Par
tibi, Roma
Par
tibi, Roma, nihil, cum sis prope tota ruina
Quam
magni fueris integra fracta doces.
Longa
tuos fastus aetas destruxit, et arces
Caesaris
et superum templa palude iacent.
Ille
labor, labor ille ruit quem dirus Araxes
Et
stantem tremuit et cecidisse dolet;
Quem
gladii regum quem provida cura senatus,
Quem
superi rerum constituere caput;
Quem
magis optavit cum crimine solus habere
Caesar,
quam socius et pius esse socer,
Qui,
crescens studiis tribus, hostes, crimen, amicos
Vi
domuit, secuit legibus, emit ope;
In
quem, dum fieret, vigilavit cura priorum
Juvit
opus pietas hospitis, unda, locus.
Materiem,
fabros, expensas axis uterque
Misit,
se muris obtulit ipse locus.
Expendere
duces thesauros, fata favorem,
Artifcies
studium, totis et orbis opes.
Urbs
cecidit de qua si quicquam dicere dignum
Moliar,
hoc potero dicere: Roma fuit.
Non
tamen annorum series, non flamma, nec ensis
Ad
plenum potuit hoc abolere decus.
Cura
hominum potuit tantam componere Romam
Quantam
non potuit solvere cura deum.
Confer
opes mamorque novum, superum favorem
Artificum
vigilent in nova facta manus,
Non
tamen aut fieri par stanti machina muro,
Aut
restauri sola ruina potest.
Tantum
restat adhuc, tantum ruit, ut neque pars stans
Aequari
possit, diruta nec refici.
Hic
superum formas superi mirantur et ipsi,
Et
cupiunt fictis vultibus esse pares.
Non
potuit natura deos hoc ore creare
Quo
miranda deum signa creavit homo.
Vultus
adest his numinibus, potiusque coluntur
Artificum
studio quam deitate sua.
Urbs
felix, si vel domnis urbs illa careret,
Vel
dominis esset turpe carere fide.
Dum
simulacra mihi, dum numina vana placerent,
Militia,
populo, moenibis alta fui.
At
simul effigies arasque superstitiosas
Deiciens,
uni sum famulata Deo,
Cesserunt
arces, cecidere palatia divum
Servivit
populus, degeneravit eques.
Vix
scio quae fuerim, vix Romae Roma recordor,
Vix
sinit occasus vel meminisse mei.
Gratior
haec iactura mihi successibus illis:
Maior
sum pauper divite, stante iacens.
Plus
aquilis vexilla crucis, plus Caesare Petrus,
Plus
cunctis ducibus vulgus inerme dedit.
Stans
domui terras, infernum diruta pulso;
Corpora
stans, animas fracta iacensque rego.
Tunc
miserae plebi, modo principibus tenebrarum
Impero:
tunc urbes, nunc mea regna polus.
Quod
ne Caesaribus videar debere vel armis
Et
species rerum meque meosque trahat
Armorum
vis illa perit, ruit alta senatus
Gloria,
procumbunt templa, theatra iacent
Rostra
vacant, edicta silent, sua praemia desunt
Emeritis,
populo iura, colonus agris.
Durus
eques, iudex rigidus, plebs libera quondam
Ista
iacent ne forte meis spem ponat in illis
Crux
aedes alias, alios promittit honores,
Militibus
tribuens regna superna suis.
Sub
cruce rex servit, sed liber; lege tenetur,
Sed
diadema gerens; iussa tremit, sed amat.
Fundit
avarus opes, sed abundat: foenerat idem,
Sed
bene custodit, sed super astra locat.
Quis
gladio Caesar, quis sollicitudine consul
Quis
rhetor lingua, quae mea castra manu
Tanta
dedere mihi? Studiis et legibus horum
Obtinui
terras: crux dedit una polum. |
Rome Was
Even
in nearly total ruin, Rome,
You have no peer; though shattered, teach us yet
Your pristine magnitude. Slow time unbuilt
Your
pride—and Caesar's works, and shrines of gods,
Lie
down in so much swamp. That giant work
Is
overthrown which made the grim Araxes
Tremble
while it stood, and weep its fall;
Which
swords of Kings, the Senate's prudent care,
And gods above made head of all the world;
Which
Caesar sought to make his own by crime,
Betraying public trust and wedded faith;
Which,
rising by three arts: her foes by force,
Her
crimes by law, her friends by wealth—subdued,
Pursued,
and bought. Her fathers watched her grow. Her site, her river's
pious welcome helped.
The
world sent craftsmen, costs, materials,
Her
own hills offered quarry for her walls.
Her
generals poured out spoils, kind fates their gifts,
Her
artists loving pains, the world its wealth.
The
City fell—and when I strain to say
A
fitting word for her, there's only this:
Rome was ... and flying years, and fire and sword,
Cannot
efface the glory that was hers.
Man's giant efforts to construct a Rome The gods have proved unable to undo.
Get
wealth! new marble! brighter auspices!
Let
hands of artists toil upon new works—
But
how will you contrive to match the wall
That
stands, or even to restore its ruins right?
So
much still stands, so much lies in collapse,
That what remains cannot be levelled, nor
What's lost rebuilt. Here the gods themselves
Gaze
awestruck on the images of gods,
And
long to mime their own imagined looks,
Gods
such as nature had no power to make—
For whom a man wrought likenesses divine,
So nameless powers found a countenance ...
Revere
the artist's gift, and not his god.
Blest Rome! If only free of overlords,
Or
if your lords thought scorn not to be true.
Rome's
Answer:
Long time content with idols and false gods,
I
rose aloft on warfare, people, walls.
But
since I smashed my superstitious shrines
and
images, I serve the one true God;
My forts have yielded, palaces collapsed,
My nobles become base, my people slaves.
I
hardly know the thing that was—I Rome
Retain the faintest memory of Rome.
But this downfall is sweeter than success.
For
I am greater poor than rich, brought low
Than
proud. Peter is more than Caesar was,
A
helpless flock than all my generals,
And
nobler than my Eagles is the Cross.
Standing
I dominated earth, brought low
I
pummel Hell; I governed bodies once,
But, humbled and cast down, I shepherd souls.
Then
my commands were to the wretched plebs,
But
now to powers of hell. My rule was felt
In
cities then, but now among the spheres.
And
lest all this appear the prize of wars,
Of Caesars, and lest superficial things
Beguile both me and mine, that force of arms
Expired,
the glory of the Senate fell,
The
temples crumble, theaters lie still,
The
rostra vacant, silent all decrees,
And public virtue lacks its due reward;
The
people, civic rights; the farmer, fields.
The
knight was hardy once, the judge severe,
The
people free—and lest I set my hope
On
these, the Cross proclaims another home,
And
other honors, promising its hosts
New
realms on high. Beneath the Cross the King's*
A
serving man, yet free; restrained by Law,
Yet
wears a diadem; he dreads yet loves
His orders; greedy to pour out his wealth,
And it abounds, for—safe-deposited
Beyond the stars—it yields him rich returns.
And
what did Caesar's sword, the Consuls' care,
The
tongue of Cicero, the steel of camps,
Win
me that can compare? Their efforts, laws
Gave
me the world. The Cross gave Heaven too.*I am not sure whether the Christian King in general is meant, or the Pope (monarch, of sorts, in Rome). |
