ROME AT THE EPIPHANY.

1.

  Even as the Angel standing in the sun,
  Seen by Saint John in his ecstatic trance,
  Saw from their goal the steeds of Morning run,
  And o'er the dark with roseate breath advance;
  And saw their hoofs of gold rich glittering glance
  Along the azure pavement of the sky,
  Striking thereout such sparks of radiance,
  That to the wondering and awakened eye
Of man they seem like stars swift shooting from on high.

2.

  Beneath their glowing feet the world grows bright;
  Transparent azure clothes the exulting sea;
  Chaos recedes, and all the realm of night
  Lays bare its bosom of immensity
  Unto the eye of God:  the Deity
  Looks with a smile upon a world restored
  To love, and light, and labour, all that we
  Crowd in the act of worship, in the word
Of tearful, grateful praise, wherewith He is best adored.

3.

  Even as that glorious Angel saw the beams
  Of golden light rise radiant from their source,
  Flow from the sun, and wind their amber streams
  Resplendent round their vast diurnal course,
  Now gild the near, and now with gentle force
  Pierce the thick mists that veil the remotest isles
  On ocean's verge, where Triton's horn is hoarse,
  Breathing the strain that here for ever wiles
The sea's blue placid brow to wear perpetual smiles:--

4.

  So from this central sacred sphere of faith
  Looks forth the Angel of the Church, and views
  The mighty world spread chart-like out beneath,--
  Beholds the spots whose happy heights ne'er lose
  Their sweet illumination--the rich hues
  Wherewith Religion lit their favoured peaks
  Even from the first:  and those that still refuse
  To share the light that round about them breaks,
And which, like God's redeeming grace, seeketh the soul that seeks.

5.

  And as a mother yearns the more for those
  Among her children whom some fatal blight
  Hath visited--some cloud that throws
  O'er their young eyes the shadow of the night,
  Darkening those wells of innocence and light,
  So that no more Heaven's precious ray can reach
  Their sightless orbs, where once it burned so bright:
  So yearns the Father of the Church for each
Faith-darkened wandering soul, to guide it and to teach.

6.

  These are his tenderest care; for these he calls
  On God for mercy, for the light that gleams
  Straight from the source of truth:  these famous halls
  For them are peopled by the undying dreams
  Of saint and sage, and watered by the streams
  Of sacred song; for these his hands have raised
  This sinless Babel, where the Spirit seems
  Ever to blaze, as o'er the Twelve he blazed,
That with the gift of tongues His holy name be praised.

7.

  For these he lovingly collects beneath
  The shadow of his wings the young and pure
  Of all the nations, that, being skilled in faith,
  And warmed by zeal, they may return and cure
  Their brother's ills:  so in the clear obscure
  Of morn, the clouds, the children of the night,
  Stand round the sun, whose face they scarce endure,
  And, then dispersing, bear his golden light
O'er all the ransomed world, redeemed, reborn, and bright.

8.

  Hither approach the shepherds of the soul,
  Bearing the croziered staff, the pastoral crook,
  Led by an instinct they cannot control,
  With reverent eyes and trembling gaze to look
  Upon that sacred cradle [1], where, forsook
  By all, save the thrice blesséd twain that stay
  Tending him ever, as the Holy Book
  Makes simple mention, once the Child-God lay,--
There, bending suppliant down, the anointed shepherds pray.

9.

  Hither approach the minstrels of all time,
  Swift from some northern Hades forced along
  By resistless melody sublime
  Of Maro's lute, or Ovid's Orphean song.
  Hither they come to weep o'er Tasso's wrong,
  Or share with Petrarch that renownéd feast,
  Held mid the Capitol's exulting throng,
  When he proclaimed tyrannic power had ceased,
And Rome's new reign begun of Poet, Painter, Priest.

10.

  Here came the Poet-Pilgrim, whose strong pen,
  Sublime, sarcastic, tender, truthful, terse,
  Proved him in soul a Roman citizen,
  Turning th' eternal marbles into verse
  Immortal as themselves:  should Time immerse
  'Neath a new flood these miracles of Art.
  Now they are proof 'gainst all his rage perverse,
  In Byron's lines shall fly the Pythian's dart;
And the thick drops shall gush from out the Gaul's gored heart.

11.

  And here in splendour and in majesty
  Set prematurely the immortal two
  Resplendent stars, that o'er the later sky
  Of English song a flood of glory threw,
  Such as till then it scarcely ever knew.
  Hither they came as to a kindred sphere,
  But soon were lost in its eternal blue;
  To loving eyes alone their orbs appear,
Shining within the shade of Caius Cestius' bier.

12.

  Here come the masters of the mimic arts
  That turn the poet's dreams to living stone,
  Or make the canvas swell with beating hearts,
  And the dumb panel speak, or smile, or groan.
  Age after age they circle through the zone,
  Illumed by Raphael's resplendent sun,
  Even as the planets round Apollo's throne;
  Then, with the dazzling lustre they have won
From off his glorious disc, round their own orbs they run.

13.

  O Rome, the Eternal!  Rome, the ever young!
  Shrine of the saint, and shelter of the sage,
  Balm of bruised hearts, and nerve to souls unstrung,
  And golden euthanasia to age:--
  Amid the countless crowd whose pilgrimage
  Ended within thy loving arms divine,
  Let me read three from out the immortal page,
  Tyrconnell's Lord, Tirowen's Earl, and thine,
Whose troubled heart now rests in Agatha's lone shrine [2].

14.

  Familiar names--dear names, whose sounds recall
  The distant Isle, that 'mid the northern lands,
  Like the lone palm-tree on the Viminal
  (Speaking of Jordan's shores and Judah's sands,
  Unto the colder pines), serenely stands,
  The type and symbol of the warmer creed
  With which the southern Celtic heart expands;
  Long the sole type, but now its saving seed
Floats to the neighbouring isles, and fructifies with speed.

15.

  Island of Saints!  when Gaul, and Goth, and Hun
  Profaned the relics of departed Rome;
  Island of Saints!  when perished one by one
  Arts, laws, and letters, temple, tower, and dome;
  Island of Saints!  the only sheltered home
  Where learning, faith, and piety found rest;
  Still dost thou stand above the Atlantic foam,
  Faith's foremost Pharos to the benighted West,
Lighting the surest track that leadeth to the blest.

Rome, December, 1852.

1. sacred cradle   The Presepe.
2. Tyrconnell's Lord. . .lone shrine   To those who have cared to follow the train of thought pursued in this Poem, these allusions are intelligible enough.  Along with the historic personages referred to in the text, whose ashes are preserved in the church of San Pietro in Montorio, may be added the name of one so painfully interesting to all lovers of poetry and art,--Beatrice Cenci.  Upon the stone which covered her remains was inscribed the single word, Orate.

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