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Translated by Edmund Spenser
I. THOU stranger, which for Rome in Rome here seekest, | |
| And nought of Rome in Rome perceivst at all, | |
| These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest, | |
| Olde palaces, is that which Rome men call. | |
| Beholde what wreake, what ruine, and what wast, | 5 |
| And how that she, which with her mightie powre | |
| Tam’d all the world, hath tam’d herselfe at last; | |
| The pray of Time, which all things doth devowre! | |
| Rome now of Rome is th’ onely funerall, | |
| And onely Rome of Rome hath victorie; | 10 |
| Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall | |
| Remaines of all: O worlds inconstancie! | |
| That which is firme doth flit and fall away, | |
| And that is flitting doth abide and stay. | |
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II. THESE heapes of stones, these old wals, which ye see, | 15 |
| Were first enclosures but of salvage soyle; | |
| And these brave pallaces, which maystred bee | |
| Of Time, were shepheards cottages somewhile. | |
| Then tooke the shepheards kingly ornaments, | |
| And the stout hynde arm’d his right hand with steele: | 20 |
| Eftsoones their rule of yearely Presidents | |
| Grew great, and sixe months greater a great deele; | |
| Which, made perpetuall, rose to so great height, | |
| That thence th’ Imperiall Eagle rooting tooke, | |
| Till th’ heaven it selfe, opposing gainst her might, | 25 |
| Her power to Peters successor betooke; | |
| Who, shepheardlike, (as Fates the same foreseeing,) | |
| Doth shew that all things turne to their first being. | |
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III. O THAT I had the Thracian Poets harpe, | |
| For to awake out of th’ infernall shade | 30 |
| Those antique Cæsars, sleeping long in darke, | |
| The which this auncient Citie whilome made! | |
| Or that I had Amphions instrument, | |
| To quicken, with his vitall notes accord, | |
| The stonie ioynts of these old walls now rent, | 35 |
| By which th’ Ausonian light might be restor’d! | |
| Or that at least I could, with pencill fine, | |
| Fashion the pourtraicts of these palacis, | |
| By paterne of great Virgils spirit divine! | |
| I would assay with that which in me is, | 40 |
| To builde, with levell of my loftie style, | |
| That which no hands can evermore compyle. | |
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