.
A silence strange and long;
Afraid the birds that morning were,
To sing their morning song.
Above the town there hung, up high,
A single cloud of smoke,
Which slowly sailed across the sky,
As soft Aurora woke.
A single cloud of smoke,
Which slowly sailed across the sky,
As soft Aurora woke.
It passed away. All looked the same
The sun in splendour rose.
No vestige of that deed of flame,
Its author or his foes!
The sun in splendour rose.
No vestige of that deed of flame,
Its author or his foes!
But time was gained by Micca's deed;
The French were beaten down;
And Prince Eugene arrived and freed
The long-beleaguered town.
The French were beaten down;
And Prince Eugene arrived and freed
The long-beleaguered town.
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