SIR WALTER SCOTT AT THE TOMB OF THE STUARTS IN ST. PETER'S.*
EVE's tinted shadows slowly fill the fane
Where Art has taken almost Nature's room,
While still two objects clear in light remain,
An alien pilgrim at an alien tomb.—
-A sculptured tomb of regal heads discrown'd,
Of one heart-worshipped, fancy-haunted, name,
Once loud on earth, but now scarce else renown'd
Than as the offspring of that stranger's fame.
There lie the Stuarts !—There lingers Walter Scott!
Strange congress of illustrious thoughts and things!
A plain old moral, still too oft forgot,-
The power of Genius and the fall of Kings.
The curse on lawless Will high-planted there,
A beacon to the world, shines not for him;
He is with those who felt their life was sere,
When the full light of loyalty grew dim.
* When Sir Walter Scott was at Rome, the year of his death, the history and localities of the Stuarts seemed to absorb all other objects of his interest. The circumstance of this poem fell within the observation of the writer.
He rests his chin upon a sturdy staff,
Historic as that sceptre, theirs no more;
His gaze is fixed; his thirsty heart can quaff,
For a short hour, the spirit-draughts of yore.
Each figure in its pictured place is seen,
Each fancied shape his actual vision fills,
From the long-pining, death-delivered, Queen,
To the worn Outlaw of the heathery hills.
O grace of life, which shame could never mar!
O dignity, that circumstance defied!
Pure is the neck that wears the deathly scar,
And sorrow has baptised the front of pride.
But purpled mantle, and blood-crimson'd shroud,
Exiles to suffer and returns to woo,
Are gone, like dreams by daylight disallow'd;
And their historian, he is sinking too!
A few more moments and that labouring brow Cold as those royal busts and calm will lie; And, as on them his thoughts are resting now, His marbled form will meet the attentive eye.
Thus, face to face, the dying and the dead,
Bound in one solemn ever-living bond,
Communed; and I was sad that ancient head
Ever should pass those holy walls beyond.
THE ILLUMINATIONS OF ST. PETER'S.
TEMPLE! where Time has wed Eternity,
How beautiful Thou art, beyond compare,
Now emptied of thy massive majesty,
And made so faery-frail, so faery-fair:
The lineaments that thou art wont to wear
Augustly traced in ponderous masonry,
Lie faint as in a woof of filmy air,
Within their frames of mellow jewelry.-
But yet how sweet the hardly-waking sense,
That when the strength of hours has quenched those
Disparted all those soft-bright diadems,—
Still in the Sun thy form will rise supreme
In its own solid clear magnificence,
Divinest substance then, as now divinest dream.
* Translated by C. J. M'C.
TEMPIO che 'l ciel con quest' angusto mondo
E'l tempo coll' eternità mariti,
SECOND ILLUMINATION.
My heart was resting with a peaceful gaze,
So peaceful that it seemed I well could die
Entranced before such Beauty,—when a cry
Burst from me, and I sunk in dumb amaze :
The molten stars before a withering blaze
Paled to annihilation, and my eye,
Stunned by the splendour, saw against the sky
Nothing but light, sheer light,—and light's own haze.
At last that giddying Sight took form,-and then
Appeared the stable Vision of a Crown,
From the black vault by unseen Power let down,
Cross-topped, thrice girt with flame :-
Queens of the Earth! bow low,—was ever brow
Of mortal birth adorned as Rome is now?
Di quai bellezze nuove il viso inondo
Or che mite e fral tu lo sguardo inviti!
Sorridon sciolti sotto vel profondo
Quei tratti già da fermo sasso uniti,
Tela di luce sol ti fa giocondo,-
Sol di gemme, di fiamma, e' son vestiti.
Eppur che gioia nel pensier segreto
Che quando l' avide Ore e l' invidioso
Sol spegneran quel fregio, or si pomposo,
Tu non perciò vedrai a te rovina,
Ma sempre stai eterno e chiaro e lieto,
Or divin sogno, or realtà divina !
PAST is the first dear phantom of our sight,
A loadstar of calm loveliness to draw
All souls from out this world of fault and flaw,
To a most perfect centre of delight,
Merged in deep fire;—our joy is turned to awe,
Delight to wonder. This is just and right;-
A greater light puts out the lesser light,-
So be it ever,—such is God's high law.
The self-same Sun that calls the flowers from earth
Withers them soon, to give the fruit free birth ;—
The nobler Spirit to whom much is given
Must take still more, though in that more there lie
The risk of losing All;-to gaze at Heaven,
We blind our earthly eyes ;-to live we die.
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