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Translated by Harriet W. Preston
TO-DAY, fair Arles, a harvester thou seemest, | |
| Who sleepest on thy threshing-floor, and dreamest | |
| Of glories past; but a queen wert thou then, | |
| And mother of so brave seafaring men, | |
| The noisy winds themselves aye lost their way | 5 |
| In the great harbor where thy shipping lay. | |
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| Rome had arrayed thee in white marble newly, | |
| As an imperial princess decked thee duly. | |
| Thy brow a crown of stately columns wore; | |
| The gates of thy arenas were sixscore; | 10 |
| Thou hadst thy theatre and hippodrome, | |
| So to make mirth in thy resplendent home! | |
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| We pass within the gates. A crowd advances | |
| Toward the theatre, with songs and dances. | |
| We join them; and the eager thousands press | 15 |
| Through the cool colonnades of palaces; | |
| As thou, mayhap, a mighty flood hast seen | |
| Rush through a maple-shaded, deep ravine. | |
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| Arrived,—O, shame and sorrow!—we saw there | |
| On the proscenium, with bosoms bare, | 20 |
| Young maidens waltzing to a languid lyre, | |
| And high refrain sung by a shrill-voiced choir. | |
| They in the mazes of their dance surrounded | |
| A marble shape, whose name like “Venus” sounded. | |
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| The frenzied populace its clamor adds | 25 |
| Unto the cries of lasses and of lads, | |
| Who shout their idol’s praises o’er and o’er,— | |
| “Hail to thee, Venus, of joy the bestower! | |
| Hail to thee, Venus, goddess of all grace! | |
| Mother of earth and of the Arlesian race!” | 30 |
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| The statue, myrtle-crowned, with nostrils wide | |
| And head high-borne, appears to swell with pride | |
| Amid the incense-clouds; when suddenly, | |
| In horror of so great audacity, | |
| Leaps Trophimus amid the maddened wretches, | 35 |
| And o’er the bewildered throng his arms outstretches. | |
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| “People of Arles!” in mighty tones he cried, | |
| “Hear me, even for the sake of Christ who died!” | |
| No more. But, smitten by his shaggy frown, | |
| The idol groaned and staggered, and fell down, | 40 |
| Headlong, from off its marble pedestal. | |
| Fell, too, the awe-struck dancers, one and all. | |
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| Therewith went up, as ’t were, a single howl; | |
| Choked were the gateways with a rabble foul, | |
| Who through all Arles spread terror and dismay, | 45 |
| So that patricians tore their crowns away; | |
| And all the enraged youth closed round us there, | |
| While flashed a thousand poniards in the air. | |
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| Yet they recoiled;—whether it were the sight | |
| Of us, in our salt-crusted robes bedight; | 50 |
| Or Trophimus’ calm brow which beamed on them, | |
| As wreathed with a celestial diadem; | |
| Or tear-veiled Magdalen, who stood between us, | |
| How tenfold fairer than their sculptured Venus! | |
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