| |
| HE who would echo Horace’ lays | |
| Aspires to an Icarian fame; | |
| And borne on waxen wings essays | |
| A flight—may give some sea a name. | |
| |
| My fate perchance! But as I write | 5 |
| I see through Time’s reverted glass, | |
| In fleckered mists of shade and light, | |
| The phantoms of the ages pass. | |
| |
| I see an infant, tired with play, | |
| Sleep sweetly in Apulia’s wild, | 10 |
| And doves bring myrtle leaves and bay | |
| To cover the courageous child. | |
| |
| A stripling walks the streets of Rome, | |
| With slate and satchel on his arm; | |
| His life abroad, his ways at home, | 15 |
| A loving father’s care and charm. | |
| |
| Fulfilment of his boyhood’s dream, | |
| Greece welcomes now the freedman’s son; | |
| He haunts the groves of Academe, | |
| And quaffs the springs of Helicon. | 20 |
| |
| Light of the World! the central seat | |
| Of wit and wisdom, art and lore,— | |
| In Athens patriot exiles meet | |
| Where bards and sages met before. | |
| |
| No athlete, and no warrior he, | 25 |
| With Brutus on Philippi’s field, | |
| The darling of Melpomene, | |
| Not bravely, throws away his shield. | |
| |
| Her fleets dispersed and tempest-tost, | |
| Her armies crushed, their leaders slain,— | 30 |
| Now is the great Republic lost, | |
| Lost never to revive again. | |
| |
| The Julian star ascends the sky, | |
| It shines on groups of learned men, | |
| Law clips the wings of Liberty, | 35 |
| And Horace wields the Empire’s pen. | |
| |
| Names, only names!—the brilliant throng | |
| That crowd the poet’s pictured page: | |
| Still lives in his imperial song | |
| The soul of the Augustan age. | 40 |
| |
| No longer through the Sacred Way | |
| The pontiffs lead the vestal train; | |
| Thrones crumble, dynasties decay, | |
| Of Alaric born, or Charlemagne:— | |
| |
| Saints, Soldiers, Presbyters, and Popes, | 45 |
| In legions rise and disappear, | |
| And Bards with glowing horoscopes | |
| Oblivion garners year by year; | |
| |
| But on strong wing, through upper air,— | |
| Two worlds beneath, the Old and New,— | 50 |
| The Roman Swan is wafted where | |
| The Roman eagles never flew. | |
| |
