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MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN ITALY, 1837 (22) - ZaunköniG - 30.09.2007 MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN ITALY, 1837 II. THE PINE OF MONTE MARIO AT ROME I 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. III. AT ROME IS 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. IV. AT ROME--REGRETS--IN ALLUSION TO NIEBUHR AND OTHER MODERN HISTORIANS THOSE 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? 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. V. CONTINUED 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. VI. PLEA FOR THE HISTORIAN FORBEAR 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. VII. AT ROME THEY--who have seen the noble Roman's scorn 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 LONG has the dew been dried on tree and lawn: O'er man and beast a not unwelcome boon 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 mistimed 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. IX. AT ALBANO DAYS 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 Found casual vent. She said, "Be of good cheer; 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 lack 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. X NEAR Anio's stream, I spied a gentle Dove 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. FROM THE ALBAN HILLS, LOOKING TOWARDS ROME FORGIVE, 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. XII. NEAR THE LAKE OF THRASYMENE WHEN here with Carthage Rome to conflict came, 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 name 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. XIII. NEAR THE SAME LAKE FOR action born, existing to be tried, 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. XV. AT THE CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI GRIEVE for the Man who hither came bereft, And seeking consolation from above; Nor grieve the less that skill to him was left To paint this picture of his lady-love: Can she, a blessed saint, the work approve? And oh, good Brethren of the cowl, a thing So fair, to which with peril he must cling, Destroy in pity, or with care remove. That bloom--those eyes--can they assist to bind Thoughts that would stray from Heaven? The dream must cease To be; by Faith, not sight, his soul must live; Else will the enamoured Monk too surely find How wide a space can part from inward peace The most profound repose his cell can give. XVI. CONTINUED THE world forsaken, all its busy cares And stirring interests shunned with desperate flight, All trust abandoned in the healing might Of virtuous action; all that courage dares, Labour accomplishes, or patience bears-- Those helps rejected, they, whose minds perceive How subtly works man's weakness, sighs may heave For such a One beset with cloistral snares. Father of Mercy! rectify his view, If with his vows this object ill agree; Shed over it thy grace, and thus subdue Imperious passion in a heart set free:-- That earthly love may to herself be true, Give him a soul that cleaveth unto thee. XVII. AT THE EREMITE OR UPPER CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI WHAT aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in size Enormous, dragged, while side by side they sate, By panting steers up to this convent gate? How, with empurpled cheeks and pampered eyes, Dare they confront the lean austerities Of Brethren who, here fixed, on Jesu wait In sackcloth, and God's anger deprecate Through all that humbles flesh and mortifies? Strange contrast!--verily the world of dreams, Where mingle, as for mockery combined, Things in their very essences at strife, Shows not a sight incongruous as the extremes That everywhere, before the thoughtful mind, Meet on the solid ground of waking life. XIX. AT FLORENCE UNDER the shadow of a stately Pile, The dome of Florence, pensive and alone, Nor giving heed to aught that passed the while, I stood, and gazed upon a marble stone, The laurelled Dante's favourite seat. A throne, In just esteem, it rivals; though no style Be there of decoration to beguile The mind, depressed by thought of greatness flown. As a true man, who long had served the lyre, I gazed with earnestness, and dared no more. But in his breast the mighty Poet bore A Patriot's heart, warm with undying fire. Bold with the thought, in reverence I sate down, And, for a moment, filled that empty Throne. XX. BEFORE THE PICTURE OF THE BAPTIST, BY RAPHAEL, IN THE GALLERY AT FLORENCE THE Baptist might have been ordained to cry Forth from the towers of that huge Pile, wherein His Father served Jehovah; but how win Due audience, how for aught but scorn defy The obstinate pride and wanton revelry Of the Jerusalem below, her sin And folly, if they with united din Drown not at once mandate and prophecy? Therefore the Voice spake from the Desert, thence To Her, as to her opposite in peace, Silence, and holiness, and innocence, To Her and to all Lands its warning sent, Crying with earnestness that might not cease, "Make straight a highway for the Lord--repent!" XXI. AT FLORENCE--FROM MICHAEL ANGELO RAPT above earth by power of one fair face, Hers in whose sway alone my heart delights, I mingle with the blest on those pure heights Where Man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place. With Him who made the Work that Work accords So well, that by its help and through his grace I raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words, Clasping her beauty in my soul's embrace. Thus, if from two fair eyes mine cannot turn, I feel how in their presence doth abide Light which to God is both the way and guide; And, kindling at their lustre, if I burn, My noble fire emits the joyful ray That through the realms of glory shines for aye. XXII. AT FLORENCE--FROM M. ANGELO ETERNAL Lord! eased of a cumbrous load, And loosened from the world, I turn to Thee; Shun, like a shattered bark, the storm, and flee To thy protection for a safe abode. The crown of thorns, hands pierced upon the tree, The meek, benign, and lacerated face, To a sincere repentance promise grace, To the sad soul give hope of pardon free. With justice mark not Thou, O Light divine, My fault, nor hear it with thy sacred ear; Neither put forth that way thy arm severe; Wash with thy blood my sins; thereto incline More readily the more my years require Help, and forgiveness speedy and entire. XXIV. IN LOMBARDY SEE, where his difficult way that Old Man wins Bent by a load of Mulberry leaves!--most hard Appears 'his' lot, to the small Worm's compared, For whom his toil with early day begins. Acknowledging no task-master, at will (As if her labour and her ease were twins) 'She' seems to work, at pleasure to lie still;-- And softly sleeps within the thread she spins. So fare they--the Man serving as her Slave. Ere long their fates do each to each conform: Both pass into new being,--but the Worm, Transfigured, sinks into a hopeless grave; 'His' volant Spirit will, he trusts, ascend To bliss unbounded, glory without end. XXV. AFTER LEAVING ITALY FAIR Land! Thee all men greet with joy; how few, Whose souls take pride in freedom, virtue, fame, Part from thee without pity dyed in shame: I could not--while from Venice we withdrew, Led on till an Alpine strait confined our view Within its depths, and to the shore we came Of Lago Morto, dreary sight and name, Which o'er sad thoughts a sadder colouring threw, Italia! on the surface of thy spirit, (Too aptly emblemed by that torpid lake) Shall a few partial breezes only creep?-- Be its depths quickened; what thou dost inherit Of the world's hopes, dare to fulfil; awake, Mother of Heroes, from thy death-like sleep! XXVI. CONTINUED AS indignation mastered grief, my tongue Spake bitter words; words that did ill agree With those rich stores of Nature's imagery, And divine Art, that fast to memory clung-- Thy gifts, magnificent Region, ever young In the sun's eye, and in his sister's sight How beautiful! how worthy to be sung In strains of rapture, or subdued delight! I feign not; witness that unwelcome shock That followed the first sound of German speech, Caught the far-winding barrier Alps among. In that announcement, greeting seemed to mock Parting; the casual word had power to reach My heart, and filled that heart with conflict strong. |