Poems (Ripley)/Sonnets to Pliny the Younger
SONNETS TO PLINY THE YOUNGER ON READING HIS LETTERS
I
Thou, who didst crave for immortality, Methinks, wouldst be content if thou couldst know Thy very letters, penned so long ago, Still live, and give delight, at this late day. Far more than eighteen centuries of years Have passed away since they were penned and read By those, thy many friends, whom thou didst stead In time of trouble, mingling thy tears With theirs and smoothing many a thorny way With words of wisest council and of love: Putting thyself aside to succor them; And clinging to them in adversity. Naught but unworthiness couldst cool thy love: E'en that, the tide of pity couldst not stem.
II
We hear thee pleading at the Roman bar, While hundreds, breathless, hang upon thy words. With many an eminent lawyer didst cross swords In wordy combat. Truth thou didst not mar With falsehood, woven cunningly to ensnare; But thou didst plead with truth and eloquence, Thy very enemies, in consequence, Could not but secretly admire thy fair And open warfare, waged so fearlessly. We hear thee 'mong thy chosen intimates Reciting speeches, in thy leisure hours, Or listening to others heedfully: Assisting all true merit through the gates Of literature, of great, or lesser powers.
III
When from the Roman bar art freed, we go With thee in thy vacation time, to one Of thy grand villas nestling neath the sun Of Italy, where warmest breezes blow.—We wander, with thee, through the porticos,The spacious dining-rooms, where windows are, Which open to the morn and evening star, The rising and the setting sun, where rows Of folding-doors suggest more loveliness: Of drawing-rooms; of beauty fairy-like; Of covered walks; the scent of violets; Of marble baths, and ocean's restlessness; Retreats for study; book-lined walls; alike To charm the mind, or free it from regrets.
IV
Another time we follow thee, afar, To another of thy villas, where mountains rise In purple grandeur, outlined against the skies, Where noises from the city do not mar The restful solitude: where fountains play And sparkle in their marble basins wide,And then through artificial channels glide To join the Tiber.—Where are meadows gay With wild-flowers, and lawns like emerald velvet soft,Dotted with marble summer-houses, twined With ivy, and musical with fountains cool, Where roses by the thousand make the soft Air fragrant: where art and nature are combined In sumptuous luxury on this footstool.
V
Although surrounded by such luxury, And living in an age when vice was rife, Thou didst pass through it all with stainless life, Possessing all the knowledge of thy day.—A noble enemy; a faithful friend; Sincere and honest; generous to a fault.—So far as in thee lay, thou didst not halt 'Twixt right and wrong, nor to the wrong didst bend.Extending generous hospitality To all thy numerous friends and relatives; And loving with a tender love thy home. The Emperor honored thee for thy loyalty, And loved thee for thy genius none the less: Thou famous denizen of Pagan Rome!