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SIR WALTER SCOTT AT THE TOMB OF THE STUARTS IN ST. PETER'S, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Eve's tinted shadows slowly fill the fane
Last Line: Ever should pass those holy walls beyond.
Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord
Subject(s): Graves; Saint Peter's Church, Rome; Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832); Travel; Tombs; Tombstones; Journeys; Trips


EVE'S tinted shadows slowly fill the fane
Where Art has taken almost Nature's room,
While still two objects clear in light remain,
An alien pilgrim at an alien tomb. --

-- A sculptured tomb of regal heads discrown'd,
Of one heart-worshipped, fancy-haunted, name,
Once loud on earth, but now scarce else renown'd
Than as the offspring of that stranger's fame.

There lie the Stuarts! -- There lingers Walter Scott!
Strange congress of illustrious thoughts and things!
A plain old moral, still too oft forgot, --
The power of Genius and the fall of Kings.

The curse on lawless Will high-planted there,
A beacon to the world, shines not for him;
He is with those who felt their life was sere,
When the full light of loyalty grew dim.

He rests his chin upon a sturdy staff,
Historic as that sceptre, theirs no more;
His gaze is fixed; his thirsty heart can quaff,
For a short hour, the spirit-draughts of yore.

Each figure in its pictured place is seen,
Each fancied shape his actual vision fills,
From the long-pining, death-delivered, Queen,
To the worn Outlaw of the heathery hills.

O grace of life, which shame could never mar!
O dignity, that circumstance defied!
Pure is the neck that wears the deathly scar,
And sorrow has baptised the front of pride.

But purpled mantle, and blood-crimson'd shroud,
Exiles to suffer and returns to woo,
Are gone, like dreams by daylight disallow'd;
And their historian, -- he is sinking too!

A few more moments and that labouring brow
Cold as those royal busts and calm will lie;
And, as on them his thoughts are resting now,
His marbled form will meet the attentive eye.

Thus, face to face, the dying and the dead,
Bound in one solemn ever-living bond,
Communed; and I was sad that ancient head
Ever should pass those holy walls beyond.





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