“Donarem pateras grataque commodus...”
Freely to my companions would I give
Beautiful bronzes, Censorinus, bowls
And tripods, once a guerdon to the souls
Of hardy Greeks; nor should’st thou bear away
The meanest of my gifts, could I but live
Possessed of arts like those Parrhasius plied,
Or Skopas, now depicting human clay
And now a god, in liquid colors one
In solid stone the other. But denied
To me are equal powers; need hast thou none
In mind or state for treasures like to these.
Thou dost delight in songs, and such are mine
To give, and fix a value to each song.
Not marbles carved with public elegies,
Whence to illustrious leaders still belong
In dreamless death their praises half divine,
Not the precipitate flights of Hannibal
Nor those retorted threats that wrought him shame,
Not impious Carthage and her flaming fall
More highly show, than the Calabrian Muse,
Glories of him who, having gained a name
From prostrate conquered Africa, returned.
Neither if writings should perchance refuse
To herald forth what thou so well hast earned
Wouldst thou have fitting praise. What were the son
Of Mars and Ilia, if in jealousy
Silence had drowned those lofty merits won
By Romulus? Through eloquence, through strength
And favor of all poets loved of fame,
Aeacus hallowed is, from Stygian floods,
To the fair Islands of the Blest at length.
The Muse forbids the worthy man to die;
She blesseth him with Heaven. Thus Hercules,
Untiring victor, finds a place on high
At Jove’s desired feasts. Tyndareus’ sons,
Clear-shining stars, thus from the deepest seas
Rescue the shattered ships. Thus Bacchus fair,
Twining his temples with fresh vine-leaves green,
To fruitful issue brings the votaries’ prayer.
Ricordatevi Di Me!
(_Terza Rima._)
If ever thou shouldst cease to think of me
With love, and turn thy soul’s sweet warmth to ice--
(Stop not my mouth with kisses! Change may be,
As all do know who take for their device
A bleeding heart!)--If any change should seal
To me the gates of uttermost Paradise,
And I should darkling fare, with no repeal,
In company of them, that, love forsaken,
Before cold shrines and at dead altars kneel,
Remember this--I bade thy heart awaken;
Here in this hand it lay a prisoner!
Thy first wild love-kiss from my lips was taken,
And with my breath thy first sighs mingled were!
Remember this--I loved thee well and long,
Thou haven to me, a time-worn wanderer!
Then, though my voice be drowned in that clear song
Of thy new love, and I forgotten be
Or all-despisèd, think thou in my wrong
Some good there was, some truth akin with thee,
Some light half-seen, since I could tune a soul
Virgin as thine to perfect harmony,
And crown thy brow with Love’s pure aureole!
The Tower.
I
There lies a City of Unnumbered Dead
Where paths entwine, where hills and valleys be,
And still, black pools; the cypress mystically
Shrouds those dark ways. There living souls may tread
With but slow steps and rare. With slow steps, led
By Love two lovers passed; they spake, and she
Cast down her mystic eyes lest he might see
In their vague depths the image of her dread.
A great round-tower of granite crowns that land.
Thither they came, and now her starry eyes
Were raised to his; that dread which wrought them ill
Behind them with the frozen dead lay chill.
Up the enchanted stairway hand in hand
They passed, and issued forth to see the skies.