In via Merulana
The Via Merulana at Rome, extending from St. Maria Maggiore to the Lateran, crosses the land which was occupied in ancient times by the Gardens of Mæcenas.
METHINKS the winds have blown away
The rose-scents, blowing many a year,
Nor left us much to tell that here
The Gardens of Mæcenas lay;
The rose-scents, blowing many a year,
Nor left us much to tell that here
The Gardens of Mæcenas lay;
That here the branches used to rock
The nests, and catch the morning flame,
And whisper to the guests who came
At evening up the fragrant walk.
The nests, and catch the morning flame,
And whisper to the guests who came
At evening up the fragrant walk.
The Street of Blackbirds holds alone
The name without the birds, for they
Have flown: there is no song to-day
Amid this barren brick and stone.
The name without the birds, for they
Have flown: there is no song to-day
Amid this barren brick and stone.
But I, as those who vaguely search
For something lost or long forgot,
Am saying, “This may be the spot” —
This, halfway down from church to church.
For something lost or long forgot,
Am saying, “This may be the spot” —
This, halfway down from church to church.
And, while I look and listen, lo,
Rebuilded by invisible hands,
Again the lordly Mansion stands, —
Phantom or real I scarcely know:
Rebuilded by invisible hands,
Again the lordly Mansion stands, —
Phantom or real I scarcely know:
For creep and cling about the walls
Shadows of men and stately dames,
And voices, and the sound of names
That echo through Time’s ancient halls.
Shadows of men and stately dames,
And voices, and the sound of names
That echo through Time’s ancient halls.
Enter and feel the powerful charm:
There sits the Patron; there is found,
Still flashing kindly wit around,
The hero of the Sabine Farm.
There sits the Patron; there is found,
Still flashing kindly wit around,
The hero of the Sabine Farm.
And, facing now the little throng,
That tall dark man, — who should he be ?
Behold his parchment; that is he
Who builds for Rome her noblest song.
That tall dark man, — who should he be ?
Behold his parchment; that is he
Who builds for Rome her noblest song.
Hush! he is reading how the Fates
Showed fair Marcellus unto men
As an immortal youth, and then
Withdrew him through the tearful gates.
Showed fair Marcellus unto men
As an immortal youth, and then
Withdrew him through the tearful gates.
When yester evening clomb the skies,
He brought — so marvelous his art,
So sensitive a mother’s heart —
The floods into Octavia’s eyes,
He brought — so marvelous his art,
So sensitive a mother’s heart —
The floods into Octavia’s eyes,
And from Imperial coffers won
A golden guerdon for his verse.
Listen, and hear himself rehearse
The tender song — what! is he done?
A golden guerdon for his verse.
Listen, and hear himself rehearse
The tender song — what! is he done?
The walls break noiseless at my feet;
No hand rolls back the mighty year;
Dreams are but dreams; I only hear
The sound of traffic in the street.
No hand rolls back the mighty year;
Dreams are but dreams; I only hear
The sound of traffic in the street.
Samuel Valentine Cole.