The Juvenile Forget-me-not: A Christmas and New Year's Present
9781465682383
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“These are my gems,” the Roman mother cried, Her bright lip wreathed in smiles of sunny pride, “These are my gems,” as o’er each infant head Superbly fond her high-born hands she spread; This, with dark eyes, and hyacinthine flow Of raven tresses down a neck of snow—That, golden-haired, with orbs whose azurn hue Had dimmed the Indian sapphire’s deathless blue. “These are my gems! bring ye the rarest stone, “That ever flashed from Eastern tyrants’ throne! “Bring amber, such as those sad sisters gave, “Vain bribes to still the rash relentless wave! “Bring diamonds, such as that false matron wore, “Bought by their sheen to break the faith she swore, “Who lured to death foredoomed her prophet lord, “To death more certain than the Theban sword,—“Bring gauds, like those which caught Tarpeia’s eye, “Fated beneath her treason’s price to die!—“And I will match them—yea! their worth outvie “With that, nor art can frame, nor treasure buy, “Nor force subdue, nor dungeon walls control—“Each precious gem—a freeborn Roman soul! “Know ye not, how—when quaked the solid earth, “And shook the seven hills, as at Titan’s birth,—“When the proud forum yawned—a gulf so wide “Rome’s navy in its space secure might ride—“When pale-eyed prophets did the fate declare, “That dread abyss should yawn for ever there, “Till Rome’s best jewel, darkly tombed within, “The gods should soothe, and expiate the sin!—“Know ye not, how their robes of Syrian hue “To the sad King the trembling matrons threw? “What flower-crowned captives bled, the abyss to close? “What Syrian perfumes from the brink arose? “What sculptured vases of barbaric gold, “What trophied treasures, through its void were rolled? “What sunbright gems—onyx and agate rare, “And deathless adamant—were scattered there? “But not in gold, nor gems, nor Tyrian die, “Trophies, nor slaves, did Rome’s best treasure lie! “His limbs superb in war’s triumphant guise, “His soul’s high valor flashing from his eyes, “His courser chafing, impotently bold, “Against the hand that well his fire controlled, “Forth! forth he rode, in native worth sublime, “Unstained by fetters, ignorant of crime! “Forth! forth he rode, to play the martyr’s part—“Rome’s richest jewel—a right Roman heart “‘So may the gods avert my country’s doom, “‘I rush in triumph to my living tomb!
