The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1842-12-04
Santa Cr0ce.

Not chiefly for thy stored towers and halls
For the bright wonders oithy pictured walls;
Not for the olives wealth. the vineyards pride,
Thatcrown thy hills, and TEEN Amos side;
Dost thou delight me, Florence can meet
Elsewhere with halls as rich and wales as sweet
prize thy charms OF nature and OF art
But yield them not the homage OF my heart.
Rather to Santa Croce repair,
To breathe her peaceful monumental air
The age, the deeds, the houOrs to explore
Oh those, who sleep beneath her marble floor -
The stern old tribuues Of the early time
The merch ant lords of Freedoms stormy prime -
And each great name ia every after age,
The praised the wise the artist, bard aud sage.
feel their awful presence ; To- thy bust,
Thy urn, On Dante, not alas thy dust.
Florence, that drove the living from her gate.
Waits for that lust, in VAIN, aud long shall wait
Ravenna k the glorious Exile's trust.
Aud teach remOrseless factions to be just,
While 'ne poor Cenotsph, who bears his name,
Procla at once his praise-his counry's shame.
Mex, imam note7l, though cold as thine.
Moulders o mortal shrine,
OBJ Micharl y still and hard.
Speak to me, tala..r, builders sculptor, Bard!
And shall those cunning fingers, stiff an cold,
Crumble to meaner earth than they did mould7
Art thou, who form and force to clay couldst give,
Aud teach the quarried damant to live,
Hd-in the vauitings ofthy mighty dome,
Pontifciai, outvie imperial Rome,
Portray unshrinking, to the dazzled eye,
Creation, Judgment, Time Eternity,
Art thou so low, and in this narrow cell,
Doth that Titanic genius stoop to dwell
And, while thine arches brave the upper sky,
Art thou content in these DARK caves lie 7
And thou illustrious sage thine eyen closed,
TO which their secret paths stars exposed.
HAPPY thy spirit, in some higher sphere,
Scars with the motions, which it measured here.
Soft he thy slumbers, Seer, Tor thanks to thee,
The earth now turns, without heresy.
Dost thou, whose Keen perception pierced the
Which gives the pendulum its my site laws, Irelu
Now trace each orb, with telescope eyes,
And solve the eternal cl0ck.work oil the skies,
While thy frame enjoys its long reposs,
And Santa Croce heals A, cetIps woes Z
Nor them alone ION her maternal breast
Here Machiavellis tortured limbs have rest.
oh that the could upon his tortured fame t...-f
Might pass away and leave an honest name.
n ne Power Of princes sr Thy limbs is staid,
Psscefo thine ashes --who can have the heart Is
Above thy grave. to play the censor's part
read the statesmans fortune In thy doom D'nN
Toll, greatness, woe "a late and ly ing tomb li
Aspiring aims by grovellng arts pursued,
Faction and self baptized the public good, ~
lite traduced-a statue crowned with bays,
And starving service paid with funeral praise.
Here too at length the indomitable will
And fiery pulse OF Astis bard are still l asgs.
And she-the stuart's widow-rears thy stone,
Seeks the next aisle, aad drops beneath her own.
The great the proud, the air--alike they tall
Thy sickle, Santa Croce, reapeth all H'
Yes, reapeth all, or else had spared the bloom Is.
Ofthat fair bud, now closed in yonder tomb.
M eek, gentle, pure and yet to him allied,
Who smote the astonished nations in his pride:
Worthy his name" 20 saith the sculptured line
Waster OF man, would he were worthy thine!
Hosts yet unnamed-the obscure, the known--I leave
What throngs would rise could each his marble heave
But we who muse above the famous dead,
Shall soon be silent, as the dust we tread
But not for me, when shall fall asleep, %
Shall Santa Croces lamps their vgils keep.
Beyond the main, in Auburns quiet shade,
With those loved and love my couch be made
Springs pendant branches DER the hillock wave A
And mornings dew-drops glisten my grave ~
While Heavens great arch shall rise above my bed
When Santa Croces crumbles on her dead
Unknown to erring or to suffering fame,
So may leave pure, though humble name.