The Ruins of Rome

I

Divine spirits, whose powdery ashes lie
Under this weight of ruins, buried deep;
Yet not the fame, your living verse will keep
From Hades’ halls; fame that will never die;
If we have power to make our human cry
Downwards, from here, to that region leap,
Let mine pierce the abyss, this dark steep,
That you might hear my voice from on high.
Three times circling beneath heaven’s veil,
In devotion, round your tombs, I hail
You, with loud summons; thrice on you I call:
And, while your ancient fury I invoke,
Here, as though I in sacred terror spoke,
I’ll sing your glory, beauteous above all.

II

The Babylonian praises his high wall,
And gardens high in air; Ephesian
Forms the Greek will praise again;
The people of the Nile their Pyramids tall;
And that same Greek still boasting will recall
Their statue of Jove the Olympian;
The Tomb of Mausolus, some Carian;
Cretans their long-lost labyrinthine hall.
The ancient Rhodian will praise the glory
Of that renowned Colossus, great in story:
And whatever noble work he can raise
To a like renown, some boaster thunders,
From on high; while I, above all, I praise
Rome’s seven hills, the world’s seven wonders.

III

Newcomer, who looks for Rome in Rome,
And little of Rome in Rome can perceive,
These old walls and palaces, yet believe,
These ancient archways; are what men call Rome.
What ruin and what pride, temple and dome!
Now she, of whom the whole world once asked leave,
Who tamed all others, tames herself: conceive,
She’s prey to Time, a leaf from some old tome.
Rome now of Rome’s the only monument,
And over Rome alone Rome wins ascent;
Only the Tiber, flowing to the sea,
Remains: of Rome. O, this world’s transience!
That which stands firm, Time ruins silently,
While what flows, against Time shows resistance.

IV

She, who with her head the stars surpassed,
One foot on Dawn, the other on the Main,
One hand on Scythia, the other Spain,
Held the round of earth and sky encompassed:
Jupiter fearing, if higher she was classed,
That the old Giants’ pride might rise again,
Piled these hills on her, these seven that soar,
Tombs of her greatness at the heavens cast.
On her head he heaped the high Capitol,
Then on her belly set the Quirinal,
On her stomach planted old Palatine,
On her right hand the Caelian stone,
On her left the Esquiline’s long bone,
On her foot, Viminal and Aventine.

V

He who would see the vast power of Nature,
Art, and Heaven: Rome, let him view you.
I long to know if he could now construe,
From what death reveals, your lost grandeur.
Rome is no more: if downed architecture
May still revive some shade of Rome anew,
It’s like a corpse, by some magic brew,
Drawn at deep midnight from a sepulchre.
The corpse of Rome lies here entombed in dust,
Her spirit gone to join, as all things must
The massy round’s great spirit onward whirled.
But her writings, that eternal praise
Drags from the tomb, despite the waste of days,
Ensures her image wanders through the world.

VI

As in her chariot the Phrygian goddess rode,
Crowned with high turrets, happy to have borne
Such quantity of gods, so her I mourn,
This ancient city, once whole worlds bestrode:
On whom, more than the Phrygian, was bestowed
A wealth of progeny, whose power at dawn
Was the world’s power, her grandeur, now shorn,
Knowing no match to that which from her flowed.
Only Rome could mighty Rome resemble,
Only Rome force sacred Rome to tremble:
So Fate’s command issued its decree,
No other power, however bold or wise,
Could boast of matching her who matched we see,
Her power with earth’s, her courage with the sky’s.

VII

You sacred ruins, and you holy shores,
You that, alone, the name of Rome retain,
Old monuments, that still in dust maintain
Those divine spirits’ ever-honoured cause.
Triumphal arches, domes at heaven’s doors,
That an astonished heaven sees full plain,
Alas, by degrees, turned to dust again.
The people’s fable that the public gnaws!
And though awhile against Time they make war,
These buildings still, yet it must be that Time
In the end, both works and names, will flaw.
Sad longing, rest content then: for if Time
Makes an end of things that so endure,
The pain too that I suffer it must cure.

VIII

With arms and vassals Rome the world subdued,
So that one might judge this single city
Had found her grandeur held in check solely
By earth and ocean’s depth and latitude.
So richly was this fertile race imbued
With virtuous nephews, its posterity
Surpassed the past, in brave authority,
Measured deep earth and heaven’s altitude:
So that, holding all power in its hand,
No end to empire would Rome understand:
And though Republics Time might consume,
Time could not so diminish Roman pride,
That some head raised from the ancient tomb,
To speak her name, might be deemed to have lied.

IX

You cruel stars, inhuman deities,
Envious heavens, harsh mother Nature,
Whether by chance, or some deeper law,
You steer the course of human destinies,
Why did your hands work all those centuries
To fashion a world that might so long endure?
Or why was the substance not made more sure
That formed the brave fronts of these palaces?
I do not sing here to the common tune,
Claiming that everything beneath the moon
Is corruptible and subject to decay:
But rather I say (not wishing to displease
Those who would argue by contraries)
That this great All must perish some fine day.

X

Much as brave Jason by the Colchian shore,
Through magic arts won the Golden Fleece,
Sowing the plain with the old serpent’s teeth,
To engender soldiers from the furrow’s store,
This city, that in youthful season bore
A Hydra’s nest of warriors, raised a yeast
Of brave nurslings, who their proud glory saw
Fill the Sun’s mansions, to the west and east:
But in the end, lacking a Hercules
To vanquish so fecund a progeny,
Arming themselves in civil enmity,
Mowed each other down, a cruel harvest,
Reliving thus the fraternal harsh unrest
Which had blinded that proud seeded army.