TO AN ANTIQUE VASE.
Reading edition
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BY N. C. BROOKS.
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In the cabinet of M. Villaneu is an antique vase of elegant proportions and beautiful workmanship that was fished up from the sea. It is wreathed with coral and madripore, in the most grotesque manner. The play of Imagination I hope will not be considered too free in supposing it had been used in ancient sacrifices, at the founding of cities, and the revels of royalty.
Ages have passed since, amid the gale,
A votive gift to the god of the sea
Thou wert cast where the Tyrian’s broidered sail
O’er the Adrian wave swept wildly free:
And we muse, as we gaze on thy tarnished gleam,
On the vanished past in a quiet dream.
Where ancient temples once flashed with gold
Thou hast stood with the priest at the holy shrine—
Where in amber wreaths the incense rolled,
Thou hast shed thy treasure of votive wine:
Now the temples are fallen—the altars lone,
And the white-robed priest and his gods are gone.
Where the augur waved and the monarch prayed
Thy font has the full libation poured;
And when the city walls were laid
The palace rose and the castle towered:
But they sunk by the engine and Time’s dark flood,
And the wild grass waves where the columns stood.
In the festal halls where eyes grew bright,
And pulses leaped at the viol’s sound,
Thou hast winged the hours with mystic flight,
As the feast and the mazy dance went round:
Now mosses the mouldering walls encrust,
And the pulseless hearts of the guests are dust.
Yes creeds have changed, and forms have grown old—
Empires and nations have faded away
Since the grape last purpled thy shining gold;
And grandeur and greatness have met decay
Since the beaded bubbles of old did swim,
Like rubies, around thy jewelled brim.