CXLII. But here, where murder breathed her bloody steam; Here where the Roman million's blame or praise Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, 20 My voice sounds much—and fall the stars' faint rays 25 On the arena void. seats crush'd - walls bow'd And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. CXLIII. A ruin― yet what ruin! from its mass And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. 30 When the colossal fabric's form is near'd; It will not bear the brightness of the day, 35 Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away. CXLIV. But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Cæsar's head; When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 40 45 CXLV. "While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls the World." From our own land 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; 50 The World, the same wide den of thieves, or what ye will. [THE COLISEUM BY MOONLIGHT.] MANFRED, ACT III., SCENE 4. THE stars are forth, the moon above the tops Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night I learn'd the language of another world. When I was wandering- upon such a night Begun and died upon the gentle wind. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, 25 But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, 30 And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which soften'd down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries; 35 Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place With silent worship of the great of old! The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 40 'Twas such a night! 'Tis strange that I recall it at this time; But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight [ST. PETER'S.] CHILDE HAROLD, CANTO IV. CLIII. BUT lo! the dome the vast and wondrous dome, To which Diana's marvel was a cell Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell པས The hyæna and the jackal in their shade; I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd; CLIV. But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled CLV. Enter its grandeur overwhelms thee not; CLVI. Thou movest but increasing with the advance, Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, 30 Vastness which grows but grows to harmonize Rich marbles richer painting-shrines where flame 35 CLVII. Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break, Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 40 The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, 45 CLVIII. Not by its fault - but thine: Our outward sense That what we have of feeling most intense 50 Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. CLIX. Then pause, and be enlighten'd; there is more 55 60 Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. |