From George Gordon, Lord Byron

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto 4

[Rome.  The Coliseum and the Dying Gladiator.]

CXXXIX.

 And here the buzz of eager nations ran,
 In murmured pity, or loud-roared applause,
 As man was slaughtered by his fellow-man.
 And wherefore slaughtered? 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 drooped head sinks gradually low —
 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 hailed the wretch who won.

CXLI.

 He heard it, but he heeded not—his eyes
 Were with his heart, and that was far away;
 He recked 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,
 Butchered to make a Roman holiday —
 All this rushed 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 roared or murmured 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,
 My voice sounds much—and fall the stars’ faint rays
 On the arena void—seats crushed, walls bowed,
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud.

CXLIII.

 A ruin—yet what ruin! from its mass
 Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared;
 Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass,
 And marvel where the spoil could have appeared.
 Hath it indeed been plundered, or but cleared?
 Alas! developed, opens the decay,
 When the colossal fabric’s form is neared:
 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 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 grey walls wear,
 Like laurels on the bald first Caesar’s head;
 When the light shines serene, but doth not glare,
 Then in this magic circle raise the dead:
Heroes have trod this spot—’tis on their dust ye tread.

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 unaltered 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,
 From Jove to Jesus—spared and blest by time;
 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!

[Apostrophe to the Ocean.  Conclusion]

CLXXVIII.

 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
 There is society where none intrudes,
 By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
 I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
 From these our interviews, in which I steal
 From all I may be, or have been before,
 To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

CLXXIX.

 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
 Man marks the earth with ruin—his control
 Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
 A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
 When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

CLXXX.

 His steps are not upon thy paths,—thy fields
 Are not a spoil for him,—thou dost arise
 And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
 For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise,
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
 And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray
 And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
 His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay.

CLXXXI.

 The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals.
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
 Their clay creator the vain title take
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada’s pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

CLXXXII.

 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee —
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
 Thy waters washed them power while they were free
 And many a tyrant since: their shores obey
 The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
 Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou,
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play —
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow —
Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

CLXXXIII.

 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form
 Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
 Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm,
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
 Dark-heaving;—boundless, endless, and sublime —
 The image of Eternity—the throne
 Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
 The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

CLXXXIV.

 And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
 Borne like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy
 I wantoned with thy breakers—they to me
 Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
 Made them a terror—’twas a pleasing fear,
 For I was as it were a child of thee,
 And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do here.

CLXXXV.

 My task is done—my song hath ceased—my theme
 Has died into an echo; it is fit
 The spell should break of this protracted dream.
 The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit
 My midnight lamp—and what is writ, is writ —
 Would it were worthier! but I am not now
 That which I have been—and my visions flit
 Less palpably before me—and the glow
Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.

CLXXXVI.

 Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been —
 A sound which makes us linger; yet, farewell!
 Ye, who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene
 Which is his last, if in your memories dwell
 A thought which once was his, if on ye swell
 A single recollection, not in vain
 He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop shell;
 Farewell! with HIM alone may rest the pain,
If such there were—with YOU, the moral of his strain.

Joanna Baillie

London

It is a goodly sight through the clear air,
From Hampstead's heathy height to see at once
England's vast capital in fair expanse,
Towers, belfries, lengthen'd streets, and strucures fair.
St. Paul's high dome amidst the vassal bands  (5)
Of neighb'ring spires, a regal chieftain stands,
And over fields of ridgy roofs appear,
With distance softly tinted, side by side,
In kindred grace, like twain of sisters dear;
The Towers of Westminster, her Abbey's pride;  (10)
While, far beyond, the hills of Surrey shine
Through thin soft haze, and show their wavy line.
View'd thus, a goodly sight! but when survey'd
Through denser air when moisten'd winds prevail,
In her grand panoply of smoke array'd,  (15)
While clouds aloft in heavy volumes sail,
She is sublime. - She seems a curtain'd gloom
Connecting heaven and earth, - a threat'ning sign of doom.
With more than natural height, rear'd in the sky
'Tis then St. Paul's arrests the wondering eye;  (20)
The lower parts in swathing mist conceal'd,
The higher through some half spent shower reveal'd,
o far from earth removed, that well, I trow,
Did not its form man's artful structure show,
It might some lofty alpine peak be deem'd,  (25)
The eagle's haunt, with cave and crevice seam'd.
Stretch'd wide on either hand, a rugged screan,
In lurid dimness, nearer streets are seen
Like shoreward billows of a troubled main,
Arrested in their rage. Through drizzly rain,  (30)
Cataracts of tawny sheen pour from the skies,
Of furnace smoke black curling columns rise,
And many tinted vapours, slowly pass
O'er the wide draping of that pictured mass.

    So shows by day this grand imperial town,  (35)
And, when o'er all the night's black stole is thrown,
The distant traveller doth with wonder mark
Her luminous canopy athwart the dark,
Cast up, from myriads of lamps that shine
Along her streets in many a starry line: ---  (40)
He wondering looks from his yet distant road,
And thinks the northern streamers are abroad.
"What hollow sound is that?" approaching near,
The roar of many wheels breaks on his ear.
It is the flood of human life in motion!  (45)
It is the voice of a tempestuous ocean!
With sad but pleasing awe his soul is fill'd,
Scarce heaves his breast, and all within is still'd,
As many thoughts and feelings cross his mind, -
Thoughts, mingled, melancholy, undefined,  (50)
Of restless, reckless man, and years gone by,
And Time fast wending to Eternity.

 

Thunder

SPIRIT of strength! to whom in wrath 'tis given,
To mar the earth and shake its vasty dome,
Behold the sombre robes whose gathering folds,
Thy secret majesty conceal. Their skirts
Spread on mid air move slow and silently,
O'er noon-day's beam thy sultry shroud is cast,
Advancing clouds from every point of heaven,
Like hosts of gathering foes in pitchy volumes,
Grandly dilated, clothe the fields of air,
And brood aloft o'er the empurpled earth.
Spirit of strength! it is thy awful hour;
The wind of every hill is laid to rest,
And far o'er sea and land deep silence reigns.
 

Page 96

 

    Wild creatures of the forest homeward hie,
And in their dens with fear unwonted cower;
Pride in the lordly palace is put down,
While in his humble cot the poor man sits
With all his family round him hushed and still,
In awful expectation. On his way
The traveller stands aghast and looks to heaven.
On the horizon's verge thy lightning gleams,
And the first utterance of thy deep voice
Is heard in reverence and holy fear.
 

    From nearer clouds bright burst more vivid gleams,
As instantly in closing darkness lost;
Pale sheeted flashes cross the wide expanse
While over boggy moor or swampy plain,
A streaming cataract of flame appears,
To meet a nether fire from earth cast up,
Commingling terribly; appalling gloom
Succeeds, and lo! the rifted centre pours
A general blaze, and from the war of clouds,
Red, writhing falls the embodied bolt of heaven.
Then swells the roiling peal, full, deep'ning, grand,
 

Page 97

And in its strength lifts the tremendous roar,
With mingled discord, rattling, hissing, growling;
Crashing like rocky fragments downward hurled,
Like the upbreaking of a ruined world,
In awful majesty the explosion bursts
Wide and astounding o'er the trembling land.
Mountain, and cliff, repeat the dread turmoil,
And all to man's distinctive senses known,
Is lost in the immensity of sound.
Peal after peal, succeeds with waning strength,
And hushed and deep each solemn pause between.
 

    Upon the lofty mountain's side
The kindled forest blazes wide;
Huge fragments of the rugged steep
Are tumbled to the lashing deep;
Firm rooted in his cloven rock,
Crashing falls the stubborn oak.
The lightning keen in wasteful ire
Darts fiercely on the pointed spire,
Rending in twain the iron-knit stone,
And stately towers to earth are thrown.
 

Page 98

No human strength may brave the storm,
Nor shelter skreen the shrinking form,
Nor castle wall its fury stay,
Nor massy gate impede its way:
It visits those of low estate,
It shakes the dwellings of the great,
It looks athwart the vaulted tomb,
And glares upon the prison's gloom.
Then dungeons black in unknown light,
Flash hideous on the wretches' sight,
And strangely groans the downward cell,
Where silence deep is wont to dwell.
 

    Now eyes, to heaven up-cast, adore,
Knees bend that never bent before,
The stoutest hearts begin to fail,
And many a manly face is pale;
Benumbing fear awhile up-binds,
The palsied action of their minds,
Till waked to dreadful sense they lift their eyes,
And round the stricken corse shrill shrieks of horror rise.
 

Page 99

 

    Now rattling hailstones, bounding as they fall
To earth, spread motley winter o'er the plain,
Receding peals sound fainter on the ear,
And roll their distant grumbling far away:
The lightning doth in paler flashes gleam,
And through the rent cloud, silvered with his rays,
The sun on all this wild affray looks down,
As, high enthroned above all mortal ken,
A higher Power beholds the strife of men.

Felecia Hemans

The Homes of England


 

    The stately homes of England!
      How beautiful they stand,
    Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
      O'er all the pleasant land!
    The deer across their greensward bound
      Through shade and sunny gleam,
    And the swan glides past them with the sound
      Of some rejoicing stream.

    The merry homes of England!
      Around their hearths by night
    What gladsome looks of household love
      Meet in the ruddy light!
    There woman's voice flows forth in song,
      Or childish tale is told,
    Or lips move tunefully along
      Some glorious page of old.

    The blessčd homes of England!
      How softly on their bowers
    Is laid the holy quietness
      That breathes from Sabbath hours!
    Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
      Floats through their woods at morn;
    All other sounds, in that still time,
      Of breeze and leaf are born.

    The cottage homes of England!
      By thousands on her plains,
    They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
      And round the hamlets' fanes.
    Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
      Each from its nook of leaves;
    And fearless there the lowly sleep,
      As the bird beneath their eaves.

    The free, fair homes of England!
      Long, long, in hut and hall
    May hearts of native proof be reared
      To guard each hallowed wall!
    And green forever be the groves,
      And bright the flowery sod,
    Where first the child's glad spirit loves
      Its country and its God!