Where now is the Forum where Cicero thundered?
And the enrapt throng that listened and wondered?
Death-stilled! But though insatiate time doth sever,
Cicero’s fame shall live, and live forever.
Where now is the grandeur of the Appian Way,
And the proud Roman legions in their grand array,
As home they march with banners proud unfurled—
The stern, invincible conquerors of the world?
The barbarians of the north upon their grandeur rolled,
But the relics remain of those “brave days of old.”
Thou hast looked upon Rome in all her glory—
Grand Imperial Rome, that lives now but in story;
Thou hast seen her rise resplendent as the day,
And droop, and fall to ruin, moulder and decay.
Now by the yellow Tiber, flowing on its way,
Is but the mere mockery of a grander day.
CHAPTER VIII.—ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Forgotten of Rome! Antony, thou true son of Mars!
The invincible leader of so many wars;
A loiterer at Alexandria on the Nile,
Lost to the witchery of a fair woman’s guile.
Cleopatra, thou famed wonder of the world!
For whom men went mad of love, and, reckless, hurled
Honor and fame and manhood at thy peerless feet—
Very slaves if they but win thy soft smile, replete
With fascination; and as the bees about a flower
Of poison petals, benumbed is every power.
Are there no modern Cleopatras in our day
That enslave, and even men’s honor steal away?
Just as wily and just as cunning in their guile;
Just as witching and just as false their winning smile.
And they lure and beckon onward just as well,
Insidiously leading down to death and hell.
Are there no Antonys from lofty heights to fall,
That listen to the witching, wily siren’s call?
Lovely woman! thy thralling power ’s half divine.
Thou canst lift weak man up to heights that are sublime,
Or hurl him down from duty’s high and wide estate,
And destroy the powers of the gifted, good and great.
Why not use the subtle influence given thee
To ennoble and sustain in blameless purity?
And thus walking blameless a beacon on life’s shore,
“A thing of beauty and a joy for evermore.”
CHAPTER IX.—RETROSPECTION.
Let us retrace our steps along the phantom shore
Of the dead centuries, two thousand years or more,
And look upon a nation whose fame will never cease—
A learned and noble people—grand, heroic Greece.
A freedom-loving nation never could be slaves,
And many desperately fought fields are pent with graves
To freedom. Attest Marathon and Thermopylæ,
Where millions rushed to conflict on that fatal day
When Leonidas with his three hundred Spartans fell
In an immortal struggle in the jaws of hell.
Not in vain their fall—they died for freedom’s glory;
Greece remembers still—all time shall tell the story.
Persia was ruined at Platæa and Salamis,
And Greece’s voice exultant was raised in praise and bliss.
Shall we not, too, O Time, those dauntless deeds extol?
Though marred by thy stern hands, Greece shall be brave
of soul.
Alexander at Arbela grasped immortal fame,
And for the Macedonians an undying name;
And Babylon lay at his conquering feet,
And the conquest of the proud Persians was complete.
But the Tigris and Euphrates ran red with gore,
And Darius, all ruined, could not restore
Confidence from disaster, so fled swift away
From Arbela, crushed by disaster in a day.