And Brennus, famed for sacrilegious spoil,
That, overwhelm’d beneath the rocky pile,
Atoned the carnage of his cruel hand,
Join’d the long pageant of the martial band;
Who march’d in foreign or barbarian guise
From every realm and clime beneath the skies
But different far in habit from the rest,
One tribe with reverent awe my heart impress’d:
There he that entertain’d the grand design
To build a temple to the Power Divine;
With him, to whom the oracles of Heaven
The task to raise the sacred pile had given:
The task he soon fulfill’d by Heaven assign’d, —
But let the nobler temple of the mind
To ruin fall, by Love’s alluring sway
Seduced from duty’s hallow’d path astray;
Then he that on the flaming hill survived
That sight no mortal else beheld, and lived —
The Eternal One, and heard, with awe profound,
That awful voice that shakes the globe around;
With him who check’d the sun in mid career,
And stopp’d the burning wheels that mark the sphere,
(As a well-managed steed his lord obeys,
And at the straiten’d rein his course delays,)
And still the flying war the tide of day
Pursued, and show’d their bands in wild dismay. —
Victorious faith! to thee belongs the prize;
In earth thy power is felt, and in the circling skies. —
The father next, who erst by Heaven’s command
Forsook his home, and sought the promised land;
The hallow’d scene of wide-redeeming grace:
And to the care of Heaven consign’d his race.
Then Jacob, cheated in his amorous vows,
Who led in either hand a Syrian spouse;
And youthful Joseph, famed for self-command,
Was seen, conspicuous midst his kindred band.
Then stretching far my sight amid the train
That hid, in countless crowds, the shaded plain,
Good Hezekiah met my raptured sight,
And Manoah’s son, a prey to female sleight;
And he, whose eye foresaw the coming flood,
With mighty Nimrod nigh, a man of blood;
Whose pride the heaven-defying tower design’d,
But sin the rising fabric undermined.
Great Maccabeus next my notice claim’d,
By Love to Zion’s broken laws inflamed;
Who rush’d to arms to save a sinking state,
Scorning the menace of impending Fate
Now satiate with the view, my languid sight
Had fail’d, but soon perceived with new delight
A train, like Heaven’s descending powers, appear,
Whose radiance seem’d my cherish’d sight to clear
There march’d in rank the dames of ancient days,
Antiope, renown’d for martial praise;
Orithya near, in glittering armour shone,
And fair Hippolyta that wept her son;
The sisters whom Alcides met of yore
In arms on Thermodon’s distinguish’d shore;
When he and Theseus foil’d the warlike pair,
By force compell’d the nuptial rite to share.
The widow’d queen, who seem’d with tranquil smile
To view her son upon the funeral pile;
But brooding vengeance rankled deep within,
So Cyrus fell within the fatal gin:
Misconduct, which from age to age convey’d,
O’er her long glories cast a funeral shade.
I saw the Amazon whom Ilion mourn’d,
And her for whom the flames of discord burn’d,
Betwixt the Trojan and Rutulian train
When her affianced lover press’d the plain;
And her, that with dishevell’d tresses flew,
Half-arm’d, half-clad, her rebels to subdue.
Her partner too in lawless love I spied,
A Roman harlot, an incestuous bride.
But Tadmor’s queen, with nobler fires inflamed,
The pristine glory of the sex reclaim’d,
Who in the spring of life, in beauty’s bloom,
Her heart devoted to her husband’s tomb;
True to his dust, aspiring to the crown
Of virtue, in such years but seldom known:
With temper’d mail she hid her snowy breast,
And with Bellona’s helm and nodding crest
Despising Cupid’s lore, her charms conceal’d,
And led the foes of Latium to the field.
The shock at ancient Rome was felt afar,
And Tyber trembled at the distant war
Of foes she held in scorn: but soon she found
That Mars his native tribes with conquest crown’d
And by her haughty foes in triumph led,
The last warm tears of indignation shed.
O fair Bethulian! can my vagrant song
O’erpass thy virtues in the nameless throng,
When he that sought to lure thee to thy shame
Paid with his sever’d head his frantic flame?
Can Ninus be forgot, whose ancient name
Begins the long roll of imperial fame?
And he whose pride, by Heaven’s imperial doom,
Reduced among the grazing herd to roam?
Belus, who first beheld the nations sway
To idols, from the Heaven-directed way,
Though he was blameless? Where does he reside
Who first the dangerous art of magic tried?
O Crassus! much I mourn the baleful star
That o’er Euphrates led the storm of war.
Thy troops, by Parthian snares encircled round,
Mark’d with Hesperia’s shame the bloody ground;
And Mithridates, Rome’s incessant foe,
Who fled through burning plains and tracts of snow
Their fell pursuit. But now, the parting strain
Must pass, with slight survey, the coming train:
There British Arthur seeks his share of fame,
And three Cæsarian victors join their claim;
One from the race of Libya, one from Spain,
And last, not least, the pride of fair Lorraine,
With his twelve noble peers. Goffredo’s powers
Direct their march to Salem’s sacred towers;
And plant his throne beneath the Asian skies,
A sacred seat that now neglected lies.
Ye lords of Christendom! eternal shame
For ever will pursue each royal name,
And tell your wolfish rage for kindred blood,
While Paynim hounds profane the seat of God!
With him the Christian glory seem’d to fall,
The rest was hid behind oblivion’s pall;
Save a few honour’d names, inferior far
In peace to guide, or point the storm of war.
Yet e’en among the stranger tribes were found
A few selected names, in song renown’d.
First, mighty Saladin, his country’s boast,
The scourge and terror of the baptized host.
Noradin, and Lancaster fierce in arms,
Who vex’d the Gallic coast with long alarms.
I look’d around with painful search to spy
If any martial form should meet my eye
Familiar to my sight in worlds above,
The willing objects of respect or love;
And soon a well-known face my notice drew,
Sicilia’s king, to whose sagacious view
The scenes of deep futurity display’d
Their birth, through coming Time’s disclosing shade.
There my Colonna, too, with glad surprise,
‘Mid the pale group, as
sail’d my startled eyes.
His noble soul was all alive to fame,
Yet holy friendship mix’d her softer claim,
Which in his bosom fix’d her lasting throne,
With Charity, that makes the wants of all her own.
BOYD.
PART III.
Io non sapea da tal vista levarme.
Still on the warrior band I fix’d my view,
But now a different troop my notice drew:
The sage Palladian tribe, a nobler train,
Whose toils deserve a more exalted strain.
Plato majestic in the front appear’d,
Where wisdom’s sacred hand her ensign rear’d.
Celestial blazonry! by heaven bestow’d,
Which, waving high, before the vaward glow’d:
Then came the Stagyrite, whose mental ray
Pierced through all nature like the shafts of day;
And he that, by the unambitious name,
Lover of wisdom, chose to bound his fame.
Then Socrates and Xenophon were seen;
With them a bard of more than earthly mien,
Whom every muse of Jove’s immortal choir
Bless’d with a portion of celestial fire:
From ancient Argos to the Phrygian bound
His never-dying strains were borne around
On inspiration’s wing, and hill and dale
Echoed the notes of Ilion’s mournful tale.
The woes of Thetis, and Ulysses’ toils,
His mighty mind recover’d from the spoils
Of envious time, and placed in lasting light
The trophies ransom’d from oblivion’s night
The Mantuan bard, responsive to his song,
Co-rival of his glory, walk’d along.
The next with new surprise my notice drew,
Where’er he pass’d spontaneous flowerets grew,
Fit emblems of his style; and close behind
The great Athenian at his lot repined;
Which doom’d him, like a secondary star,
To yield precedence in the wordy war;
Though like the bolts of Jove that shake the spheres,
He lighten’d in their eyes, and thunder’d in their ears.
The assembly felt the shock, the immortal sound,
His Attic rival’s fainter accents drown’d.
But now so many candidates for fame
In countless crowds and gay confusion came,
That Memory seem’d her province to resign,
Perplex’d and lost amid the lengthen’d line.
Yet Solon there I spied, for laws renown’d,
Salubrious plants in clean and cultured ground;
But noxious, if malignant hands infuse
In their transmuted stems a baneful juice
Amongst the Romans, Varro next I spied,
The light of linguists, and our country’s pride;
Still nearer as he moved, the eye could trace
A new attraction and a nameless grace.
Livy I saw, with dark invidious frown
Listening with pain to Sallust’s loud renown;
And Pliny there, profuse of life I found,
Whom love of knowledge to the burning bound
Led unawares; and there Plotinus’ shade,
Who dark Platonic truths in fuller light display’d:
He, flying far to ‘scape the coming pest,
Was, when he seem’d secure, by death oppressed;
That, fix’d by fate, before he saw the sun,
The careful sophist strove in vain to shun.
Hortensius, Crassus, Galba, next appear’d,
Calvus and Antony, by Rome revered,
The first with Pollio join’d, whose tongue profane
Assail’d the fame of Cicero in vain.
Thucydides, who mark’d distinct and clear
The tardy round of many a bloody year,
And, with a master’s graphic skill, pourtray’d
The fields, “whose summer dust with blood was laid;”
And near Herodotus his ninefold roll display’d,
Father of history; and Euclid’s vest
The heaven-taught symbols of that art express’d
That measures matter, form, and empty space,
And calculates the planets’ heavenly race;
And Porphyry, whose proud obdurate heart
Was proof to mighty Truth’s celestial dart;
With sophistry assail’d the cause of God,
And stood in arms against the heavenly code.
Hippocrates, for healing arts renown’d,
And half obscured within the dark profound;
The pair, whom ignorance in ancient days
Adorn’d like deities, with borrow’d rays.
Galen was near, of Pergamus the boast,
Whose skill retrieved the art so nearly lost.
Then Anaxarchus came, who conquer’d pain;
And he, whom pleasures strove to lure in vain
From duty’s path. And first in mournful mood
The mighty soul of Archimedes stood;
And sage Democritus I there beheld,
Whose daring hand the light of vision quell’d,
To shun the soul-seducing forms, that play
On the rapt fancy in the beam of day:
The gifts of fortune, too, he flung aside,
By wisdom’s wealth, a nobler store, supplied.
There Hippias, too, I saw, who dared to claim
For general science an unequall’d name.
And him, whose doubtful mind and roving eye
No certainty in truth itself could spy;
With him who in a deep mysterious guise
Her heavenly charms conceal’d from vulgar eyes.
The frontless cynic next in rank I saw,
Sworn foe to decency and nature’s modest law.
With him the sage, that mark’d, with dark disdain,
His wealth consumed by rapine’s lawless train;
And glad that nothing now remain’d behind,
To foster envy in a rival’s mind,
That treasure bought, which nothing can destroy,
“The soul’s calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy.”
Then curious Dicaearchus met my view,
Who studied nature with sagacious view.
Quintilian next, and Seneca were seen,
And Chaeronea’s sage, of placid mien;
All various in their taste and studious toils,
But each adorn’d with Learning’s splendid spoils.
There, too, I saw, in universal jar,
The tribes that spend their time in wordy war;
And o’er the vast interminable deep
Of knowledge, like conflicting tempests, sweep.
For truth they never toil, but feed their pride
With fuel by eternal strife supplied:
No dragon of the wild with equal rage,
Nor lions in nocturnal war, engage
With hate so deadly, as the learn’d and wise,
Who scan their own desert with partial eyes.
Carneades, renown’d for logic skill,
Who right or wrong, and true and false, at will
Could turn and change, employ’d his fruitless pain
To reconcile the fierce, contending train:
But, ever as he toil’d, the raging pest
Of pride, as knowledge grew, with equal speed increased.
Then Epicurus, of sinister fame,
Rebellious to the lord of nature, came;
Who studied to deprive the soaring soul
Of her bright world of hope beyond the pole;
A mole-ey’d race their hapless guide pursued,
And blindly still the vain assault renew’d.
Dark Metrodorus next sustain’d the cause,
With Aristippus, true to Pleasure’s laws.
Chrysippus next his subtle web disposed:
> Zeno alternate spread his hand, and closed;
To show how eloquence expands the soul,
And logic boasts a close and nervous whole.
And there Cleanthes drew the mighty line
That led his pupils on, with heart divine,
Through time’s fallacious joys, by Virtue’s road,
To the bright palace of the sovereign good. —
But here the weary Muse forsakes the throng,
Too numerous for the bounds of mortal song.
BOYD.
THE TRIUMPH OF TIME.
Dell’ aureo albergo con l’ Aurora innanzi.
Behind Aurora’s wheels the rising sun
His voyage from his golden shrine begun,
With such ethereal speed, as if the Hours
Had caught him slumb’ring in her rosy bowers.
With lordly eye, that reach’d the world’s extreme,
Methought he look’d, when, gliding on his beam,
That wingèd power approach’d that wheels his car
In its wide annual range from star to star,
Measuring vicissitude; till, now more near,
Methought these thrilling accents met my ear: —
“New laws must be observed if mortals claim,
Spite of the lapse of time, eternal fame.
Those laws have lost their force that Heaven decreed,
And I my circle run with fruitless speed;
If fame’s loud breath the slumb’ring dust inspire,
And bid to live with never-dying fire,
My power, that measures mortal things, is cross’d,
And my long glories in oblivion lost.
If mortals on yon planet’s shadowy face,
Can match the tenor of my heavenly race,
I strive with fruitless speed from year to year
To keep precedence o’er a lower sphere.
In vain yon flaming coursers I prepare,
In vain the watery world and ambient air
Their vigour feeds, if thus, with angels’ flight
A mortal can o’ertake the race of light!
Were you a lesser planet, doom’d to run
A shorter journey round a nobler sun;
Ranging among yon dusky orbs below,
A more degrading doom I could not know:
Now spread your swiftest wings, my steeds of flame,
We must not yield to man’s ambitious aim.
With emulation’s noblest fires I glow,
And soon that reptile race that boast below
Bright Fame’s conducting lamp, that seems to vie
With my incessant journeys round the sky,
And gains, or seems to gain, increasing light,
Yet shall its glories sink in gradual night.
But I am still the same; my course began
Before that dusky orb, the seat of man,
Collected Poetical Works of Francesco Petrarch Page 47
