No More Learning

In 1553 he went to Rome as one of the secretaries of Cardinal Jean du Bellay, his first cousin. The poems of The Ruins of Rome belong to the beginning of his four and a half year residence in Italy. He departed for Paris at the end of August 1557. He was plagued by increasing deafness, and weak health, and died on New Year's Day 1560. The sonnets of Les Antiquites provide a fascinating comment on the Classical Roman world as seen from the viewpoint of the French Renaissance.

The Ruins Of Rome

Ancient Rome

'Ancient Rome'
After Joseph Mallord William Turner: Arthur Willmore, 1814 - 1888, British
Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

I

Divine spirits, whose powdery ashes lie

Under this weight of ruins, buried deep;

Yet not the fame, your living verse will keep

From Hades' halls; fame that will never die;

If we have power to make our human cry

Downwards, from here, to that region leap,

Let mine pierce the abyss, this dark steep,

That you might hear my voice from on high.

Three times circling beneath heaven's veil,

In devotion, round your tombs, I hail

You, with loud summons; thrice on you I call:

And, while your ancient fury I invoke,

Here, as though I in sacred terror spoke,

I'll sing your glory, beauteous above all.

II

The Babylonian praises his high wall,

And gardens high in air; Ephesian

Forms the Greek will praise again;

The people of the Nile their Pyramids tall;

And that same Greek still boasting will recall

Their statue of Jove the Olympian;

The Tomb of Mausolus, some Carian;

Cretans their long-lost labyrinthine hall.

The ancient Rhodian will praise the glory

Of that renowned Colossus, great in story:

And whatever noble work he can raise

To a like renown, some boaster thunders,

From on high; while I, above all, I praise

Rome's seven hills, the world's seven wonders.

III

Newcomer, who looks for Rome in Rome,

And little of Rome in Rome can perceive,

These old walls and palaces, yet believe,

These ancient archways; are what men call Rome.

What ruin and what pride, temple and dome!

Now she, of whom the whole world once asked leave,

Who tamed all others, tames herself: conceive,

She's prey to Time, a leaf from some old tome.

Rome now of Rome's the only monument,

And over Rome alone Rome wins ascent;

Only the Tiber, flowing to the sea,

Remains: of Rome. O, this world's transience!

That which stands firm, Time ruins silently,

While what flows, against Time shows resistance.
IV

She, who with her head the stars surpassed,

One foot on Dawn, the other on the Main,

One hand on Scythia, the other Spain,

Held the round of earth and sky encompassed:

Jupiter fearing, if higher she was classed,

That the old Giants' pride might rise again,

Piled these hills on her, these seven that soar,

Tombs of her greatness at the heavens cast.

On her head he heaped the high Capitol,

Then on her belly set the Quirinal,

On her stomach planted old Palatine,

On her right hand the Caelian stone,

On her left the Esquiline's long bone,

On her foot, Viminal and Aventine.

V

He who would see the vast power of Nature,

Art, and Heaven: Rome, let him view you.

I long to know if he could now construe,

From what death reveals, your lost grandeur.

Rome is no more: if downed architecture

May still revive some shade of Rome anew,

It's like a corpse, by some magic brew,

Drawn at deep midnight from a sepulchre.

The corpse of Rome lies here entombed in dust,

Her spirit gone to join, as all things must

The massy round's great spirit onward whirled.

But her writings, that eternal praise

Drags from the tomb, despite the waste of days,

Ensures her image wanders through the world.

VI

As in her chariot the Phrygian goddess rode,

Crowned with high turrets, happy to have borne

Such quantity of gods, so her I mourn,

This ancient city, once whole worlds bestrode:

On whom, more than the Phrygian, was bestowed

A wealth of progeny, whose power at dawn

Was the world's power, her grandeur, now shorn,

Knowing no match to that which from her flowed.

Only Rome could mighty Rome resemble,

Only Rome force sacred Rome to tremble:

So Fate's command issued its decree,

No other power, however bold or wise,

Could boast of matching her who matched we see,

Her power with earth's, her courage with the sky's.

VII

You sacred ruins, and you holy shores,

You that, alone, the name of Rome retain,

Old monuments, that still in dust maintain

Those divine spirits' ever-honoured cause.

Triumphal arches, domes at heaven's doors,

That an astonished heaven sees full plain,

Alas, by degrees, turned to dust again.

The people's fable that the public gnaws!

And though awhile against Time they make war,

These buildings still, yet it must be that Time

In the end, both works and names, will flaw.

Sad longing, rest content then: for if Time

Makes an end of things that so endure,

The pain too that I suffer it must cure.

VIII

With arms and vassals Rome the world subdued,

So that one might judge this single city

Had found her grandeur held in check solely

By earth and ocean's depth and latitude.

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.