I

II

THE PINE OF MONTE MARIO AT ROME

SAW far off the dark top of a Pine

Look like a cloud-a slender stem the tie
That bound it to its native earth-poised high
'Mid evening hues, along the horizon line,
Striving in peace each other to outshine.
But when I learned the Tree was living there,
Saved from the sordid axe by Beaumont's care,
Oh, what a gush of tenderness was mine!
The rescued Pine-tree, with its sky so bright
And cloud-like beauty, rich in thoughts of home,
Death-parted friends, and days too swift in flight,
Supplanted the whole majesty of Rome

(Then first apparent from the Pincian Height)
Crowned with St. Peter's everlasting Dome.1

III

AT ROME

1841

S this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill? Yon petty Steep in truth the fearful Rock, Tarpeian named of yore, and keeping still That name, a local Phantom proud to mock The Traveller's expectation ?-Could our Will Destroy the ideal Power within, 'twere done Thro' what men see and touch,-slaves wandering on, Impelled by thirst of all but Heaven-taught skill. Full oft, our wish obtained, deeply we sigh; Yet not unrecompensed are they who learn, From that depression raised, to mount on high With stronger wing, more clearly to discern Eternal things; and, if need be, defy

Change, with a brow not insolent, though stern.

1841

ΙΟ

10

IV

AT ROME-REGRETS-IN ALLUSION TO NIEBUHR AND OTHER

T

MODERN HISTORIANS

HOSE old credulities, to nature dear,

Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock

Of History, stript naked as a rock

'Mid a dry desert? What is it we hear?

1 See Note.

The glory of Infant Rome must disappear,
Her morning splendours vanish, and their place
Know them no more. If Truth, who veiled her face
With those bright beams yet hid it not, must steer
Henceforth a humbler course perplexed and slow,
One solace yet remains for us who came
Into this world in days when story lacked
Severe research, that in our hearts we know
How, for exciting youth's heroic flame,
Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.

C

V

CONTINUED

1841

COMPLACENT Fictions were they, yet the same
Involved a history of no doubtful sense,
History that proves by inward evidence
From what a precious source of truth it came.
Ne'er could the boldest Eulogist have dared
Such deeds to paint, such characters to frame,
But for coeval sympathy prepared

To greet with instant faith their loftiest claim.
None but a noble people could have loved
Flattery in Ancient Rome's pure-minded style:
Not in like sort the Runic Scald was moved;
He, nursed 'mid savage passions that defile
Humanity, sang feats that well might call
For the blood-thirsty mead of Odin's riotous Hall.

F

VI

PLEA FOR THE HISTORIAN

ORBEAR to deem the Chronicler unwise,

Ungentle, or untouched by seemly ruth,
Who, gathering up all that Time's envious tooth
Has spared of sound and grave realities,
Firmly rejects those dazzling flatteries,
Dear as they are to unsuspecting Youth,

That might have drawn down Clio from the skies
To vindicate the majesty of truth.

Such was her office while she walked with men,
A Muse, who, not unmindful of her Sire
All-ruling Jove, whate'er the theme might be
Revered her Mother, sage Mnemosyne,
And taught her faithful servants how the lyre
Should animate, but not mislead, the pen.1

1 Quem virum-lyra-
-sumes celebrare Clio?

1841

1841

ΤΟ

ΙΟ

ΤΟ

VII

AT ROME

HEY-who have seen the noble Roman's scorn

TH

Break forth at thought of laying down his head, When the blank day is over, garreted

In his ancestral palace, where, from morn

To night, the desecrated floors are worn

By feet of purse-proud strangers; they-who have read
In one meek smile, beneath a peasant's shed,
How patiently the weight of wrong is borne ;
They-who have heard some learned Patriot treat
Of freedom, with mind grasping the whole theme
From ancient Rome, downwards through that bright
dream

Of Commonwealths, each city a starlike seat
Of rival glory; they-fallen Italy-

Nor must, nor will, nor can, despair of Thee!

VIII

NEAR ROME, IN SIGHT OF ST. PETER'S

1841

ONG has the dew been dried on tree and lawn ;
O'er man and beast a not unwelcome boon

L

Is shed, the languor of approaching noon;
To shady rest withdrawing or withdrawn
Mute are all creatures, as this couchant fawn,
Save insect-swarms that hum in air afloat,
Save that the Cock is crowing, a shrill note,
Startling and shrill as that which roused the dawn.
-Heard in that hour, or when, as now, the nerve
Shrinks from the note as from a mis-timed thing,
Oft for a holy warning may it serve,
Charged with remembrance of his sudden sting,
His bitter tears, whose name the Papal Chair
And yon resplendent Church are proud to bear.

D

IX

AT ALBANO

1841

10

AYS passed-and Monte Calvo would not clear His head from mist; and, as the wind sobbed through

Albano's dripping Ilex avenue,

My dull forebodings in a Peasant's ear

10

Found casual vent.

She said, 'Be of good cheer;

lack

Our yesterday's procession did not sue
In vain; the sky will change to sunny blue,
Thanks to our Lady's grace.' I smiled to hear,
But not in scorn:-the Matron's Faith may
The heavenly sanction needed to ensure
Fulfilment; but, we trust, her upward track
Stops not at this low point, nor wants the lure
Of flowers the Virgin without fear may own,
For by her Son's blest hand the seed was sown.

N

X

EAR Anio's stream I spied a gentle Dove

1841

Perched on an olive branch, and heard her cooing 'Mid new-born blossoms that soft airs were wooing, While all things present told of joy and love. But restless Fancy left that olive grove

To hail the exploratory Bird renewing

Hope for the few, who, at the world's undoing,
On the great flood were spared to live and move.

O bounteous Heaven! signs true as dove and bough
Brought to the ark are coming evermore,

Given though we seek them not, but, while we plough
This sea of life without a visible shore,

Do neither promise ask nor grace implore

In what alone is ours, the living Now.

XI

1841

FROM THE ALBAN HILLS, LOOKING TOWARDS ROME

FOR

ΙΟ

ORGIVE, illustrious Country! these deep sighs, Heaved less for thy bright plains and hills bestrown

With monuments decayed or overthrown,

For all that tottering stands or prostrate lies,
Than for like scenes in moral vision shown,

Ruin perceived for keener sympathies;

Faith crushed, yet proud of weeds, her gaudy crown ;
Virtues laid low, and mouldering energies.

Yet why prolong this mournful strain?-Fallen Power,
Thy fortunes, twice exalted, might provoke
Verse to glad notes prophetic of the hour

When thou, uprisen, shalt break thy double yoke,
And enter, with prompt aid from the Most High,
On the third stage of thy great destiny.

ΙΟ

XII

NEAR THE LAKE OF THRASYMENE

HEN here with Carthage Rome to conflict came,

WE An earthquake, mingling with the battle's

shock,

Checked not its rage; unfelt the ground did rock,
Sword dropped not, javelin kept its deadly aim.—
Now all is sun-bright peace. Of that day's shame,
Or glory, not a vestige seems to endure,

Save in this Rill that took from blood the name1
Which yet it bears, sweet Stream! as crystal pure.
So may all trace and sign of deeds aloof
From the true guidance of humanity,
Thro' Time and Nature's influence, purify
Their spirit; or, unless they for reproof

Or warning serve, thus let them all, on ground
That gave them being, vanish to a sound.

F

XIII

NEAR THE SAME LAKE

OR action born, existing to be tried,

1837

Powers manifold we have that intervene

To stir the heart that would too closely screen
Her peace from images to pain allied.

What wonder if at midnight, by the side

Of Sanguinetto or broad Thrasymene,

The clang of arms is heard, and phantoms glide,
Unhappy ghosts in troops by moonlight seen;
And singly thine, O vanquished Chief! whose corse,
Unburied, lay hid under heaps of slain :

But who is He?-the Conqueror. Would he force
His way to Rome? Ah, no,-round hill and plain
Wandering, he haunts, at fancy's strong command,
This spot, his shadowy death-cup in his hand.

L'

XIV

THE CUCKOO AT LAVERNA

MAY 25, 1837

1837

ΙΟ

ΤΟ

IST 'twas the Cuckoo.-O with what delight
Heard I that voice! and catch it now, though
faint,

Far off and faint, and melting into air,
Yet not to be mistaken. Hark again!

1 Sanguinetto.