Note 1 — Chapter XXXII
Reading edition
Miss Matty had been so good an audience that Colin at this time of his life was a little spoiled in respect to his poetry, which, however, after all, he did not consider poetry, but only verses, to amuse himself with. The little poem in question, which he had entitled “Vespers in the Pantheon,” is, for the satisfaction of his friends, given underneath:—
“What voice is in the mighty dome, Where the blue eye of heaven looks through, And where the rain falls, and the dew, In the old heart of Rome? On the vast area below Are priests in robes of sullied white And humble servitors that light The altars with a feeble glow— Pale tapers in the twilight dim: Poor humble folks that come to say Their farewell to departing day, Their darkling faith in Him, Who rules imperial Rome the last: The song is shrill and sad below, With discords harsh of want and woe Into the music cast. But from the mighty vault that bares Its open heart unto the sky, Vague peals of anthem sounding high Echo the human prayers. Oh solemn shrine, wherein lie dead The gods of old, the dreams of men! What voice is this that wakes again The echoes overhead, Pealing aloft the holiest name— The lowliest name, Rome’s ancient scorn— Now to earth’s furthest boundaries borne, With fame above all fame? Is it some soul whose mortal days Had known no better God than Jove, Though dimly prescient of a love Was worthy higher praise?— Some soul that late hath seen the Lord: Some wistful soul, eager to share The tender trust of Christian prayer, Though not by wish or word:— By homage inarticulate: Murmurs and thunders of sweet sound: And great Amens that circle round Heaven’s liberal open gate? Great singer, wert thou one of those Spirits in prison, whom He sought, Soon as his wondrous work was wrought, Ending all doubts and woes? Alone? or comes there here a throng? Agrippa—he who built this shrine— And men who groped for the divine Through lifetimes hard and long Dead Romans to this vault austere, ’Tis meet ye should return to tell, Of that which was inscrutable, That God hath made it clear. So we, still bound in mortal pain, Take courage ’neath the echoing dome, In the dear heart of this sad Rome, To give you back—Amen!”