Saturn, sleep on:-O thoughtless, why did I Which comes upon the silence, and dies off, So came these words and went; the while in tears So She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground, Just where her falling hair might be outspread A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet. 95 'O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power 110 Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting, My strong identity, my real self, 115 Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search! Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round A heaven he lost erewhile: it must it must There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown 180 Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir 135 Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be This passion lifted him upon his feet, Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth To overbear and crumble this to nought? 150 And in her bearing was a sort of hope, As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe. O Saturn! come away, and give them heart; I know the covert, for thence came I hither.' WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. ALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775-| Rugby, and studied at Oxford, but was WAL 1864), born at Warwick, was the son and heir of a rich landed proprietor of ancient family. He was educated at rusticated from college. The wealth of his father allowed him to live for literature only. Unfortunately his ungovern ably impulsive temper and intense pride, strangely combined in him with a delicate tenderness of feeling, involved him in constant quarrels with those around him. Three years of secluded reading, spent in South Wales, brought him the friendship of Lord Aylmer's daughter Rose, whose death (1805) he commemorated in a charming elegy. When the Spaniards rose in arms against Napoleonic oppression (1808), his zeal for liberty prompted him to serve in Spain at the head of a body of volunteers which he had raised at his own expense. In 1815 he took up his abode in Italy, where, for 20 years, he lived at Como, Pisa, and Florence. A quarrel with his wife led to his return to Bath, where he remained from 1835-1858. But an action for libel brought against him drove him back to Italy (1858), and here, mostly in his fine Villa Gherardesca at Fiesole, near Florence, he lived for the remainder of his life. Landor published his first volume of Poems (1795) at the age of twenty, and at twenty-three a long oriental poem on Gebir (1798), the Moorish prince and mythical founder of Gibraltar. A drama on Count Julian and King Roderick, whose story was treated also by Southey and Scott, followed in 1812. But his highest effort in verse was the beautiful series of short lyrical poems on Greek subjects, published under the title of Hellenics (1847), which, more than anything else in English literature, reproduce the true spirit of Greek life and thought. The best-known and greatest work of Landor was done in prose, in the form of historical dialogues, of which he published several collections under the titles of Imaginary Conversations (5 vols. 1824-1829) and The Pentameron; or, Interviews of Messer Giovanni Boccaccio and Messer Francesco Petrarca (1837). A similar work, Pericles and Aspasia (1836), is written in the form of letters between Aspasia and her friends, which derive a special charm from the numerous dainty songs scattered among them. For his unsurpassed classical perfection, his elegance of style, and delicate beauty of expression, Landor's prose holds a unique place in English literature. ROSE AYLMER. Ah, what avails the sceptred race! Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes MARCELLUS AND HANNIBAL. [From Imaginary Conversations, Second Series (1828)] the Romans too sink into luxury: here is gold about the charger. Gaulish Chieftain. Execrable thief! The golden chain of our king under 20 a beast's grinders! The vengeance of the gods has overtaken the impure Hannibal. Could a Numidian Let no man mount him. Ha! ha! horseman ride no faster? Marcellus! ho! Marcellus! He moves not he is dead. Did he not stir his 5 fingers? Stand wide, soldiers wide, forty paces give him air bring water halt! Gather those broad leaves, and all the rest, growing under the brushwood - unbrace 10 his armour. Loose the helmet first his breast rises. I fancied his eyes were fixed on me they have rolled back again. Who presumed to touch my shoulder? This horse? 15 It was surely the horse of Marcellus! Hannibal. We will talk about vengeance when we have entered 25 Rome, and about purity among the priests, if they will hear us. Sound for the surgeon. That arrow may be extracted from the side, deep as it is The conqueror of Syracuse 30 lies before me Send a vessel off to Carthage. Say Hannibal is at the gates of Rome Marcellus, who stood alone between us, fallen. Brave 35 man! I would rejoice and cannot How awfully serene a countenance! Such as we hear are in the islands of the Blessed. And how glorious a form and stature! Such too was 40 theirs! They also once lay thus upon the earth wet with their blood few other enter there. And what plain armour! 45 him - Gaulish Chieftain. My party slew indeed I think I slew him myself. I claim the chain: it belongs to my king: the glory of Gaul requires it. Never will she endure to see another take it: rather would 50 she lose her last man. We swear! we swear! Hannibal. My friend, the glory of Marcellus did not require him to wear it. When he suspended the 55 arms of your brave king in the temple, he thought such a trinket unworthy of himself and of Jupiter. The shield he battered down, the breast-plate he pierced with his sword, these he 60 showed to the people and to the gods; hardly his wife and little children saw this, ere his horse wore it. Gaulish Chieftain. Hear me, O Hannibal. 65 Hannibal. What! when Marcellus lies before me? when his life may perhaps be recalled? when I may lead him in triumph to Carthage? when Italy, Sicily, Greece, Asia, wait 70 to obey me! Content thee! I will give thee mine own bridle, worth ten such. my happy country! to have such an 80 ally and defender. I swear eternal gratitude - yes, gratitude, love, devotion, beyond eternity. Hannibal. In all treaties we fix the time: I could hardly ask a longer. 8 Go back to thy station I would see what the surgeon is about, and hear what he thinks. The life of Marcellus; the triumph of Hannibal! What else has the world in it? 90 only Rome and Carthage. These follow. Surgeon. Hardly an hour of life is left. Marcellus. I must die then! The 95 gods be praised! The commander of a Roman army is no captive. Hannibal (to the Surgeon). Could not he bear a sea-voyage? Extract the Surgeon. He expires that moment. Marcellus. It pains me: extract it. Hannibal. Marcellus, I see no expression of pain on your countenance: and never will I consent to 105 hasten the death of an enemy in my power. Since your recovery is hopeless, you say truly you are no captive. (To the Surgeon.) Is there nothing, man, that can assuage the 110 mortal pain? for, suppress the signs of it as he may, he must feel it. Is there nothing to alleviate and allay it? Marcellus. Hannibal, give me thy 115 hand thou hast found it and brought it me, compassion. (To the Surgeon.) Go, friend; others want thy aid; several fell around me. Hannibal. Recommend to your 120 country, O Marcellus, while time permits it, reconciliation and peace with me, informing the Senate of my superiority in force, and the impossibility of resistance. The tablet is 125 ready: let me take off this ring try to write, to sign it at least. Oh what satisfaction I feel at seeing 1 you able to rest upon the elbow, lying in the sun. Let me fold it 130 and even to smile! Marcellus. Within an hour or less, with how severe a brow would Minos say to me, 'Marcellus, is this thy writing?' Rome loses one man: 135 she hath lost many such, and she still hath many left. Hannibal. Afraid as you are of falsehood, say you this? I confess in shame the ferocity of my coun140 trymen. Unfortunately too the nearer posts are occupied by Gauls, infinitely more cruel. The Numidians are so in revenge; the Gauls both in revenge and in sport. My pres145 ence is required at a distance, and I apprehend the barbarity of one or other, learning, as they must do, your refusal to execute my wishes for the common good, and feeling 150 that by this refusal you deprive them of their country, after so long an absence. 155 Marcellus. Hannibal, thou art not dying. Hannibal. mean you? What then? What Marcellus. That thou mayest, and very justly, have many things yet to apprehend: I can have none. The 160 barbarity of thy soldiers is nothing to me: mine would not dare be cruel. Hannibal is forced to be absent; and his authority goes away with his horse. On this turf lies defaced the 165 semblance of a general; but Mar cellus is yet the regulator of his army. Dost thou abdicate a power conferred on thee by thy nation? Or wouldst thou acknowledge it to 170 have become, by thy own sole fault, less plenary than thy adversary's? I have spoken too much: let me rest: this mantle oppresses me. 175 Hannibal. I placed my mantle on your head when the helmet was first removed, and while you were under, and then replace the ring. Marcellus. Take it, Hannibal. It 180 was given me by a poor woman who flew to me at Syracuse, and who covered it with her hair, torn off in desperation that she had no other gift to offer. Little thought I that 185 her gift and her words should be mine. How suddenly may the most powerful be in the situation of the most helpless! Let that ring and the mantle under my head be the 190 exchange of guests at parting. The time may come, Hannibal, when thou (and the gods alone know whether as conqueror or conquered) mayest sit under the roof of my children, 195 and in either case it shall serve thee. In thy adverse fortune, they will remember on whose pillow their father breathed his last; in thy prosperous (heaven grant it may shine upon thee 200 in some other country) it will rejoice thee to protect them. We feel ourselves the most exempt from affliction when we relieve it, although we are then the most conscious that it may 205 befall us. There is one thing here which is not at the disposal of either. Hannibal. What? 210 Marcellus. I meant not so. My strength is failing. I seem to hear rather what is within than what is 215 without. My sight and my other senses are in confusion. I would have said, This body, when a few bubbles of air shall have left it, is no more worthy of thy notice than 220 of mine; but thy glory will not let thee refuse it to the piety of my family. Hannibal. You would ask something else. I perceive an inquietude 225 not visible till now. |