Crockford-House, A Rhapsody In Two Cantos. A Rhymer in Rome [by Henry Luttrell] |
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A RHYMER IN ROME.
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A RHYMER IN ROME.
1826.
She has her praise.—Now mark a spot or two
Which so much beauty would do well to cleanse.
Cowper.
Which so much beauty would do well to cleanse.
Cowper.
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Romans, vouchsafe to tell us why
(Since how should Vandals such as we know)
You hang your linen out to dry
Along the Via Babbuino?
(Since how should Vandals such as we know)
You hang your linen out to dry
Along the Via Babbuino?
This “decent drapery” on the wall
You mean, perhaps, to make the most of,
And thus, at once, exhibit all
The cleanliness you have to boast of.
You mean, perhaps, to make the most of,
And thus, at once, exhibit all
The cleanliness you have to boast of.
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But, Romans, on a main approach
To all the marvels of your City,
Why let such nuisances encroach,
To “sear our eye-balls?”—'Tis n't pretty.
To all the marvels of your City,
Why let such nuisances encroach,
To “sear our eye-balls?”—'Tis n't pretty.
Say, do your walls no wastes enclose,
No open unfrequented spaces,
That dangling petticoats and hose
Must swing through all your public places?
No open unfrequented spaces,
That dangling petticoats and hose
Must swing through all your public places?
Past are your pomps—The laurelled brow,
The captive-train, the war-stained banners.
Only your laundries triumph now.
Is this your taste? Are these your manners?
The captive-train, the war-stained banners.
Only your laundries triumph now.
Is this your taste? Are these your manners?
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Howe'er such spectacles may strike you,
We strangers think them sad transgressions.
Romans, we willingly would like you;
But much depends on first impressions.
We strangers think them sad transgressions.
Romans, we willingly would like you;
But much depends on first impressions.
We reach the gates of Rome. Delight,
And Wonder on our fancy seizes.
We enter. What a sorry sight!
Wet night-caps, stockings, and chemises!
And Wonder on our fancy seizes.
We enter. What a sorry sight!
Wet night-caps, stockings, and chemises!
Perhaps, were this the sole assault
Upon our feelings, few would mind it.
We might forgive a single fault,
But worse, much worse, remains behind it.
Upon our feelings, few would mind it.
We might forgive a single fault,
But worse, much worse, remains behind it.
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Look through your Town. On every side
Magnificence is marred by meanness,
Pollution matched with pomp and pride,
And splendour wedded to uncleanness.
Magnificence is marred by meanness,
Pollution matched with pomp and pride,
And splendour wedded to uncleanness.
Where'er the curious stranger walks,
Base relics without end or number,
Fish-bones, dead dogs, and cabbage-stalks,
At every step, his path encumber.
Base relics without end or number,
Fish-bones, dead dogs, and cabbage-stalks,
At every step, his path encumber.
Wherefore, our senses to appal
Stands an inscription such as that, say,
Which Rome displays on many a wall,
“Immondezzaio in Piazza?”
Stands an inscription such as that, say,
Which Rome displays on many a wall,
“Immondezzaio in Piazza?”
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That there the rubbish may be thrown?
Why, Romans, 'tis not worth the pother.
Among your streèts, I've scarcely known
One place much cleaner than another.
Why, Romans, 'tis not worth the pother.
Among your streèts, I've scarcely known
One place much cleaner than another.
In vain you boast of all that's rare;
Domes, columns, and those glorious fountains
Whose Naiads come, to cool your air,
O'er long-drawn arches, from the mountains.
Domes, columns, and those glorious fountains
Whose Naiads come, to cool your air,
O'er long-drawn arches, from the mountains.
In vain pure water o'er the brink
Of many a marble conch is dashing;
You find it excellent to drink,
But never dream 'twill serve for washing.
Of many a marble conch is dashing;
You find it excellent to drink,
But never dream 'twill serve for washing.
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Come, let it overflow. You smile,
And scorn the element's assistance;
So that, methinks, 'twas scarce worth while
To have it brought from such a distance.
And scorn the element's assistance;
So that, methinks, 'twas scarce worth while
To have it brought from such a distance.
Why has not every house a rill
To purify its entrance fusty?
Or wherefore must the Pincian Hill,
Crowned with two gushing founts, be dusty?
To purify its entrance fusty?
Or wherefore must the Pincian Hill,
Crowned with two gushing founts, be dusty?
Should we the Vatican disdain,
Or cease to haunt thy dome, St. Peter,
Could we approach those marvels twain
Through avenues a little sweeter?
Or cease to haunt thy dome, St. Peter,
Could we approach those marvels twain
Through avenues a little sweeter?
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Fie, Romans, fie! His favourite ground
Once more could old Agrippa be on,
'Mid yonder offals heaped around,
Say, would he know his own Pantheon?
Once more could old Agrippa be on,
'Mid yonder offals heaped around,
Say, would he know his own Pantheon?
What churches, palaces, are yours!
Yet hope not to escape my strictures,
While darkness veils, and dirt obscures
Their altars, frescos, statues, pictures.
Yet hope not to escape my strictures,
While darkness veils, and dirt obscures
Their altars, frescos, statues, pictures.
While to the damp unfreshened walls
They cling, as they have clung for ages,
Mere traps for catching strangers' Pauls,
In aid of half-paid servants' wages.
They cling, as they have clung for ages,
Mere traps for catching strangers' Pauls,
In aid of half-paid servants' wages.
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Like Haram-Beauties kept for pride,
Whose masters cold and uncaressing
Guard them, to shew the difference wide
Between enjoying and possessing.
Whose masters cold and uncaressing
Guard them, to shew the difference wide
Between enjoying and possessing.
Hark, in your private ear a word,
We'll whisper it, to spare your blushes.
Pray, Romans, have you never heard
Of mops and pails, of brooms and brushes?
We'll whisper it, to spare your blushes.
Pray, Romans, have you never heard
Of mops and pails, of brooms and brushes?
We've found them, ages since, at home,
The scourge and dread of every slattern;
And, for your courtesies at Rome,
Perhaps could let you have a pattern.
The scourge and dread of every slattern;
And, for your courtesies at Rome,
Perhaps could let you have a pattern.
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A sovereign cure they are for dirt.
Now don't conclude that travelled men lie,
Because, with no design to hurt
Your feelings, we would have you cleanly.
Now don't conclude that travelled men lie,
Because, with no design to hurt
Your feelings, we would have you cleanly.
Your ancestors have done their parts;
They were brave spirits—nay divine ones.
Suppose you try the coarser arts;
You'll never match them in the fine ones.
They were brave spirits—nay divine ones.
Suppose you try the coarser arts;
You'll never match them in the fine ones.
Set up Commissioners of Sewers;
'Twould stop the mouth of many a jiber,
Who asks why Tullus' work endures,
Or why your walls o'erhang the Tyber?
'Twould stop the mouth of many a jiber,
Who asks why Tullus' work endures,
Or why your walls o'erhang the Tyber?
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Repair your buildings.—'Tis a task
Ev'n modern Cardinals might master.
Clothe your bare bricks.—I do but ask
A little white-wash, paint, and plaster.
Ev'n modern Cardinals might master.
Clothe your bare bricks.—I do but ask
A little white-wash, paint, and plaster.
Brush up your shabby tattered streets,
Which seem all decency to brave meant;
Close-haul your spouts; and if such feats
Don't quite exhaust you, mend your pavement.
Which seem all decency to brave meant;
Close-haul your spouts; and if such feats
Don't quite exhaust you, mend your pavement.
Pray, what is your Police about?
Scenting imaginary dangers;
Hunting sham Carbonari out,
Or, for their passports, plaguing strangers.
Scenting imaginary dangers;
Hunting sham Carbonari out,
Or, for their passports, plaguing strangers.
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Police!—The name's a mere excuse
For Tyranny in fretful movement;
A stepping-stone for all abuse,
A stumbling-block to all improvement.
For Tyranny in fretful movement;
A stepping-stone for all abuse,
A stumbling-block to all improvement.
‘Pleasant’ the whole concern, ‘but wrong;’
At home one should not like it,—should one?
For every crooked purpose strong,
And impotent for every good one.
At home one should not like it,—should one?
For every crooked purpose strong,
And impotent for every good one.
'Twere well it would exert at home
Its ultra-apostolic vigour,
And on the sordid streets of Rome
Let loose a little of its rigour.
Its ultra-apostolic vigour,
And on the sordid streets of Rome
Let loose a little of its rigour.
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But 'gainst the stream in vain one strives.
Think of convincing or reclaiming
A childish race, who pass their lives
In Carnavale-ing, and Carême-ing!
Think of convincing or reclaiming
A childish race, who pass their lives
In Carnavale-ing, and Carême-ing!
A race enthralled by holy hums,
'Twixt sins and penance ever moving,
Praying and pelting sugar-plums,
Confessing, masking, fasting, loving.
'Twixt sins and penance ever moving,
Praying and pelting sugar-plums,
Confessing, masking, fasting, loving.
Strung, puppet-like, on priestly wires,
To the same tune for ever dancing,
Sons tread the footsteps of their sires,
Receding never, nor advancing.
To the same tune for ever dancing,
Sons tread the footsteps of their sires,
Receding never, nor advancing.
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Ancient and modern art in vain
Conspire to shed their glories round them;
While Superstition, with her chain
Of adamantine links, has bound them.
Conspire to shed their glories round them;
While Superstition, with her chain
Of adamantine links, has bound them.
Their land lies waste—The very air
(Old Rome could ne'er have thus bequeathed it)
Is grown, alas! the worse for wear,
Since lazy modern Rome has breathed it.
(Old Rome could ne'er have thus bequeathed it)
Is grown, alas! the worse for wear,
Since lazy modern Rome has breathed it.
Circling her towers, for leagues around,
Rank grass and reeds untrodden cover,
And oozing waters taint the ground,
And treacherous vapours o'er it hover.
Rank grass and reeds untrodden cover,
And oozing waters taint the ground,
And treacherous vapours o'er it hover.
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All sad, all silent! O'er the ear
No sound of cheerful toil is swelling.
Earth has no quickening spirit here,
Nature no charm, and Man no dwelling!
No sound of cheerful toil is swelling.
Earth has no quickening spirit here,
Nature no charm, and Man no dwelling!
Haply, a sun-beam, through the gloom,
Some mouldering time-worn tower discloses;
Or marks the melancholy tomb,
Wherein some nameless chief reposes.
Some mouldering time-worn tower discloses;
Or marks the melancholy tomb,
Wherein some nameless chief reposes.
Fierce tribes have raised, as here they trod,
The war-cry, Woe to the defeated!
Here has the Churchman's barbarous code
What war began, in peace completed.
The war-cry, Woe to the defeated!
Here has the Churchman's barbarous code
What war began, in peace completed.
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He spake, and o'er the prostrate land
Came cold and creeping Desolation;
Blind fruitless Faith, at his command,
Was piety, and Sloth salvátion.
Came cold and creeping Desolation;
Blind fruitless Faith, at his command,
Was piety, and Sloth salvátion.
Then cowled monks arose, and saints
Absolving sins at settled prices,
And all that Song or Story paints
Of ghostly legends and devices;
Absolving sins at settled prices,
And all that Song or Story paints
Of ghostly legends and devices;
And convents where, by vows enchained,—
But hold—The Bard will teach us better
What their “relentless walls” contained,
The Bard of Eloisa's letter.
But hold—The Bard will teach us better
What their “relentless walls” contained,
The Bard of Eloisa's letter.
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Then juggling miracles were wrought.
Poor Mortals! in what traps and cages
Your coward-consciences were caught,
And fettered in those darkened ages.
Poor Mortals! in what traps and cages
Your coward-consciences were caught,
And fettered in those darkened ages.
Such is the Capital, and such
The waste that from the World divides it.
Trust me, it shocks the traveller much,
Who overlooks, or over-rides it.
The waste that from the World divides it.
Trust me, it shocks the traveller much,
Who overlooks, or over-rides it.
On through the desert.—Move not slow,
Stranger—'tis fraught with ills to plague you:
Fevers, nay death. At least you go
Out, grand compounder, with an ague.
Stranger—'tis fraught with ills to plague you:
Fevers, nay death. At least you go
Out, grand compounder, with an ague.
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'Twas a fair fertile region once,
With towns and villages upon it;
But here a tyrant, there a dunce,
Have ruled for ages and undone it.
With towns and villages upon it;
But here a tyrant, there a dunce,
Have ruled for ages and undone it.
Yes, 'twas a plain of some renown.
Ask not what cause could thus degrade it;
But, musing on the triple crown,
Behold what Man, not Heaven has made it.
Ask not what cause could thus degrade it;
But, musing on the triple crown,
Behold what Man, not Heaven has made it.
Yet has Rome toiled, and fought, and bled,
Thus to be governed and protected;
To place, as monarchs at her head,
Priest after priest—by priests elected!
Thus to be governed and protected;
To place, as monarchs at her head,
Priest after priest—by priests elected!
136
Pass in review the papal ranks,
Since Popes for sovereigns first were chosen;
What hundreds of decided blanks
To doubtful prizes—scarce a dozen!
Since Popes for sovereigns first were chosen;
What hundreds of decided blanks
To doubtful prizes—scarce a dozen!
If on a hero, now and then,
Or saint, or sage, the conclaves blunder,
Think of the weak and guilty men,
Whose hands have launched the Church's thunder!
Or saint, or sage, the conclaves blunder,
Think of the weak and guilty men,
Whose hands have launched the Church's thunder!
Thunder, 'tis true, the worse for wear;
Long have we Northerns ceased to fear it:
Yet still it manages to scare
The Southern slaves and bigots near it.
Long have we Northerns ceased to fear it:
Yet still it manages to scare
The Southern slaves and bigots near it.
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Feeble, yet absolute command!
Rome long has rued, and long shall rue it;
For whatsoe'er one Pope has planned,
The next is certain to undo it.
Rome long has rued, and long shall rue it;
For whatsoe'er one Pope has planned,
The next is certain to undo it.
Fate served her once.—A conquering Prince
In War's wild train some blessings brought her.
But how has she been busied since?
Unlearning all the French had taught her.
In War's wild train some blessings brought her.
But how has she been busied since?
Unlearning all the French had taught her.
No change to beautify the town,
No project, if it was the foeman's,
Will with her rulers now go down.—
Is not this somewhat silly, Romans?
No project, if it was the foeman's,
Will with her rulers now go down.—
Is not this somewhat silly, Romans?
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He, mole-like, burrowed under ground,
And, as he delved, his zeal grew stronger;
Much did he clear, and much he found:
So therefore you will dig no longer.
And, as he delved, his zeal grew stronger;
Much did he clear, and much he found:
So therefore you will dig no longer.
He would not suffer you to stab,
Whatever grudge you had in petto,
Nor on your friend, or foe, or drab,
Draw forth the ready, keen stiletto.
Whatever grudge you had in petto,
Nor on your friend, or foe, or drab,
Draw forth the ready, keen stiletto.
But times are changed. The ruffian now,
Unchecked, his darling weapon seizes;
And, in each jealous drunken row,
Murders just when and whom he pleases.
Unchecked, his darling weapon seizes;
And, in each jealous drunken row,
Murders just when and whom he pleases.
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Now broken is the Gallic chain,
Too strong for hands like yours to sever;
And, Romans, you may be as vain,
And base, and barbarous as ever.
Too strong for hands like yours to sever;
And, Romans, you may be as vain,
And base, and barbarous as ever.
Take courage. Things are getting worse,
All old abuses are returning;
And priests who lately could but curse
May be again indulged in burning.
All old abuses are returning;
And priests who lately could but curse
May be again indulged in burning.
The French were given to spoil and strife;
So, to replace them, the Banditti
Have warred on property and life,
Within a furlong of your city,
So, to replace them, the Banditti
Have warred on property and life,
Within a furlong of your city,
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Scorning Man's strength, and Woman's tears;—
Fellows who think it not unhandsome
To balance with a captive's ears
The least abatement of his ransom.
Fellows who think it not unhandsome
To balance with a captive's ears
The least abatement of his ransom.
But these are men. The softer sex,
Perchance, for gentleness alone meant,
Their fury calms, their vengeance checks,
And for their crimes makes full atonement.
Perchance, for gentleness alone meant,
Their fury calms, their vengeance checks,
And for their crimes makes full atonement.
Come, then, and though 'twill put, I fear,
Your Pegasus on harder duty
Than such a jaded hack can bear,
Muse, conjure up a Roman Beauty.
Your Pegasus on harder duty
Than such a jaded hack can bear,
Muse, conjure up a Roman Beauty.
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No Corso-nymph, who proudly ranks
With high-born dames,—I won't describe her.
My Beauty haunts Albano's banks,
Or weaves her spells beyond the Tyber;
With high-born dames,—I won't describe her.
My Beauty haunts Albano's banks,
Or weaves her spells beyond the Tyber;
With eye dark flashing, ebon brow,
Free graceful limbs, and rising bosom,
Mien, stature, gait,—just fancy how
A painter or a bard would choose'em.
Free graceful limbs, and rising bosom,
Mien, stature, gait,—just fancy how
A painter or a bard would choose'em.
But oh! what mischief in that face!
That throbbing breast what passions ravage!
How those wild glances mark a race
And form half civilised, half savage!
That throbbing breast what passions ravage!
How those wild glances mark a race
And form half civilised, half savage!
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Methinks the Furies with their snakes,
Or Venus with her zone might gird her;
Of fiend and goddess she partakes,
And looks at once both Love and Murder.
Or Venus with her zone might gird her;
Of fiend and goddess she partakes,
And looks at once both Love and Murder.
She scorns to win or steal a heart,
Her pride disdains to snare or wire it,
Swift from her eyes the lightnings part,
And with o'erwhelming passion fire it.
Her pride disdains to snare or wire it,
Swift from her eyes the lightnings part,
And with o'erwhelming passion fire it.
Who shares her love must serve her hate,
And to be happy must be criminal.
Darkling and ambushed he must wait
On the Quirinal or the Viminal.
And to be happy must be criminal.
Darkling and ambushed he must wait
On the Quirinal or the Viminal.
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Her signal guides the' unerring blade;
That deed of death no tongue discloses;
He flies—unheeded, unbetrayed,
And safe within her bower reposes.
That deed of death no tongue discloses;
He flies—unheeded, unbetrayed,
And safe within her bower reposes.
Then, prodigal of all her charms,
Her slave-assassin she embraces,
And rests, unshrinking, in those arms
On which a rival's blood she traces.
Her slave-assassin she embraces,
And rests, unshrinking, in those arms
On which a rival's blood she traces.
Here pause—and think what Man must be,
How dark, relentless, and inhuman,
When pride and vengeful jealousy
Thus maddens,—thus unsexes Woman!
How dark, relentless, and inhuman,
When pride and vengeful jealousy
Thus maddens,—thus unsexes Woman!
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But, Muse, nor of the' assassin's steel,
Nor of the bolder Bandit's plunder,
'Tis thine to sing—whate'er you feel
Of anger, shame, disgust, and wonder.
Nor of the bolder Bandit's plunder,
'Tis thine to sing—whate'er you feel
Of anger, shame, disgust, and wonder.
Let Popes and Cardinals alone,
To hold their jubilees at leisure;
A blest exchange for fires out-blown,
Departed power, and vanished treasure.
To hold their jubilees at leisure;
A blest exchange for fires out-blown,
Departed power, and vanished treasure.
Shadows and forms alone are theirs,
To overawe rebellious doubt with.
But dwell he on such themes who dares.
Back to the strain we first set out with;
To overawe rebellious doubt with.
But dwell he on such themes who dares.
Back to the strain we first set out with;
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And, tiptoe on Frascati's steep,
Or Tivoli's romantic border,
Cry, Muse, and spare not, “Romans, keep
Your tattered town in better order.”
Or Tivoli's romantic border,
Cry, Muse, and spare not, “Romans, keep
Your tattered town in better order.”
Arches that span the Sacred Way,
Columns that still adorn the Forum,
What think you, ancient relics, say,
Of modern feeling, taste, decorum;
Columns that still adorn the Forum,
What think you, ancient relics, say,
Of modern feeling, taste, decorum;
Of Vandals, who, without remorse,
Turn all their cattle loose among you,
Where, at his leisure, every horse
And goat, and pig, and cow, may dung you!
Turn all their cattle loose among you,
Where, at his leisure, every horse
And goat, and pig, and cow, may dung you!
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Thus, must these paths be ever trod?
Will no one from this scandal free 'em,
And leave one unpolluted road
'Twixt Capitol and Coliseum?
Will no one from this scandal free 'em,
And leave one unpolluted road
'Twixt Capitol and Coliseum?
Rome, mighty Rome! exhaustless mine
Of granite, porphyry, and marble,
Rome of the Cæsars, at whose shrine
An humble bard thus dares to warble,
Of granite, porphyry, and marble,
Rome of the Cæsars, at whose shrine
An humble bard thus dares to warble,
Tell your degenerate, graceless sons,
Whose priests of manhood have bereft them,
No more to mar, like Goths or Huns,
The hallowed ruins you have left them.
Whose priests of manhood have bereft them,
No more to mar, like Goths or Huns,
The hallowed ruins you have left them.
147
And since, unhappily, in name
Romans they are, though not in spirit,
Bid them at least respect the fame
And godlike glories they inherit!
Romans they are, though not in spirit,
Bid them at least respect the fame
And godlike glories they inherit!
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