GENERAL FOY.
* * * * *
ROME.
[Illustration]
I am in Rome! Oft as
the morning ray
Visits these eyes, waking
at once, I cry,
Whence this excess of joy?
What has befallen me?
And from within a thrilling
voice replies—
Thou art in Rome! A thousand
busy thoughts
Rush on my mind—a
thousand images;
And I spring up as girt to
run a race!
Thou art in Rome! the
city that so long
Reign’d absolute—the
mistress of the world!
The mighty vision that the
Prophet saw
And trembled; that from nothing,
from the least,
The lowliest village (what,
but here and there
A reed-roof’d cabin
by a river side?)
Grew into everything; and,
year by year,
Patiently, fearlessly working
her way
O’er brook and field,
o’er continent and sea;
Not like the merchant with
his merchandise,
Or traveller with staff and
scrip exploring;
But hand to hand and foot
to foot, through hosts,
Through nations numberless
in battle array,
Each behind each; each, when
the other fell,
Up, and in arms—at
length subdued them all.
Thou art in Rome! the
city where the Gauls,
Entering at sun-rise through
her open gates,
And through her streets silent
and desolate
Marching to slay, thought
they saw gods, not men;
The city, that by temperance,
fortitude,
And love of glory tower’d
above the clouds,
Then fell—but,
falling, kept the highest seat,
And in her loveliness, her
pomp of woe,
Where now she dwells, withdrawn
into the wild,
Still o’er the mind
maintains, from age to age,
Its empire undiminish’d.
There, as though
Grandeur attracted grandeur,
are beheld
All things that strike, ennoble;
from the depths
Of Egypt, from the classic
fields of Greece—
Her groves, her temples—all
things that inspire
Wonder, delight! Who
would not say the forms.
Most perfect most divine,
had by consent
Flock’d thither to abide
eternally
Within those silent chambers
where they dwell
In happy intercourse?
ROGERS.
* * * * *