# Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain/Epistle to Don Gaspar de Jovellanos

EPISTLE TO DON GASPAR DE JOVELLANOS,
SENT FROM ROME.
Yes! the pure friendship, that in kindly bonds Our souls united, durable exists, Illustrious Jovino! nor can time, ​Nor distance, nor the mountains us between, Nor stormy seas hoarse roaring, separate Remembrance of thee from my memory.
The sound of Mars, that now sweet peace awhile Suspends, has long unhappy silence placed On my affection. Thou I know content Livest in obscure delicious quietude, For ever with untiring zeal inspired To aid the public weal; of virtue e'er, And talent, the protector and the friend.
These verses which I frame unpolish'd, free, Though not corrected with thy learned taste, In truth announce to thee my constant faith. And so may Heaven but soon to me return The hour again to see thee, and relate Familiarly discoursing, to my view Whatever of its varied scenes the world Presented. From my native shores to those Which bathes the Seine, blood-stained and turbulent; The daring Briton's, master of the sea, To the bold Belgian's; from the deep-flowing Rhine To the high tops of Apennine snow-crown'd, And that height further, which in burning smoke Covers and ashes over Naples wide, The different nations I have visited, ​Acquiring useful knowledge, never gain'd By learned reading in retired abodes. For there we cannot see the difference great Which climate, worship, arts, opinions, And laws occasion. That is found alone, If thou wouldst study man, in man himself.
Now the rough Winter, which augments the waves Of Tiber, on his banks has me detain'd, Inhabitant of Rome. O! that with thee 'T were granted me to rove through her, to scan The wonderful remains of glories past, Which Time, whose force can naught resist, has spared! Thou nursling of the Muses and the Arts, Faithful oracle of bright history, What learning thou wouldst give the affluent lip; What images sublime, by genius fired, In the great empire's ruin thou wouldst find! Fell the great city, which had triumph'd o'er The nations the most warlike, and with her Ended the Latin valour and renown. And she who to the Betis from the Nile
Her eagles proudly bore, the child of Mars, The Capitol with barbarous trophies deck'd, Conducting to her car of ivory bound Great kings subdued, amid the hoarse applause Of wide-throng'd forums, and the trumpet's sounds, ​Who to the world gave laws, now horrible Night covers her. She perish'd, nor expect More tokens of her ancient worth to find.
Those mouldering edifices, which the plough Breaks through in shapeless masses, once they were Circuses, strong palaces, and theatres; Proud arches, costly baths, and sepulchres; Where thou mayst hear perchance, for so 't is said, In the deep silence of the gloomy shade, A funeral lament, they only tell The glory of the people of Quirinus. And this to future races but remains The mistress of the world, illustrious Rome! This and no more remain'd? of all her arts
And dreaded power? What could not aught avail
Her virtue, wisdom, valour, all conjoin'd, With such her opulence, the law severe To mitigate, or stay the blows of fate?
Alas! if all is mortal—if to Time Alike the strong wall and the tender flower Must yield—if that will bronze and porphyry break, Destroying them and burying in dust, For whom so guards unhappy Avarice His treasuries untouch'd? for whom foretells
Immortal fame, the adulation vile ​That crimes and violence traitorous exalts? For what so hastening to the tomb runs on The human race, revengeful, envious, And haughty? Why, if all that e'er exists, And what man sees is all but ruins? all. For never to return the hours fly past Precipitate, and to their end but lead, Of the most lofty empires of the earth, The perishable splendour. The Deity, That hidden animates the universe, Alone eternal lives, and He alone Is powerful and great.