Poems (Blagden)/Rome. 1870
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ROME. 1870.
WRITTEN ON THE EVE OF THE ENTRANCE OF THE ITALIAN TROOPS INTO ROME.
There is a picture I remember well,
A fresco, fading in my Southern home,
A woman sleeping on the burning sand,
While baleful sunset vapours fill the land,
A type of thee, O Rome!
A fresco, fading in my Southern home,
A woman sleeping on the burning sand,
While baleful sunset vapours fill the land,
A type of thee, O Rome!
The slant sun searches for her cheek, and warms
Its golden brown to amber, till the bee,
Confused by sweetness, sucks it as a flower.
No queen, who dreams within her palace bower,
Is throned more royally.
Its golden brown to amber, till the bee,
Confused by sweetness, sucks it as a flower.
No queen, who dreams within her palace bower,
Is throned more royally.
Above, the blue, far-off, mysterious sky,
O'ercanopies her grave, majestic head,
And presses her shut eyes, so sadly sweet;
The swart Campagna stretches round her feet,
As 'twere a carpet spread.
O'ercanopies her grave, majestic head,
And presses her shut eyes, so sadly sweet;
The swart Campagna stretches round her feet,
As 'twere a carpet spread.
Around (bold headlands in that tideless sea)
Surge awful ruins, prone, august, and hoar,
Void temples, broken columns, arches vast,
Where oracles and echoes of the past
Reverberate evermore!
Surge awful ruins, prone, august, and hoar,
Void temples, broken columns, arches vast,
Where oracles and echoes of the past
Reverberate evermore!
An empty wallet lies beside her hand,
A cross defaced hangs on her scarlet vest;
Forlorn and poor, she sleeps abandoned there,
Her face, o'ershadowed by a grand despair,
Is hushed in mournful rest.
A cross defaced hangs on her scarlet vest;
Forlorn and poor, she sleeps abandoned there,
Her face, o'ershadowed by a grand despair,
Is hushed in mournful rest.
Unconscious of all peril, calm, she sleeps,
Though soon the treacherous fatal dews will rise
Which lead from sleep to death; soft cobweb folds
Thus bind a captured fly in spider holds,
Where, crushed, it slowly dies.
Though soon the treacherous fatal dews will rise
Which lead from sleep to death; soft cobweb folds
Thus bind a captured fly in spider holds,
Where, crushed, it slowly dies.
The poison murders with a bland caress,
A sugared venom 'neath which life expires;
But wake her and she's saved. Is there no name
Will rouse her from this sleep, as sudden flame
Is held to smouldering fires?
A sugared venom 'neath which life expires;
But wake her and she's saved. Is there no name
Will rouse her from this sleep, as sudden flame
Is held to smouldering fires?
Alas, alas! to me that picture seems
My country's symbol. Rome, thus fair art thou.
Dead vampire lips thus fasten on thy breath,
And beauty deepening into solemn death,
Thus crowns thy faded brow.
My country's symbol. Rome, thus fair art thou.
Dead vampire lips thus fasten on thy breath,
And beauty deepening into solemn death,
Thus crowns thy faded brow.
She sleeps 'mid ruins, as thou sleepest, Rome!
Beneath as subtle, deadly a control;
A worse malaria enervates thy will,
And fate and falsehood both unite to kill,
To soil and crush thy soul.
Beneath as subtle, deadly a control;
A worse malaria enervates thy will,
And fate and falsehood both unite to kill,
To soil and crush thy soul.
But thou art saved; loud o'er thy purple hills
The silence breaks, thy brave deliverers come;
Clear as a clarion's note the music falls,
And nations greet the kingly voice which calls,
Arise, be free, O Rome!
The silence breaks, thy brave deliverers come;
Clear as a clarion's note the music falls,
And nations greet the kingly voice which calls,
Arise, be free, O Rome!