THE RUMINAL FIG TREE.
(The Ruminal Fig Tree, near Curtian Lake, in the Forum at Rome, having been touched by lightning, was held sacred.—"Know that the lightning sanctifies below."—Byron's Childe Harold.)
Once in the clays of Rome's renown,
When laurel did the victor crown,
Within the Forum's classic shade
A fig tree reared its verdant head;
Among its boughs, by Curtian lake,
Gay birds did sweetest music make.
When laurel did the victor crown,
Within the Forum's classic shade
A fig tree reared its verdant head;
Among its boughs, by Curtian lake,
Gay birds did sweetest music make.
But storm-clouds gathered in the sky,
The tempest's voice rose hoarse and high;
Both man and beast before it quailed—
Then bolt from heaven the tree assailed;
And from that hour a sacred thing
Was that scarred tree by Curtian spring.
The tempest's voice rose hoarse and high;
Both man and beast before it quailed—
Then bolt from heaven the tree assailed;
And from that hour a sacred thing
Was that scarred tree by Curtian spring.
Doth not thy memory restore
A rural spot in days of yore;
Perchance from moonlight walk returning,
Hope's light undimmed in Youth's lamp burning—
Some lightning-scathed and withered tree,
Whose hollow trunk bore thought for thee?
A rural spot in days of yore;
Perchance from moonlight walk returning,
Hope's light undimmed in Youth's lamp burning—
Some lightning-scathed and withered tree,
Whose hollow trunk bore thought for thee?
All blighted, battered, blackened, bare,
It stood, an emblem of despair;
We viewed the wreck with silent awe,
And from the scene did moral draw;
The tree seemed fruitful in its blight,
And we were wiser for the sight.
It stood, an emblem of despair;
We viewed the wreck with silent awe,
And from the scene did moral draw;
The tree seemed fruitful in its blight,
And we were wiser for the sight.
Long, changeful years have passed since then;
We've battled in the strife of men,
Life's journey trod with wounded feet,
Tasted the bitter cup and sweet,
Seen blooming hopes fade one by one,
Till like that tree we've stood alone.
We've battled in the strife of men,
Life's journey trod with wounded feet,
Tasted the bitter cup and sweet,
Seen blooming hopes fade one by one,
Till like that tree we've stood alone.
O! would there were no sadder scene
Than blighted trees that once were green—
But some are found by sorrow bowed,
Dark palls of gloom their lives enshroud;
Too oft neglected, blamed, and feared,
They stand like trees by lightning seared.
Than blighted trees that once were green—
But some are found by sorrow bowed,
Dark palls of gloom their lives enshroud;
Too oft neglected, blamed, and feared,
They stand like trees by lightning seared.
But guard thou, as some holy thing,
The heart where grief has left its sting;
Deal gently, be he friend or foe,
With one who feels heaven's chastening blow;
Give love, alms, tears, heart's dew and rain,
And Hope's dead tree shall live again.
The heart where grief has left its sting;
Deal gently, be he friend or foe,
With one who feels heaven's chastening blow;
Give love, alms, tears, heart's dew and rain,
And Hope's dead tree shall live again.