CXXXII. And thou, who never yet of human wrong Lost the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis! (58) Had it but been from hands less near-in this must. CXXXIII. It is not that I may not have incurr'd I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, But let that pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. CXXXIV. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now Not in the air shall these my words disperse, And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse! CXXXV. That curse shall be Forgiveness.—Have I not— Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven? Because not altogether of such clay CXXXVI. From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy CXXXVII. But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain; But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. CXXXVIII. The seal is set.-Now welcome, thou dread power! Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear That we become a part of what has been, And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. CXXXIX. And here the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, As man was slaughter'd by his fellow man. And wherefore slaughter'd? wherefore, but because Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws, And the imperial pleasure.—Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the maws Of worms-on battle-plains or listed spot? Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. CXL. I see before me the Gladiator lie: (59) He leans upon his hand-his manly brow Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. VOL. I. S CXLI. He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes All this rush'd with his blood—Shall he expire CXLII. But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam; And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain stream Dashing or winding as its torrent strays; Here, where the Roman million's blame or praise Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, (61) My voice sounds much-and fall the stars' faint rays On the arena void-seats crush'd-walls bow'dAnd galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. CXLIII. A ruin—yet what ruin! from its mass Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd; And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. When the colossal fabric's form is near'd: It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away. CXLIV. But when the rising moon begins to climb Heroes have trod this spot-'tis on their dust ye tread. CXLV. "While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; (63) "When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; [land "And when Rome falls-the World." From our own Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall In Saxon times, which we are wont to call Ancient; and these three mortal things are still On their foundations, and unalter'd all; Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, The World, the same wide den—of thieves, or what ye will. CXLVI. Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, From Jove to Jesus-spared and blest by time; (64) Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes-glorious dome! Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods Shiver upon thee-sanctuary and home Of art and piety-Pantheon!-pride of Rome! |