The Immortality of Genius

From the Latin by Dr. James Cranstoun ORPHEUS, ’t is said, the Thracian lyre-strings sweeping,   Stayed the swift stream and soothed the savage brute; Cithæron’s rocks, to Thebes spontaneous leaping,   Rose into walls before Amphion’s lute. With dripping steeds did Galatea follow,   ’Neath Ætna’s crags, lone Polyphemus’s song: Is ’t strange the loved of Bacchus and Apollo   Leads captive with his lay the maiden throng? Though no Tænarian blocks uphold my dwelling,   Nor ivory panels shine ’tween gilded beams; No orchards mine Phæcia’s woods excelling,   No chiselled grots where Marcian water streams,— Yet Song is mine; my strain the heart engages;   Faint from the dance sinks the lithe Muse with me: O happy maid whose name adorns my pages!   Each lay a lasting monument to thee! The pyramids that cleave heaven’s jewelled portal;   Elean Jove’s star-spangled dome; the tomb Where rich Mausolus sleeps,—are not immortal,   Nor shall escape inevitable doom. Devouring fire and rains will mar their splendor;   The weight of years will drag the marble down: Genius alone a name can deathless render,   And round the forehead wreathe the unfading crown.