No More Learning

So richly was this fertile race imbued

With virtuous nephews, its posterity

Surpassed the past, in brave authority,

Measured deep earth and heaven's altitude:

So that, holding all power in its hand,

No end to empire would Rome understand:

And though Republics Time might consume,

Time could not so diminish Roman pride,

That some head raised from the ancient tomb,

To speak her name, might be deemed to have lied.

IX

You cruel stars, inhuman deities,

Envious heavens, harsh mother Nature,

Whether by chance, or some deeper law,

You steer the course of human destinies,

Why did your hands work all those centuries

To fashion a world that might so long endure?

Or why was the substance not made more sure

That formed the brave fronts of these palaces?

I do not sing here to the common tune,

Claiming that everything beneath the moon

Is corruptible and subject to decay:

But rather I say (not wishing to displease

Those who would argue by contraries)

That this great All must perish some fine day.

X

Much as brave Jason by the Colchian shore,

Through magic arts won the Golden Fleece,

Sowing the plain with the old serpent's teeth,

To engender soldiers from the furrow's store,

This city, that in youthful season bore

A Hydra's nest of warriors, raised a yeast

Of brave nurslings, who their proud glory saw

Fill the Sun's mansions, to the west and east:

But in the end, lacking a Hercules

To vanquish so fecund a progeny,

Arming themselves in civil enmity,

Mowed each other down, a cruel harvest,

Reliving thus the fraternal harsh unrest

Which had blinded that proud seeded army.

XI

Mars, now ashamed to have granted power

To his offspring who, with mortal frailty,

Engorged with pride in Rome's bravery,

Looked to infringe on Heaven's grandeur,

Cooling again from his initial ardour,

With which Roman hearts he'd filled completely,

Blew new fires, with ardent breath, and fiercely,

Warmed the chilly Goths with his hot valour.

That new-born nation, the new sons of Earth,

With war's lightning bolts creating dearth,

Beat down these fine walls, on every hand,

Then vanished to the countries of their birth,

That not even Jove's sire, in all his worth,

Might boast a Roman Empire in this land.

XII

As once we saw the children of the Earth

Pile peak on peak to scale the starry sky,

And fight against the very gods on high,

While Jove to his lightning-bolts gave birth:

Then all in thunder, suddenly reversed,

The furious squadrons earthbound lie,

Heaven glorying, while Earth must sigh,

Jove gaining all the honour and the worth:

So were once seen, in this mortal space,

Rome's Seven Hills raising a haughty face,

Against the very countenance of Heaven:

While now we see the fields, shorn of honour,

Lament their ruin, and the gods secure,

Dreading no more, on high, that fearful leaven.

XIII

Not the raging fire's furious reign,

Nor the cutting edge of conquering blade,

Nor the havoc ruthless soldiers made,

In sacking you, Rome, ever and again,

Nor the tricks that fickle fortune played,

Nor envious centuries corrosive rain,

Nor the spite of men, nor gods' disdain,

Nor your own power in civil strife displayed,

Nor the impetuous storms that you withstood,

Nor the river-god's winding course in flood,

That has so often drowned you in its thunder,

Not all combined have so abased your pride,

As that this nothing left you, by Time's tide,

Still makes the world halt here, and gaze in wonder.

XIV

As we pass the summer stream without danger

That floods in winter, king of all the plain,

Rendering farmers' hopes and shepherds' vain,

In his proud flight, sinking fields in water:

As we see coward creatures at the slaughter

Outrage the dead lion after his brave reign,

Staining their jaws, revealing their disdain,

Daring their enemy bereft of power:

And as the least valiant Greeks at Troy

With brave Hector's corpse were wont to toy,

So those whose heads once used to bow,

When to Roman triumph they were drawn,

On dusty tombs exact their vengeance now,

The conquered daring the conqueror's scorn.

XV

You pallid ghost, and you, pale ashen spirit,

Who joyful in the bright light of day

Created all that arrogant display,

Whose dusty ruin now greets our visit:

Speak, spirits (since that shadowy limit

Of Stygian shore that ensures your stay,

Enclosing you in thrice threefold array,

Sight of your dark images, may permit),

Tell me, now (since it may be one of you,

Here above, may yet be hid from view)

Do you not feel a greater depth of pain,

When from hour to hour in Roman lands

You contemplate the work of your hands,

Reduced to nothing but a dusty plain?

XVI

As we gaze from afar on the waves roar

Mountains of water now set in motion,

A thousand breakers of cliff-jarring ocean,

Striking the reef, driven in the wind's maw:

View now a fierce northerly, with emotion,

Stirring the storm to its loud-whistling core,

Then folding in air its vaster wing once more

Suddenly weary, as if at some new notion:

As we see a flame, spread in a hundred places,

Gather, in one flare, towards heaven's spaces,

Then powerless fade and die: so, in its day,

This Empire passed, and overwhelming all

Like wave, or wind, or flame, along its way,

Halted at last by Fate, sank here, in fall.

XVII

So long as Jove's great eagle was in flight,

Bearing the fire of Heaven's menaces,

Heaven feared not the dire audaciousness,

That so stoked the Giants' reckless might.

But soon as the sun's fierce burning light

Singed the wings that had abased the Earth,

Earth sent forth, out of her weighty mass,

That ancient horror that assails the right.

Then was the German raven seen, disguised,

Echoing the Roman eagle in the skies,

And once again towards Heaven spread

These brave hills once reduced to dust,

No longer fearing lightning overhead,

Borne by that eagle on the stormy gust.
XVIII

These great heaps of stone, these walls you see,

Were once enclosures of the open field:

And these brave palaces that to Time must yield,

Were shepherd's huts in some past century.

Then shepherds took the badge of royalty,

And the stout labourer the sword did wield:

The Consuls' power was annually revealed,

Till six month terms won greater majesty,

Which, made perpetual, accrued such power

That the Imperial Eagle seized the hour:

But Heaven, opposing such aggrandisement,

Handed that power to Peter's successor,

Who, called a shepherd, fated to reign there,

Shows that all returns to its commencement.

XIX

All perfection Heaven showers on us,

All imperfection born beneath the skies,

All that regales our spirits and our eyes,

And all those things that devour our pleasures:

All those ills that strip our age of treasures,

All the good the centuries might devise,

Rome in ancestral times secured as prize,

Like Pandora's box, enclosed the measure.

But Destiny, untangling this chaos,

In which all good and evil once were lost,

Has since ensured the heavenly virtues,

Flying skywards, left the vices behind,

Which, till this day, remain here confined,

Concealed within these ruined avenues.

XX

Exactly as the rain-filled cloud is seen

Lifting earthly vapours through the air,

Forming a bow, and then drinking there

By plunging deep in Tethys' hoary sheen,

Next, climbing again where it has been,

With bellying shadow darkening everywhere,

Till finally it bursts in lightning glare,

And rain, or snow, or hail shrouds the scene:

This city, that was once a shepherd's field,

Rising by degrees, such power did wield,

She made herself the queen of sea and land,

Till helpless to sustain that huge excess,

Her power dispersed, so we might understand

That all, one day, must come to nothingness.

XXI

She whom both Pyrrhus and Libyan Mars

Found no way to tame, this proud city,

That with a courage forged in adversity,

Sustained the shock of endless wars,

Though her ship, plagued at the source

By great waves, felt the world's enmity,

None ever saw the reefs of adversity

Wreak havoc on her fortunate course:

But, the object of her virtue failing,

Her power opposed its own flailing,

Like the voyager whom a cruel gale

Has long since separated from the shore,

Driven now by the storm's wild roar,

And shipwrecked there, when all efforts fail.

XXII

When this brave city, honouring the Latin name,

Bounded on the Danube, in Africa,

Among the tribes along the Thames' shore,

And where the rising sun ascends in flame,

Her own nurslings stirred, in mutinous game

Against her very self, the spoils of war,

So dearly won from all the world before,

That same world's spoil suddenly became:

So when the Great Year its course has run,

And twenty six thousand years are done,

The elements freed from Nature's accord,

Those seeds that are the source of everything,

Will return in Time to their first discord,

Chaos' eternal womb their presence hiding.

XXIII

Oh how wise that man was, in his caution,

Who counselled, so his race might not moulder,

Nor Rome's citizens be spoiled by leisure,

That Carthage should be spared destruction!

He foresaw how the brave Roman nation,

Impatient of the blandishments of pleasure

Once sated with vain amusements' measure,

Would turn to civil war as a distraction.

For in a people pledged to idleness,

Like swollen tumour in diseased flesh,

Ambition is engendered readily.

And so it chanced, for envious pride,

That no peer or superior could abide,

Made Pompey Caesar's fated enemy.

XXIV

If that blind fury that engenders wars,

Fails to rouse the creatures of a kind,

Whether swift bird aloft or fleeting hind,

Whether equipped with scales or sharpened claws,

What ardent Fury in her pincers' jaws

Gripped your hearts, so poisoned the mind,

That intent on mutual cruelty, we find,

Into your own entrails your own blade bores?

Was this, Romans, your harsh destiny,

Or some old sin, with discordant mutiny,

Working on you its eternal vengeance?

The gods denying, in just indignation,

Your walls, bloodied by that ancient instance

Of fraternal strife, a sure foundation.

XXV

Would that I might possess the Thracian lyre,

To wake from Hades, and their idle pose,

Those old Caesars, and the shades of those,

Who once raised this ancient city higher:

Or that I had Amphion's to inspire,

And with sweet harmony these stones enclose

To quicken them again, where they once rose,

Ausonian glory conjuring from its pyre:

Or that with skilful pencil I might draw

The portrait of these palaces once more,

With the spirit of some high Virgil filled;

I would attempt, inflamed by my ardour,

To recreate with the pen's slight power,

That which our own hands could never build.

XXVI

Who would demonstrate Rome's true grandeur,

In all her vast dimensions, all her might,

Her length and breadth, and all her depth and height

Needs no line or lead, compass or measure:

He only need draw a circle, at his leisure,

Round all that Ocean in his arms holds tight,

Be it where Sirius scorches with his light,

Or where the northerlies blow cold forever.