Two Poems of Rome by Hildebert of Lavardin

Par tibi Roma and Rome's Reply by Hildebert of Lavardin (Circa AD 1056 to 1133)

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).