Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MARIUS AMONG THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MARIUS AMONG THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Twas noon - and afric's dazzling sun on high
Last Line: "marius, the exile, rest where carthage once hath been!"
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Carthage; Exiles; Marius, Gaius (157-86 B.c.)


'TWAS noon, and Afric's dazzling sun on high,
With fierce resplendence filled the unclouded sky;
No zephyr waved the palm's majestic head,
And smooth alike the seas and deserts spread;
While desolate, beneath a blaze of light,
Silent and lonely as at dead of night,
The wreck of Carthage lay. Her prostrate fanes
Had strewed their precious marble o'er the plains;
Dark weeds and grass the column had o'ergrown,
The lizard basked upon the altar-stone;
Whelmed by the ruins of their own abodes,
Had sunk the forms of heroes and of gods;
While near, dread offspring of the burning day!
Coiled 'midst forsaken halls, the serpent lay.

There came an exile, long by fate pursued,
To shelter in that awful solitude.
Well did that wanderer's high yet faded mien
Suit the sad grandeur of the desert-scene;
Shadowed, not veiled, by locks of wintry snow,
Pride sat, still mighty, on his furrowed brow;
Time had not quenched the terrors of his eye,
Nor tamed his glance of fierce ascendancy;
While the deep meaning of his features told
Ages of thought had o'er his spirit rolled,
Nor dimmed the fire that might not be controlled;
And still did power invest his stately form,
Shattered, but yet unconquered, by the storm.
But slow his step -- and where, not yet o'erthrown,
Still towered a pillar 'midst the waste alone,
Faint with long toil, his weary limbs he laid,
To slumber in its solitary shade.
He slept -- and darkly, on his brief repose,
The indignant genius of the scene arose.
Clouds robed his dim unearthly form, and spread
Mysterious gloom around his crownless head --
Crownless, but regal still. With stern disdain
The kingly shadow seemed to lift his chain,
Gazed on the palm, his ancient sceptre torn,
And his eye kindled with immortal scorn!

"And sleepst thou, Roman?" cried his voice austere;
"Shall son of Latium find a refuge here?
Awake! arise! to speed the hour of Fate,
When Rome shall fall, as Carthage desolate!
Go! with her children's flower, the free, the brave,
People the silent chambers of the grave;
So shall the course of ages yet to be,
More swiftly waft the day, avenging me!

"Yes, from the awful gulf of years to come,
I hear a voice that prophesies her doom;
I see the trophies of her pride decay,
And her long line of triumphs pass away,
Lost in the depths of time -- while sinks the star
That led her march of heroes from afar!
Lo! from the frozen forests of the North,
The sons of slaughter pour in myriads forth!
Who shall awake the mighty? -- will thy woe,
City of thrones! disturb the realms below?
Call on the dead to hear thee! let thy cries
Summon their shadowy legions to arise,
Array the ghosts of conquerors on thy walls!
-- Barbarians revel in their ancient halls,
And their lost children bend the subject knee,
'Midst the proud tombs and trophies of the free.
Bird of the sun! dread eagle! borne on high,
A creature of the empyreal -- thou, whose eye
Was lightning to the earth -- whose pinion waved
In haughty triumph o'er a world enslaved;
Sink from thy heavens! for glory's noon is o'er,
And rushing storms shall bear thee on no more!
Closed is thy regal course -- thy crest is torn,
And thy plume vanished from the realms of morn.
The shaft hath reached thee! -- rest with chiefs and kings,
Who conquered in the shadow of thy wings;
Sleep! while thy foes exult around their prey,
And share thy glorious heritage of day!
But darker years shall mingle with the past,
And deeper vengeance shall be mine at last.
O'er the seven hills I see destruction spread,
And Empire's widow veils with dust her head!
Her gods forsake each desolated shrine,
Her temples moulder to the earth, like mine:
'Midst fallen palaces she sits alone,
Calling heroic shades from ages gone,
Or bids the nations 'midst her deserts wait
To learn the fearful oracles of Fate!

"Still sleepst thou, Roman? Son of Victory, rise!
Wake to obey the avenging Destinies!
Shed by thy mandate, soon thy country's blood
Shall swell and darken Tiber's yellow flood!
My children's manes call -- awake! prepare
The feast they claim! -- exult in Rome's despair!
Be thine ear closed against her suppliant cries,
Bid thy soul triumph in her agonies;
Let carnage revel, e'en her shrines among,
Spare not the valiant, pity not the young!
Haste! o'er her hills the sword's libation shed,
And wreak the curse of Carthage on her head!"

The vision flies -- a mortal step is near;
Whose echoes vibrate on the slumberer's ear,
He starts, he wakes to woe -- before him stands
The unwelcome messenger of harsh commands,
Whose faltering accents tell the exiled chief,
To seek on other shores a home for grief.
-- Silent the wanderer sat -- but on his cheek
The burning glow far more than words might speak;
And, from the kindling of his eye, there broke
Language, where all the indignant soul awoke,
Till his deep thought found voice -- then, calmly stern,
And sovereign in despair, he cried, "Return!
Tell him who sent thee hither, thou hast seen
Marius, the exile, rest where Carthage once hath been!"





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