CXXVI.

Our life is a false nature-'tis not in
The harmony of things,-this hard decree,
This uneradicable taint of sin,

This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree,

Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be The skies which rain their plagues on men like dewDisease, death, bondage-all the woes we seeAnd worse, the woes we see not-which throb through

The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new.

CXXVII.

Yet let us ponder boldly-'tis a base (1)
Abandonment of reason to resign

Our right of thought-our last and only place
Of refuge; this, at least, shall still be mine:
Though from our birth the faculty divine

Is chain'd and tortured-cabin'd, cribb'd, confined,
And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine
Too brightly on the unprepared mind,

CXXXI.

Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine
And temple more divinely desolate,

Among thy mightier offerings here are mine,
Ruins of years-though few, yet full of fate:-
If thou hast ever seen me too elate,

Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne
Good, and reserved my pride against the hate
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have

worn

This iron in my soul in vain-shall they not mourn?

CXXXII.

And thou, who never yet of human wrong
Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis! (2)
Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long-
Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss,
And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss
For that unnatural retribution-just,

Had it but been from hands less dear-in this
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust!

(1) At all events," says the author of the Academical Questions, "I trust, whatever may be the fate of my own speculations, that philosophy will regain that estimation which it ought to possess. The free and philosophic spirit of our nation has been the theme of admiration to the world. This was the proud distinction of Englishmen, and the luminous source of all their glory. Shall we then forget the manly and dignified sentiments of our ancestors, to prate in the language of the mother or the nurse about our good old prejudices? This is not the way to defend the cause of truth. It was not thus that our fathers maintained

and must.

it in the brilliant periods of our history. Prejudice may be trusted to guard the outworks for a short space of time, while reason slumbers in the citadel; but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty support each other: he who will not reason is a bigot; he who cannot, is a fool: and he who dares not, is a slave."-Preface, p. 14, 15, vol. i. 1805.

(2) See Historical Notes, at the end of this Canto, No. XXVIII.-L. E.

CXXXVI.

From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy,
Have I not seen what human things could do?
From the loud roar of foaming calumny
To the small whisper of the as paltry few,
And subtler venom of the reptile crew,
The Janus glance of whose significant eye,
Learning to lie with silence, would seem true,
And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh,
Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy.(1)
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:
He leans upon his hand-his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low-

(1) The following stanza was written as the 136th, but afterwards suppressed :

"If to forgive be heaping coals of fire

As God hath spoken-on the heads of foes,

Mine should be a volcano and rise higher

Than, o'er the Titans crush'd, Olympus rose,

Or Athos soars, or blazing Etna glows:

True they who stung were creeping things, but what
Than serpents' teeth inflicts with deadlier throes?
The lion may be goaded by the gnat.-

Who sucks the slumberer's blood?-The eagle?-No: the bat." -P. E.

(2) Whether the wonderful statue which suggested this image be a laquearian gladiator, which, in spite of Winkelmann's criticism, has been stoutly maintained; or whether it be a Greek herald, as that great antiquary positively asserted; or whether it is to be thought a Spartan or bar

By the Abate Bracci, Dissertazione sopra un Clipeo Votivo, etc. Preface, p. 7, who accounts for the cord round the neck, but not for the born, which it does not appear the gladiators themselves ever used. Note [A] Storia delle Arti, tom. ii. p 203.

Either Polifontes, herald of Laius, killed by OEdipus; or Cepreas, berald of Euritheus, killed by the Athenians when he endeavoured to

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won.

CXLI.

He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away; (2) He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay; There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday—(3) All this rush'd with his blood-Shall he expire, And unavenged?-Arise, ye Goths! and glut your ire.

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, (4) My voice sounds much-and fall the star's 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;
Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass,
And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd.
Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd?
Alas! developed, opens the decay,

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 Its topmast 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 grey walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Cæsar's head; (5) When the light shines serene but doth not glare, Then in this magic circle raise the dead: [tread. Heroes have trod this spot-'tis on their dust ye

barian shield-bearer, according to the opinion of bis Italian editor; § it must assuredly seem a copy of that masterpiece of Ctesilaus which represented a "wounded man dying. who perfectly expressed what there remained of life in him." Montfaucon and Maffei SS thought it the identical statue; but that statue was of bronze. The Gladiator was once in the Villa Ludovizi, and was bought by Clement XII. The right arm is an entire restoration of Michael

Angelo.

(3, 4) See Historical Notes, at the end of this Canto, Nos. XXIX. XXX.-L. E.

(5) Suetonius informs us that Julius Cæsar was particu drag the Heraclidæ from the altar of mercy, and in whose honour they instituted annual games, continued till the time of Hadrian; or Anthemocritus, the Athenian herald, killed by the Megarenses, who never recovered the impiety. See Storia delle Arti, etc. tom. ii. pag. 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, lib. ix. cap. ii.

§ Storia, etc., tom. ii. p. 207. Note [A.! "Vulneratum deficientem fecit in quo possit intelligi quantum restat animæ." Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. xxxiv. cap. 8. Antiq. tom. iii. par. 2. tab. 138. 55 Bace. Stat. tab. 61. Mus. Capitol. tom. iii. p. 184. edit. 1753.

CXLV.

"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; (1) "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,

Or even the piping cry of lips that brook No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook She sees her little bud put forth its leavesWhat may the fruit be yet?-I know not-Cain was Eve's.

CL.

But here youth offers to old age the food,
The milk of his own gift:-it is her sire
To whom she renders back the debt of blood
Born with her birth. No; he shall not expire
While in those warm and lovely veins the fire
Of health and holy feeling can provide

Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher
Than Egypt's river:-from that gentle side

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! CXLVII.

Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts! Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads A holiness appealing to all heartsTo art a model; and to him who treads Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds Her light through thy sole aperture; to those Who worship, here are altars for their beads; And they who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honour'd forms, whose busts around them close. (3)

CXLVIII.

There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light (4) What do I gaze on? Nothing: Look again! Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sightTwo insulated phantoms of the brain: Is it not so; I see them full and plain— An old man, and a female young and fair, Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein The blood is nectar:-but what doth she there, With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare?

CXLIX.

Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life; Where on the heart and from the heart we took Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, Blest into mother, in the innocent look,

larly gratified by that decree of the senate which enabled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. Ile was anxious, not to show that he was conqueror of the world, but to hide that he was bald. A stranger at Rome would hardly have guessed the motive, nor should we without the help of the historian.

(1) This is quoted in the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, as a proof that the Coliseum was entire, when seen by the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims at the end of the seventh, or the beginning of the eighth, century. A notice on the Coliseum may be seen in the Historical Illustrations, p. 263.

(2) "Though plundered of all its brass, except the ring which was necessary to preserve the aperture above; though exposed to repeated fires; though sometimes flooded by the river, and always open to the rain, no monument of equal antiquity is so well preserved as this rotunda. It passed with little alteration from the Pagan into the present worship; and so convenient were its niches for the Christian altar, that Michael Angelo, ever studious of ancient beauty, introduced their design as a model in the Catholic church." -Forsyth's Italy, p. 137.-2d edit.

no such tide.

CLI.

The starry fable of the milky way
Has not thy story's purity; it is
A constellation of a sweeter ray,

And sacred Nature triumphs more in this
Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss
Where sparkle distant worlds :-Oh, holiest nurse!
No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss
To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source
With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe.

CLII.

Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rear'd on high, (5)
Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles,
Colossal copyist of deformity,

Whose travell'd fantasy from the far Nile's
Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils
To build for giants, and for his vain earth,
His shrunken ashes, raise this dome: how smiles
The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth,

[birth! To view the huge design which sprung from such a

CLIII.

But lo! the dome-the vast and wondrous dome,(6) To which Diana's marvel was a cellChrist's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracleIts columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hyæna and the jackall 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;

(3) The Pantheon has been made a receptacle for the busts of modern great, or, at least, distinguished, men. The flood of light which once fell through the large orb above on the whole circle of divinities, now shines on a numerons assemblage of mortals, some one or two of whom have been almost deified by the veneration of their countrymen. For a notice of the Pantheon, see Historical Illustrations, p. 287. (4) "There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light

What do I gaze on?" etc.

This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of the Roman daughter, which is recalled to the traveller by the site, or pretended site, of that adventure, now shown at the church of St. Nicholas in Carcere. The difficulties attending the full belief of the tale are stated in Historical Illustrations, p. 295.

(5) The Castle of St. Angelo.-See Historical Illustrations.

(6) This and the next six stanzas have a reference to the church of St. Peter. For a measurement of the comparative length of this basilica, and the other great churches of

CLIV.

But thou, of temples old, or altars new,
Standest alone-with nothing like to thee-
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true.
Since Zion's desolation, when that He
Forsook his former city, what could be,
Of earthly structures, in his honour piled,
Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty,

Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.

CLV.

Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; (1)
And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind,
Expanded by the genius of the spot,
Has grown colossal, and can only find
A fit abode wherein appear enshrined
Thy hopes of immortality; and thou

Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.

CLVI.

Thou movest-but increasing with the advance, Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, Deceived by its gigantic elegance;

Vastness which grows-but grows to harmoniseAll musical in its immensities;

Rich marbles-richer painting-shrines where flame The lamps of gold--and haughty dome, which vies In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame | Sits on the firm-set ground—and this the clouds must claim.

CLVII.

Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break,
To separate contemplation, the great whole;
And as the ocean many bays will make,
That ask the eye-so here condense thy soul
To more immediate objects, and control

Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart
Its eloquent proportions, and unroll
In mighty graduations, part by part,
The glory which at once upon thee did not dart,

CLVIII.

Not by its fault-but thine: our outward

sense

Is but of gradual grasp-and as it is
That what we have of feeling most intense,
Outstrips our faint expression; even so this
Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice

Fools our fond gaze, and, greatest of the great,
Defies at first our Nature's littleness,

Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate.

Europe, see the pavement of St. Peter's, and the Classical Tour through Italy, vol. ii p. 125, et seq. chap. iv.

(1) "I remember very well," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "my own disappointment when I first visited the Vatican; but on confessing my feelings to a brother student, of whose ingenuousness I had a high opinion, he acknowledged that the works of Raphael had the same effect on him, or rather that they did not produce the effect which he expected. This was a great relief to my mind; and, on inquiring further of other students, I found that those persons only who, from natural imbecility, appeared to be incapable of relishing those divine performances, made pretensions to instantaneous raptures on first beholding them. In justice to myself, however, I must add, that though disappointed and

CLIX.

Then pause, and be enlighten'd; there is more
In such a survey than the sating gaze

Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore
The worship of the place; or the mere praise
Of art and its great masters who could raise
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan;
The fountain of sublimity displays

Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can.

CLX.

Or, turning to the Vatican, go see Laocoon's torture dignifying painA father's love and mortal's agony With an immortal's patience blending:-vain The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, The old man's clench; the long envenom'd chain Rivets the living links,-the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. CLXI.

Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and light-The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight; The shaft hath just been shot-the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity.

CLXII.

But in his delicate form-a dream of Love, Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Long'd for a deathless lover from above, And madden'd in that vision--are exprest All that ideal beauty ever bless'd The mind with in its most unearthly mood, When each conception was a heavenly guestA ray of immortality-and stood, Starlike, around, until they gather'd to a god!

CLXIII.

And if it be Prometheus stole from heaven The fire which we endure, it was repaid By him to whom the energy was given Which this poetic marble hath array'd With an eternal glory-which, if made By human hands, is not of human thought; And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid One ringlet in the dust-nor hath it caught A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 't was wrought.

mortified at not finding myself enraptured with the works of this great master, I did not for a moment conceive or suppose that the name of Raphael, and those admirable paintings in particular, owed their reputation to the ignorance and prejudice of mankind; on the contrary, my not relishing them, as I was conscious I ought to have done, was one of the most humiliating circumstances that ever happened to me; I found myself in the midst of works executed upon principles with which I was unacquainted: 1 felt my ignorance, and stood abashed. All the indigested notions of painting which I had brought with me from England, where the art was in the lowest state it had ever been in (it could not, indeed, be lower), were to be totally done away and eradicated from my mind. It was neces

CLXIX.

Peasants bring forth in safety.—Can it be, O thou that wert so happy, so adored! Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many griefs for ONE: for she had pour'd Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head Beheld her Iris.-Thou, too, lonely lord, And desolate consort-vainly wert thou wed! The husband of a year! the father of the dead! CLXX.

Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes: in the dust The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, The love of millions! How we did intrust Futurity to her! and, though it must Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd Our children should obey her child, and bless'd Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd Like stars to shepherds' eyes:-'twas but a meteor beam'd.

CLXXI.

Woe unto us, not her; (1) for she sleeps well: The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate (2) Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung Against their blind omnipotence a weight Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late,—

CLXXII.

These might have been her destiny; but no,
Our hearts deny it: and so young, so fair,
Good without effort, great without a foe;
But now a bride and mother-and now there!
How many ties did that stern moment tear!
From thy sire's to his humblest subject's breast
Is link'd the electric chain of that despair,
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest

CLXVIII.

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou?
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead?
Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low
Some less majestic, less beloved head?

In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled,
The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy,
Death hush'd that pang for ever: with thee fled
The present happiness and promised joy

thee best.

CLXXIII.

Lo, Nemi! (3) navell'd in the woody hills
So far, that the uprooting wind which tears
The oak from his foundation, and which spills
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears
Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares
The oval mirror of thy glassy lake;

And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears
A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake,

sary, as it is expressed on a very solemn occasion, that I should become as a little child. Notwithstanding my disappointment, I proceeded to copy some of those excellent works. I viewed them again and again; I even affected to feel their merit and admire them more than I really did. In a short time, a new taste and a new perception began to dawn upon me, and I was convinced that I had origin. ally formed a false opinion of the perfection of the art, and that this great painter was well entitled to the high rank which he holds in the admiration of the world. The truth is, that if these works had really been what I had expected, they would have contained beauties superficial and alluring, but by no means such as would have entitled them to the great reputation which they have borne so long, and so justly obtained."-L. E.

(1) "The death of the Princess Charlotte has been a shock even here (Venice), and must have been an earthquake at home. The fate of this poor girl is melancholy in every respect; dying at twenty or so, in childbed-of a boy too, a present princess and a future queen, and just as she be gan to be happy, and to enjoy herself, and the hopes which she inspired. I feel sorry in every respect." B. Letters. -L. E.

(2) Mary died on the scaffold; Elizabeth of a broken heart; Charles V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in means and glory; Cromwell of anxiety; and, "the greatest is behind," Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but superfluous list might be added of names equally illustrious and unhappy.

(3) The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of