Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DOMINE, QUO VADIS? (A LEGEND), by WILLIAM WATSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DOMINE, QUO VADIS? (A LEGEND), by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Against [or, darkening] the azure roof of nero's world
Last Line: And peter turned, and rushed on rome and death.
Alternate Author Name(s): Watson, John William
Subject(s): Legends; Peter, Saint (c. 64 A.d.)


AGAINST the azure roof of Nero's world,
From smouldering Rome the smoke of ruin curled;
And the fierce populace went clamouring --
"These Christian dogs, 'tis they have done this thing!"
So to the wild wolf Hate were sacrificed
The panting, huddled flock whose crime was Christ.

Now Peter lodged in Rome, and rose each morn
Looking to be ere night in sunder torn,
Or haled to crucifixion, or by fire
Slain at the altar of a people's ire.
And unto him, their towering rocky hold,
Repaired those sheep of his great Master's fold
Upon whose fleece as yet no blood or foam
Bare witness to the ravening fangs of Rome.
"Lighter than chaff," they cried, "we hold our lives,
And rate them cheap as dust the whirlwind drives:
As chaff they are winnowed and as dust they are blown;
Nay, they are nought; but priceless is thine own.
Not in yon streaming shambles must thou die;
We counsel, we entreat, we charge thee, fly!"
And Peter answered brief: "My place is here;
Through the dread storm, this ship of Christ I steer."

Then one stood forth, the flashing of whose soul
Enrayed his presence like an aureole.
"Let us," he cried, "be in the wine-press trod,
And poured a beverage for the lips of God.
Behold, the Church hath other use for thee;
Thy safety is her safety, thou must flee.
Ours be the glory at her call to die,
But quick and whole God needs His great ally."
And Peter said: "Do lords of spear and shield
Thus leave their hosts uncaptained in the field,
And from some mount of prospect watch afar
The havoc of the hurricane of war?
Yet, if He wills it. . . . Nay, my task is plain, --
To serve, and to endure, and to remain.
But frail of spirit I stand before you all.
Ah, prop me Thou, lest at a breath I fall."

There knelt a noble youth at Peter's feet:
Ev'n as a viol's voice, his voice was sweet.
He said: "My sire and brethren yesterday
The heathen did with ghastly torments slay.
An offering richer yet, can Heaven require?
O live, and be my brethren and my sire."
And Peter answered: "Son, there is small need
That thou exhort me to the easier deed.
Rather I would that thou and these had lent
Strength to uphold, not shatter, my intent.
Already my resolve is shaken sore.
I pray thee, if thou love me, say no more."

And even as he spake, he went apart,
Somewhat to hide the brimming of his heart,
Wherein a voice came flitting to and fro,
That now said "Tarry!" and anon said "Go!"
And louder every moment, "Go!" it cried,
And "Tarry!" to a whisper sank, and died.
And as a leaf when summer is o'erpast
Hangs trembling ere it fall in some chance blast,
So hung his trembling purpose and fell dead;
And he arose, and hurried forth, and fled
To the Campania glimmering wide and still,
And strove to think he did his Master's will.

And darkness fell, and mocking Shapes pursued,
And with blind hands he fought a phantom brood.
Doubts, like a swarm of gnats, o'erhung his flight,
And "Lord," he prayed, "have I not done aright?
Can I not, living, more avail for Thee
Than whelmed in you red storm of agony?
The tempest, it shall pass, and I remain,
Not from its fiery sickle saved in vain.
Are there no seeds to sow, no desert lands
Waiting the tillage of these eager hands,
That I should beastlike 'neath the butcher fall,
And fruitlessly as oxen from the stall?
Is earth so easeful, is men's hate so sweet,
Are thorns so welcome unto sleepless feet,
Have death and heaven so feeble lures, that I,
Choosing to live, should win rebuke thereby?
Not mine the dread of pain, the lust of bliss!
Master who judgest, have I done amiss?"

Lo, on the darkness brake a wandering ray:
A vision flashed along the Appian Way.
Divinely in the pagan night it shone --
A mournful Face -- a Figure hurrying on --
Though haggard and dishevelled, frail and worn,
A King, of David's lineage, crowned with thorn.
"Lord, whither farest?" Peter, wondering, cried.
"To Rome," said Christ, "to be re-crucified."

Into the night the vision ebbed like breath;
And Peter turned, and rushed on Rome and death.





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