Imaginary Sonnets By Eugene Lee-Hamilton |
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| THE WANDERING JEW TO DISTANT ROME.
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 | Imaginary Sonnets |  |
60
THE WANDERING JEW TO DISTANT ROME.
(1600.)
I.
Once more, O Rome—once more, Eternal One,
I come to thee, from northmost woods of larch,
Across thy plain, whose grasses rot and parch,
And see thee standing in the setting sun;
I come to thee, from northmost woods of larch,
Across thy plain, whose grasses rot and parch,
And see thee standing in the setting sun;
And see, as once, although the ages run,
Thy aqueducts still stretching, arch on arch,
Like files of dusky giants on the march,
'Mid streams which I alone need never shun.
Thy aqueducts still stretching, arch on arch,
Like files of dusky giants on the march,
'Mid streams which I alone need never shun.
I knew thy face, long ere I might behold,
From this same spot, yon heaven-piercing dome,
Which stands out black against the sky of gold.
From this same spot, yon heaven-piercing dome,
Which stands out black against the sky of gold.
As deathless as myself, Eternal Rome,
I see thee changing as the world grows old,
While I, unchanged, still measure plain and foam.
I see thee changing as the world grows old,
While I, unchanged, still measure plain and foam.
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II.
The dust of countless years weighs down my feet,
Worn out with trudging o'er the bones of those
Whom I saw born, while states and cities rose,
Declined, and vanished, even to their seat.
Worn out with trudging o'er the bones of those
Whom I saw born, while states and cities rose,
Declined, and vanished, even to their seat.
The generations ripen like the wheat
Which every Spring for Summer's sickle sows;
While I, sole spared, trudge on without repose
Through empty desert and through crowded street.
Which every Spring for Summer's sickle sows;
While I, sole spared, trudge on without repose
Through empty desert and through crowded street.
The lightning splits the stone upon my path;
The earthquake passes, with its crazing sound;
The whirlwind wraps me in its cloak of wrath;
The earthquake passes, with its crazing sound;
The whirlwind wraps me in its cloak of wrath;
All Nature spares me, while it girds me round
With every stress and terror that it hath;
And on I trudge till ages shall be crowned.
With every stress and terror that it hath;
And on I trudge till ages shall be crowned.
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III.
And on and on, through Scythia's whistling waste,
Alone beneath inexorable stars;
Or, lonelier still, through India's full bazaars,
Pursued by none, yet ever onward chased;
Alone beneath inexorable stars;
Or, lonelier still, through India's full bazaars,
Pursued by none, yet ever onward chased;
Or through the wreck of empires long effaced,
Whose pomp I saw, and their triumphal cars;
Or on the track of Europe's thousand wars
Swept on by routed armies in their haste.
Whose pomp I saw, and their triumphal cars;
Or on the track of Europe's thousand wars
Swept on by routed armies in their haste.
Each path of Earth, my foot, which ne'er may stop,
Treads and retreads, and yet hath but begun
Its lonely journey through the human crop;
Treads and retreads, and yet hath but begun
Its lonely journey through the human crop;
To last till Earth, exhausted, shall have spun
Her meted spin, and, like a wavering top,
Shall lurch her last, and Time shall eat the Sun.
Her meted spin, and, like a wavering top,
Shall lurch her last, and Time shall eat the Sun.
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