University of Virginia Library


19

PAULUS ÆMILIUS.

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(This, and many of the Poems contained in the volume originally appeared in The Literary Gazette.)

“—Æmilius then proceeded to Italy, carrying with him the captive kings, Perseus and Gentius. He sailed up the Tiber in the royal galley, magnificently adorned, and on arriving at Rome demanded his triumph. Perseus and his family led as captives, added, in a Roman eye, to the splendour of the scene; though even Roman hearts were affected with sorrow at the example this afforded of human change and wretchedness. But the Consul himself was an instance equally striking. Of his two sons by his second wife, whom he designed to represent his own family, one, at the age of fourteen, died five days before the triumph; the other, aged twelve, three days after it. Æmilius in a speech he made to the Romans on this occasion, said,—‘Now the man who triumphed, and he who was led in chains, are on a par; but the children of Perseus are living—those of Æmilius are no more!” Aikin's Biography.

I

Beauty was on the waves;
The royal galley like a palace rode—
Voices in triumph past—and warriors strode,
Close manacled, and slaves.

II

Rome wav'd her pennons high,
As through her streets the captive monarchs past,
The clang of steel—the shout—the trumpet blast—
Announcing victory.

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III

All hail the army's boast!—
Long live the conqueror! live the nation's pride!—
Æmilius! brave Æmilius! myriads cried,
And fair hands waved—a host.

IV

'Twas a triumphant day—
A proud and glorious day. The hero bow'd;
Mov'd like a god before that countless crowd,
Which swell'd the wild huzza!

V

A full and brilliant star
Look'd from the heavens like a destiny;
While rush'd the step of steel-girt warriors by,
Red from the field of war.

VI

Why died the commons' cheers?
'Twas then King Perseus and his children, chain'd,
March'd on; and many Roman hearts were pain'd:
It was a sight for tears!—

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VII

Not long did feeling melt;
Again the triumph-shout far shook the ground,
Again the victor gaz'd on all around,
And like a victor felt!—

VIII

Stillness upon the land—
Stillness upon the grandeur of the dome—
Stillness upon the waves. Night's heralds come:
Sleep rules with charmed wand.

IX

But 'tis not sleep doth rest
Upon the parian coldness of that frame;
Sleep speaks not to those watching eyes of flame—
That brow with grief imprest.

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X

Sleep's whispers do not rise
To sooth the mourner by his dead son's bier;
A cry of horror wakes the father's ear;
Death scowls before his eyes.

XI

Who may the warrior be?
I know his face; we've met—but 'twas not thus—
High was his bearing: 'tis—Æmilius!—
This looks not victory.

XII

Tears are upon his cheeks—
Despair is in the flashing of his eye—
Upon his quiv'ring lip deep agony—
Slowly and sad he speaks:

XIII

There lies my all of bliss,
My boy—my graceful boy—alas, the sight!—
Would to the Gods I'd perish'd in the fight,
Ere I'd known woe like this:

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XIV

If ever pleasure came,
Thou wast her leader—if I glory sought,
My boy—it was for thee thy father fought,
Through fields of sword and flame.

XV

Darkness is on my days,
The sunlight of my life—my hope is fled—
The voice I lov'd is gone—my son is dead!—
O sight—to blast the gaze!