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.
Hildebert of Lavardin.
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