And she who, by the "yellow Tiber's" side, Sits wrapped in her dark veil of widowhood, With scarce a glimmer of her ancient pride, To cheer the gloom of that deep solitude Which o'er the seat of vanquished pow'r doth brood, Since thou wast born has seen her glories rise, Burn, and expire! quenched by the streams of blood Which her slaves drew from her own veins, the price Of usurpation, proud Ambition's sacrifice!
And darker in her fate, and sadder still, The sacred city of the minstrel king, That proudly sat on Zion's holy hill, The wonder of the world! Destruction's wing Hath from her swept each fair and goodly thing; Her palaces and temples! where are they? Her walls and marble tow'rs lie mouldering, Her glory to the spoiler's hand a prey,-- And yet time spares a portion of thy clay!
And thou art here amid a stranger race, To whom these shores four centuries ago, Tho' now proud Freedom's boasted dwelling-place, Were all unknown; the wide streams that now flow Where Cultivation's hand has steered her plough, Had then but seen the forest huntsman guide His light canoe across the waves which now Reflect the snowy sails that waft in pride The stately ship along their rippling tide.
Thou art the silent messenger of ages, Sent back to tread with Time his constant way, To shame the wisdom of conceited sages, Whose lore is but a thing of yesterday; What would their best, their brightest visions weigh Beside the fearful truths thou couldst reveal? The secrets of eternity now lay Unveiled before thee, and for we or weal, Thy doom is fixed beyond ev'n heaven's repeal.
I will not ask thee of the mysteries That lie beyond Death's shadowy vale; but thou Mayst tell us of the fate the Destinies Wove for thine earthly sojourn. Was thy brow Graced with the poet's, hero's garland? How Dealt Fortune with thee? Did she curse or bless Thee with her frown or smile? Speak! thou art now Among the living,--they around thee press. Still silent? Then thy lot we can but guess.
Perhaps thou wast a monarch, and hast worn The sceptre of some real El Dorado! Perhaps a warrior, and those arms have borne The foremostshield, and dealt the deadliest blow That drew the life-blood of a warring foe! Perhaps thou wor'st the courtier's gilded thrall,-- Some glittering court's gay, proud papilio! Perchance a clown, the jester of some hall, The slave of one man, and the fool of all!
Oh life! and pride! and honour! come and see To what a depth your visions tumble down! Behold your wearer,--who shall say if he Were monarch, warrior, parasite, or clown! And ye, who talk of glory and renown, And call them bright and deathless! and who break Each dearer tie to grasp fame's gilded crown, Come, hear instruction from this shadow speak, And learn how valueless the prize ye seek!
See where ambition's loftiest flight doth tend, Behold the doom perhaps of blood-bought fame, And know that all which earth can give must end, In dust and ashes, and an empty name! Ye passions! which defy our pow'r to tame Or curb your headlong tides, behold your home! Love! see the breast where thou didst light thy flame! Immortal spirit! see thy shattered dome! When shall its hour of renovation come?
Shall life possess, and beauty deck again That withered form, and foul and dusky cheek? Will Death resign his dull and frozen reign, And the immortal soul return to seek Her long-deserted dwelling, and to break The bondage which has held in icy chains All that was mortal of thee? will she make Her home in thee, and shall these poor remains Share with her heaven's pleasures or hell's pains?
Wonder of wonders! who could look on thee And afterward survey with curious eye The mouldering shrines where dupes have bent the knee, Where superstition, by hypocrisy Nurtured and fed with tales of mystery, Has oft with timid footstep trembling trod,-- All these are worse than nothing; come and see Where once a deathless soul held its abode,-- The wrecked and ruined palace of a God!
Farewell! Not idly has this hour been spent. Thy silent teachings I may not forget,-- More deeply, strangely, truly eloquent, Than all the babbled words which ever yet Have fall'n from living lips,--they shall be set With the bright gems which Wisdom loves to keep; And when my spirit against fate would fret, My eyes shall turn to thee and cease to weep, Till I toosleep death's deep and dreamless sleep!
