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(From Ruins of Many Lands)
AND where stands Ephesus, in days gone by | |
| Pride of the East, Ionia’s radiant eye, | |
| Boasting the shrine to famed Diana reared, | |
| Earth’s wonder called, that myriad hearts revered? | |
| There spreads Selinus’ lake beneath the hill, | 5 |
| And flows unchanged the Cayster’s willowed rill; | |
| These speak the city near,—through waving grass, | |
| O’er blackened stones, we slowly laboring pass; | |
| Across our way the timid leveret springs; | |
| Woke from his sleep, the snake uncoils his rings. | 10 |
| No street we tread, but climb a grass-grown mound,— | |
| What! is this Ephesus that moulders round? | |
| The embattled walls that swept o’er Lepre’s side, | |
| To shapeless ruin crushed, have stooped their pride: | |
| Where stood that early church Paul loved so well, | 15 |
| No cross, no tomb, no stone remains to tell. | |
| Diana’s fane that, glassed in depths below, | |
| From bronze and silver cast a starry glow, | |
| With statues, colonnades, and courts apart, | |
| And porphyry pillars, each the pride of art,— | 20 |
| Have Time’s stern scythe, man’s rage, and flood and fire, | |
| Left naught for curious pilgrims to admire? | |
| A few poor footsteps now may cross the shrine, | |
| Cell, long arcade, high altar, all supine; | |
| Bound with thick ivy, broken columns lie, | 25 |
| Through low rent arches winds of evening sigh, | |
| Rough brambles choke the vaults where gold was stored, | |
| And toads spit venom forth where priests adored. | |
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| The shivering bolt of ruthless ruin falls | |
| On pleasure’s haunts, as well as priestly walls: | 30 |
| See! in the circus, where gay chariots pressed | |
| Their rapid race, the plover builds her nest. | |
| Ten thousand voices rang from yonder hill, | |
| There, clothed with moss, sweep circling benches still, | |
| But e’en the peasant shuns that spot in fear, | 35 |
| So deep the voiceless calm, its look so drear. | |
| Poor actors! Greek or Roman, where are they, | |
| That toiled and laughed to make their fellows gay? | |
| Down the long stream of sable Lethe tost, | |
| Their graves unknown, and e’en their memories lost. | 40 |
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| Yet, Ephesus! while desolate and lorn, | |
| And though thy starless night shall know no morn, | |
| Cold is the breast of him who looks on thee, | |
| And feels no thrill of solemn ecstasy. | |
| As musing now we walk thy desert bound, | 45 |
| The heart leaps up as at a trumpet’s sound, | |
| For here, e’en here,—name never to expire,— | |
| Paul taught his church, and breathed his words of fire; | |
| These very stones his foot perchance hath trod, | |
| These roofless walls have heard his prayers to God. | 50 |
| There did Demetrius raise his heathen cry | |
| ’Gainst him who led men’s wandering thoughts on high, | |
| Showed the dark errors of their baseless dreams, | |
| Poured on the spirit’s night celestial beams, | |
| And cheered us with the hope, when worms shall prey | 55 |
| On this poor form consigned to slow decay, | |
| The soul, with added powers and new-fledged plume, | |
| Shall spring to life and joy, beyond the tomb. | |
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| Ay, Paul’s bright fame, above the fame of kings, | |
| On these sad ruins dazzling lustre flings. | 60 |
| But chief tradition points to yon rude tower, | |
| Where passed in bonds the apostle’s lonely hour, | |
| And pious hands have reared in later day | |
| These fretted Gothic walls, and arches gray: | |
| Within this cell—hush, heart! thy fluttering fears— | 65 |
| To Fancy’s eye his godlike form appears: | |
| What solemn thought that lofty brow displays! | |
| What holy fervor in that lifted gaze! | |
| Monarchs! behold a greater far than ye; | |
| Conquerors! to Christ’s brave champion bend the knee! | 70 |
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