A Handbook for Latin Clubs, Susan Paxson [digital book reader .TXT] 📗
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AND NEW ROME
Still, as we saunter down the crowded street,
On our own thoughts intent, and plans and pleasures,
On our own thoughts intent, and plans and pleasures,
For miles and miles beneath our idle feet,
Rome buries from the day yet unknown treasures.
Rome buries from the day yet unknown treasures.
The whole world's alphabet, in every line
Some stirring page of history she recalls,—
Some stirring page of history she recalls,—
Her Alpha is the Prison Mamertine,
Her Omega, St. Paul's, without the walls.
Her Omega, St. Paul's, without the walls.
Above, beneath, around, she weaves her spells,
And ruder hands unweave them all in vain:
And ruder hands unweave them all in vain:
Who once within her fascination dwells,
Leaves her with but one thought—to come again.
Leaves her with but one thought—to come again.
So cast thy obol into Trevi's fountain—
Drink of its waters, and, returning home,
Drink of its waters, and, returning home,
Pray that by land or sea, by lake or mountain,
"All roads alike may lead at last to Rome."
"All roads alike may lead at last to Rome."
—Herman Merivale
THE FALL OF ROME
Rome ruled in all her matchless pride,
Queen of the world, an empire-state;
Queen of the world, an empire-state;
Her eagles conquered far and wide;
Her word was law, her will was fate.
Her word was law, her will was fate.
Within her immemorial walls
The temples of the gods looked down;
The temples of the gods looked down;
Her forum echoed with the calls
To greater conquest and renown.
To greater conquest and renown.
All wealth, all splendor, and all might
The world could give, before her lay;
The world could give, before her lay;
She dreamed not there could come a night
To dim the glory of her day.
To dim the glory of her day.
Rome perished: Legions could not save,
Nor wealth, nor might, nor majesty,—
Nor wealth, nor might, nor majesty,—
The Roman had become a slave,
But the barbarian was free.
But the barbarian was free.
—Arthur Chamberlain
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
It was the calm and silent night!
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,
And now was queen of land and sea.
No sound was heard of clashing wars—
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars
Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight,
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,
And now was queen of land and sea.
No sound was heard of clashing wars—
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars
Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago.
'Twas in the calm and silent night!
The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,
From lordly revel rolling home:
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway:
What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight,
The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,
From lordly revel rolling home:
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway:
What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago?
Within that province far away
Went plodding home a weary boor;
A streak of light before him lay,
Falling through a half shut stable-door
Across his path. He passed—for naught
Told what was going on within:
How keen the stars, his only thought—
The air how calm, and cold and thin
In the solemn midnight,
Went plodding home a weary boor;
A streak of light before him lay,
Falling through a half shut stable-door
Across his path. He passed—for naught
Told what was going on within:
How keen the stars, his only thought—
The air how calm, and cold and thin
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!
Oh, strange indifference! low and high
Drowsed over common joys and cares;
The earth was still—but knew not why,
The world was listening, unawares.
How calm a moment may precede
One that shall thrill the world forever!
To that still moment, none would heed,
Man's doom was linked no more to sever—
In the solemn midnight,
Drowsed over common joys and cares;
The earth was still—but knew not why,
The world was listening, unawares.
How calm a moment may precede
One that shall thrill the world forever!
To that still moment, none would heed,
Man's doom was linked no more to sever—
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!
It is the calm and silent night!
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness—charmed and holy now!
The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given;
For in that stable lay, new-born,
The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,
In the solemn midnight,
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness—charmed and holy now!
The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given;
For in that stable lay, new-born,
The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!
—Alfred Dommett
ROMAN GIRL'S SONG
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
Thou satt'st a queen.
Thou satt'st a queen.
Thou hadst thy triumphs then
Purpling the street,
Purpling the street,
Leaders and sceptred men
Bow'd at thy feet.
Bow'd at thy feet.
They that thy mantle wore,
As gods were seen—
As gods were seen—
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
As thou hast been!
Rome! thine imperial brow
Never shall rise:
Never shall rise:
What hast thou left thee now?—
Thou hast thy skies!
Thou hast thy skies!
Blue, deeply blue, they are,
Gloriously bright!
Gloriously bright!
Veiling thy wastes afar,
With color'd light.
With color'd light.
Thou hast the sunset's glow,
Rome, for thy dower,
Rome, for thy dower,
Flushing tall cypress bough,
Temple and tower!
Temple and tower!
And all sweet sounds are thine,
Lovely to hear,
Lovely to hear,
While night, o'er tomb and shrine
Rests darkly clear.
Rests darkly clear.
Many a solemn hymn,
By starlight sung,
By starlight sung,
Sweeps through the arches dim,
Thy wrecks among.
Thy wrecks among.
Many a flute's low swell,
On thy soft air
On thy soft air
Lingers, and loves to dwell
With summer there.
With summer there.
Thou hast the south's rich gift
Of sudden song—
Of sudden song—
A charmed fountain, swift,
Joyous and strong.
Joyous and strong.
Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:
A mournful mien:
Rome, Rome! Thou art no more
As thou hast been!
As thou hast been!
—Mrs. Hemans
CAPRI
Rising from the purpling water
With her brow of stone,
With her brow of stone,
Sprite or nymph or Triton's daughter,
Rising from the purpling water,
Capri sits alone—
Capri sits alone—
Sits and looks across the billow
Now the day is done
Now the day is done
Resting on her rocky pillow
Sits and looks across the billow
Toward the setting sun.
Toward the setting sun.
Misty visions trooping sadly
Glimmer through her tears,
Glimmer through her tears,
Shapes of men contending madly,—
Misty visions trooping sadly
From the vanished years.
From the vanished years.
Here Tiberius from his palace
On the headland gray
On the headland gray
Hurls his foes with gleeful malice,
Proud Tiberius at his palace
Murd'ring men for play.
Murd'ring men for play.
There Lamarque's recruits advancing
Scale yon rocky spot,
Scale yon rocky spot,
'Neath the moon their bright steel glancing,
See Lamarque's recruits advancing
Through a storm of shot.
Through a storm of shot.
But today the goat bells' tinkle
And the vespers chime,
And the vespers chime,
Vineyards shade each rock-hewn wrinkle,
And today the goat bells' tinkle
Marks a happier time.
Marks a happier time.
Soft the olive groves are gleaming,
War has found surcease,
War has found surcease,
And as Capri sits a-dreaming
Soft the olive groves are gleaming,
Crowning her with peace.
Crowning her with peace.
—Walter Taylor Field
PALLADIUM
Set where the upper streams of Simois flow
Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood;
Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood;
And Hector was in Ilium, far below,
And fought, and saw it not—but there it stood!
And fought, and saw it not—but there it stood!
It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'd their light
On the pure columns of its glen-built hall.
On the pure columns of its glen-built hall.
Backward and forward rolled the waves of fight
Round Troy,—but while this stood, Troy could not fall.
Round Troy,—but while this stood, Troy could not fall.
So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul.
Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air;
Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air;
Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll;
We visit it by moments, ah, too rare!
We visit it by moments, ah, too rare!
Men will renew the battle in the plain
Tomorrow; red with blood will Xanthus be;
Tomorrow; red with blood will Xanthus be;
Hector and Ajax will be there again,
Helen will come upon the wall to see.
Helen will come upon the wall to see.
Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife,
And fluctuate 'twixt blind hopes and blind despairs,
And fluctuate 'twixt blind hopes and blind despairs,
And fancy that we put forth all our life,
And never know how with the soul it fares.
And never know how with the soul it fares.
Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness high,
Upon our life a ruling effluence send;
Upon our life a ruling effluence send;
And when it fails, fight as we will, we die,
And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end.
And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end.
—Matthew Arnold
AFTER CONSTRUING
Lord Caesar, when you sternly wrote
The story of your grim campaigns
The story of your grim campaigns
And watched the ragged smoke-wreath float
Above the burning plains,
Above the burning plains,
Amid the impenetrable wood,
Amid the camp's incessant hum
Amid the camp's incessant hum
At eve, beside the tumbling flood,
In high Avaricum,
In high Avaricum,
You little recked, imperious head,
When shrilled your shattering trumpets' noise,
When shrilled your shattering trumpets' noise,
Your frigid sections would be read
By bright-eyed English boys.
By bright-eyed English boys.
Ah me! Who penetrates today
The secret of your deep designs?
The secret of your deep designs?
Your sovereign visions, as you lay
Amid the sleeping lines?
Amid the sleeping lines?
The Mantuan singer pleading stands;
From century to century
From century to century
He leans and reaches wistful hands,
And cannot bear to die.
And cannot bear to die.
But you are silent, secret, proud,
No smile upon your haggard face,
No smile upon your haggard face,
As when you eyed the murderous crowd
Beside the statue's base.
Beside the statue's base.
I marvel: That Titanic heart
Beats strongly through the arid page,
Beats strongly through the arid page,
And we, self-conscious sons of art,
In this bewildering age,
In this bewildering age,
Like dizzy revellers stumbling out
Upon the pure and peaceful night,
Upon the pure and peaceful night,
Are sobered into troubled doubt,
As swims across our sight,
As swims across our sight,
The ray of that sequestered sun,
Far in the illimitable blue,—
Far in the illimitable blue,—
The dream of all you left undone,
Of all you dared to do.
Of all you dared to do.
—Arthur Christopher Benson
A ROMAN MIRROR
They found it in her hollow marble bed,
There where the numberless dead cities sleep,
They found it lying where the spade struck deep
A broken mirror by a maiden dead.
There where the numberless dead cities sleep,
They found it lying where the spade struck deep
A broken mirror by a maiden dead.
These things—the beads she wore about her throat,
Alternate blue and amber, all untied,
A lamp to light her way, and on one side
The toll men pay to that strange ferry-boat.
Alternate blue and amber, all untied,
A lamp to light her way, and on one side
The toll men pay to that strange ferry-boat.
No trace today of what in her was fair!
Only the record of long years grown green
Upon the mirror's lustreless dead sheen,
Grown dim at last, when all else withered there
Only the record of long years grown green
Upon the mirror's lustreless dead sheen,
Grown dim at last, when all else withered there
Dead, broken, lustreless! It keeps for me
One picture of that immemorial land,
For oft as I have held thee in my hand
The chill bronze brightens, and I dream to see
One picture of that immemorial land,
For oft as I have held thee in my hand
The chill bronze brightens, and I dream to see
A fair face gazing in thee wondering wise
And o'er one marble shoulder all the while
Strange lips that whisper till her own lips smile
And all the mirror laughs about her eyes.
And o'er one marble shoulder all the while
Strange lips that whisper till her own lips smile
And all the mirror laughs about her eyes.
It was well thought to set thee there, so she
Might smooth the windy ripples of her hair
And knot their tangled waywardness or ere
She stood before the queen Persephone.
Might smooth the windy ripples of her hair
And knot their tangled waywardness or ere
She stood before the queen Persephone.
And still it may be where the dead folk rest
She holds a shadowy mirror to her eyes,
And looks upon the changelessness, and sighs
And sets the dead land lilies in her hand.
She holds a shadowy mirror to her eyes,
And looks upon the changelessness, and sighs
And sets the dead land lilies in her hand.
—Rennell Rodd
THE DOOM OF THE SLOTHFUL
When through the dolorous city of damned souls
The Florentine with Vergil took his way,
The Florentine with Vergil took his way,
A dismal marsh they passed, whose fetid shoals
Held sinners by the myriad. Swollen and grey,
Like worms that fester in the foul decay
Held sinners by the myriad. Swollen and grey,
Like worms that fester in the foul decay
Of sweltering carrion, these bad spirits sank
Chin-deep in stagnant slime and ooze that stank.
Chin-deep in stagnant slime and ooze that stank.
Year after year forever—year by year,
Through billions of the centuries that lie
Through billions of the centuries that lie
Like specks of dust upon the dateless sphere
Of heaven's eternity, they cankering sigh
Between the black waves and the starless sky;
Of heaven's eternity, they cankering sigh
Between the black waves and the starless sky;
And daily dying have no hope to gain
By death or change or respite of their pain.
By death or change or respite of their pain.
What was their crime, you ask? Nay, listen: "We
Were sullen—sad what time we drank the light,
Were sullen—sad what time we drank the light,
And delicate air, that all day daintily
Is cheered by sunshine; for we bore black night
And murky smoke of sloth, in God's despite,
Is cheered by sunshine; for we bore black night
And murky smoke of sloth, in God's despite,
Within our barren souls, by discontent
From joy of all fair things and wholesome pent:
From joy of all fair things and wholesome pent:
Therefore in this low Hell from jocund sight
And sound He bans us; and as there we grew
And sound He bans us; and as there we grew
Pallid with idleness, so here a blight
Perpetual rots with slow-corroding dew
Our poisonous carcase, and a livid hue
Perpetual rots with slow-corroding dew
Our poisonous carcase, and a livid hue
Corpse-like o'erspreads these sodden limbs that take
And yield corruption to the loathly lake."
And yield corruption to the loathly lake."
—John Addington Symonds
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE
Andromache
Will Hector leave me for the fatal plain,
Where, fierce with vengeance for Patroclus slain,
Stalks Peleus' ruthless son?
Stalks Peleus' ruthless son?
Who, when thou glid'st amid the dark abodes,
To hurl the spear and to revere the gods,
Shall teach thine Orphan One?
Shall teach thine Orphan One?
Hector
Woman and wife beloved—cease thy tears;
My soul is nerved—the war-clang in my ears!
Be mine in life to stand
Be mine in life to stand
Troy's bulwark!—fighting for our hearths, to go
In death, exulting to the streams below,
Slain for my father-land!
Slain for my father-land!
Andromache
No more I hear thy martial footsteps fall—
Thine arms shall hang, dull trophies, on the wall—
Fallen the stem of Troy!
Fallen the stem of Troy!
Thou go'st where slow Cocytus wanders—where
Love sinks in Lethe, and the sunless air
Is dark to light and joy!
Is dark to light and joy!
Hector
Longing and thought—yea, all I feel and think
May in the silent sloth of Lethe sink,
But my love not!
But my love not!
Hark, the wild swarm is at the walls! I hear!
Gird on my sword—Belov'd one, dry the tear—
Lethe for love is not!
Lethe for love is not!
—Schiller
ENCELADUS
Under Mount Etna he lies,
It is slumber, it is not death;
It is slumber, it is not death;
For he struggles at times to arise,
And above him the lurid skies
Are hot with his fiery breath.
Are hot with his fiery breath.
The crags are piled on his breast,
The earth is heaped on his head;
The earth is heaped on his head;
But the groans of his wild unrest,
Though smothered and half suppressed,
Are heard, and he is not dead.
Are heard, and he is not dead.
And the nations far away
Are watching with eager eyes;
Are watching with eager eyes;
They talk together and say,
"Tomorrow, perhaps today,
Enceladus will arise!"
Enceladus will arise!"
And the
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