Poems (Jordan)/Rome

by Rebecca Queen Jordan

ROME

Death-mask of earthly greatness! here we trace,
'Neath Splendor's withered hand, the perfect Face
'Tow'rd which the ages turned, questioningly,
Thy favoring glance, or thy dread frown to see;
Here Art and Genius came, from near and far,
Laden with wondrous gifts, and gifts bizarre;
Here Mem'ry-pampered Hope smiled scornfully
On each presumptuous Possibility;—
Now?—Strangers sift the ashes of thy thrones
For souvenirs, and snatch thy sacred bones
Therefrom, and, cov'ring them with artificial flesh,
Bid thee assume thy sov'reignty afresh!
But shall void sockets of doffed diadems
Be filled anew with Time's just-purchased gems?
Shall infant hands glove in gigantic deeds agone,—
Or life succeeded be, by its own skeleton?
Alas, that History, who wrought thy garments rare,
Should for thy royal corpse no shroud prepare,
That so the nations might, with reverence, behold
The grandeur of the dress which hides thy mold!
Ah, Rome; proud Rome! with rich inheritance
Of Pow'r—claim seconded by Circumstance—
We mourn for thee! We mourn thy ruins vast!
We mourn the broken Promise of thy Past!
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But, glorious as thy fame, thy ruins are—
Fathered by peerless Night, its peerless Star!