University of Virginia Library

Woke is the festal morn, unwonted crowds
Pass and repass—the streets of Rome are fill'd;
All wear a look of joy. The day arrives,
The day of triumph, sacred to behold,
Rich with the apostles' blood—brethren in death
They were, as in their life. On either brow
The martyr's crown of glory now is seen.
Old Tiber knew (his neighbouring waters roll'd
Fast by the spot) where the twin-trophy rose
(One did the cross, and one the sword destroy),
Marking the blood-besprinkled grass. He fell
The first, by impious Nero's tyrant hand,
Named of the rock, he fell. When Peter knew
The tree his Lord had sanctified by death,
“Oh! not for me,” he cried, “oh! not for me,
The glory of a martyrdom like his;
A humbler death be mine.” And so he bent
Earthward his visage prone—exalted more
The more depress'd. Now, the revolving sun,
Drawn through his annual circle, hath return'd
To the same punctual spot. Again for death
The insatiate tyrant call'd.—Then did he fall
Beneath the headsman's axe, e'en he the light,
The great apostle of the Gentile world.
He saw, as with a prophet's eye, the shade
Of death, how soon to come—he saw and hail'd
The anticipated doom. “To Christ I go,
Yea, unto Christ.”—Sooth were his words, nor day,
Nor hour deceiv'd him. Now on either shore
They lie, divided but by Tiber's wave.
On the right bank, a sepulchre is seen
Lifting its golden roof,—the ashes there
Of him, the elder of the brethren lie;
The olive waves its branches, and the flow,
The silent flow of waters murmur round,
That forth from the Mamertine fountain drawn,
Gush thro' the marble channel.—Thence with lapse
Sonorous, led within the tomb, they give,
As in a glassy mirror, every form,
Each hue, the fretted cornice, and the walls,
Empurpled with celestial colours, all
Like some rich field tapestried by spring awakes,
To live reflected in the trembling wave.

Through either street the Roman multitude
Presses with pious step; the festal day
One and the same in grateful memory
Is held.—Now pass we on to either shrine,
Chanting the hymns of praise—the further bank
Crossing the Hadrian bridge, so call'd, we gain
Beyond the Tiber. Then on reverted step,
Before the sacred tomb of Paul we kneel;
Thus Rome its pious duties hath fulfilled.
Homeward now bend thy feet, and let thy mind
Hive up these treasur'd thoughts to memory dear.