Roman Poems!

[Spedius]

Ave!

This is for the more creative romantics amongst the members.

The Roman Centurion's Song!

Roman Occupation of Britain, A.D. 300

Legate, I had the news last night -- my cohort ordered home,
By ships to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome.
I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below,
Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go!

I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall,
I have none other home than this, nor any life at all.
Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near,
That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here.

Here where men say my name was made, here where my work was done,
Here where my dearest dead are laid -- my wife -- my wife and son.
Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service, love,
Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove?

For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields suffice,
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern skies?
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August haze,
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted days?

You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine an olive lean,
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean.
To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on,
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!

You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending pines,
Where, blue as any peacock's neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean shines.
You'll go where laurel crowns are won, but--will you e'er forget,
The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet?

Let me work here for Britain's sake - at any task you will,
A marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill.
Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite Border keep,
Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep.

Legate, I come to you in tears - My cohort ordered home!
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind - the only life I know,
I cannot leave it all behind. Command me not to go!

I'm not sure about the origins of this poem but someone may have seen it before.

Vale

M. Spedius Corbulo

[Robert Vermaat]

I'm not sure about the origins of this poem but someone may have seen it before.

Kipling, right?

http://www.kipling.org.uk/rg_romancenturion1.htm

[Spedius]

I'm not sure about the origins of this poem but someone may have seen it before.

Kipling, right?
http://www.kipling.org.uk/rg_romancenturion1.htm

Ave Robert,

Rudyard Kipling, right!

What a multi-talented man he was!

Well spotted!!

Vale

M. Spedius Corbulo

[Arthes]

One 'creative romantic' female with tears in her eyes.....
That poem is so sad and probably true for so many soldiers ordered 'home' .....
regards
Arthes

[Spedius]

One 'creative romantic' female with tears in her eyes.....
That poem is so sad and probably true for so many soldiers ordered 'home' .....
regards
Arthes

Ave Arthes,

Those were my sentiments too and, being an ex-soldier myself, feelings that I can remember suffering from on many an occasion.

Yes, Kipling's sad and evocative poem kindled memories of times long past for me too. I recall either standing on a platform and waving a loved one good-bye or being waved to as my train pulled out of the station. I sometimes cast my mind back to those days of my youth and ask myself the age old question, what if?

Whilst we're talking about Kipling, here's another one, again with a Roman theme.

A British-Roman Song
(A. D. 406)

A Centurion of the Thirtieth -- Puck of Pook's Hill

My father's father saw it not,
And I, belike, shall never come,
To look on that so holy spot,
That very Rome.

Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,
The equal work of Gods and Man,
City beneath whose oldest height,
The Race began!

Soon to send forth again a brood,
Unshakable, we pray, that clings,
To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood,
In arduous things.

Strong heart with triple armour bound,
Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs,
Age after Age, the Empire round,
In us thy Sons.

Who, distant from the Seven Hills,
Loving and serving much, require,
Thee - thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills,
The Imperial Fire!

Rudyard Kipling

Enjoy

Vale

M. Spedius Corbulo

[Primitivus]

Ave!
The Roman Centurion's Song!
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind - the only life I know,

Thank you for sharing this poem. I had never read it before, but it is quite moving. It makes one wonder about the number of Roman soldiers who spent their entire lives in a single locale. And then, about those like the one in whose spirit this was penned, who were nearing their retirement and then were whisked away to distant lands... likely never to return...

[Spedius]

Ave!
The Roman Centurion's Song!
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind - the only life I know,

Thank you for sharing this poem. I had never read it before, but it is quite moving. It makes one wonder about the number of Roman soldiers who spent their entire lives in a single locale. And then, about those like the one in whose spirit this was penned, who were nearing their retirement and then were whisked away to distant lands... likely never to return...

Ave Robert,

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.

I have to confess that, until recently, I hadn't read Kipling's poetry either. After receiving Robert's link I scoured the net searching for more examples for inclusion in this topic. Amongst others, which will be appearing here, I found this superb resource.

http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/k ... g_ind.html

Another of my interests lies in the study of Roman Military Diplomas. You will find several examples of my efforts to explain and understand them in another section of this Forum.

One of the spin-offs from this study are the regiments of auxilia who are stationed in the Provincial garrisons.

I have attached a pair for Mauretania Tingitana to illustrate and answer the question you've raised regarding long service in a single locale.

Please do not hesitate to ask if you have any further questions.

Vale

M. Spedius Corbulo

[Spedius]

Ave!

Here is another of Kipling's poems, again with a Roman theme.

"Romulus and Remus

Canadian

Oh, little did the Wolf-Child care,
When first he planned his home,
What City should arise and bear,
The weight and state of Rome.

A shiftless, westward-wandering tramp,
Checked by the Tiber flood,
He reared a wall around his camp,
Of uninspired mud.

But when his brother leaped the Wall,
And mocked its height and make,
He guessed the future of it all,
And slew him for its sake.

Swift was the blow - swift as the thought,
Which showed him in that hour,
How unbelief may bring to naught,
The early steps of Power.

Foreseeing Time's imperilled hopes,
Of Glory, Grace, and Love,
All singers, Caesars, artists, Popes,
Would fail if Remus throve.

He sent his brother to the Gods,
And, when the fit was o'er,
Went on collecting turves and clods,
To build the Wall once more!

Rudyard Kipling"

If you have discovered any poems that would compliment this topic please feel free to add them.

Vale

M. Spedius Corbulo

[Primitivus]

Another of my interests lies in the study of Roman Military Diplomas. You will find several examples of my efforts to explain and understand them in another section of this Forum.

Yes, I've already seen some of your research elsewhere on RAT.

One of the spin-offs from this study are the regiments of auxilia who are stationed in the Provincial garrisons. I have attached a pair for Mauretania Tingitana to illustrate and answer the question you've raised regarding long service in a single locale.

Thanks.

Please do not hesitate to ask if you have any further questions.

Since you ask, I've been curious in the past about these documents and what would happen if they were lost or stolen. I assume that once a veteran settled on his new property, he would be known to his neighbors and the loss of the diploma would be a mere inconvenience. However, I can also imagine occasions where it would be more than merely inconvenient.

[Spedius]

Please do not hesitate to ask if you have any further questions.

Since you ask, I've been curious in the past about these documents and what would happen if they were lost or stolen. I assume that once a veteran settled on his new property, he would be known to his neighbors and the loss of the diploma would be a mere inconvenience. However, I can also imagine occasions where it would be more than merely inconvenient.

Ave Robert,

Roman Military Diplomas (RMDs) were, in some respects, the ancient equivalent of a modern passport.

RMDs granted the recipient, his wife and children, Roman citizenship.

So, it was an extremely valuable document, it's theft or loss would be a catastrophic event for the loser and his family, I would imagine.

I have no idea if the loser could obtain a copy, possibly not.

The main difficulty for the loser would come if he wished to travel to areas where he was unknown. His lack of an RMD would cause all manner of problems for him.

Vale

M. Spedius Corbulo

[Primitivus]

The main difficulty for the loser would come if he wished to travel to areas where he was unknown.

Thanks. This makes sense to me. Within his own colonia he would be known, and there would probably seldom be any reason to need to produce it. However, if traveling it would definitely be important to have it handy.

[Primitivus]

[size=150:2jpaf85h]Waiting for the Barbarians[/size]
By Constantine Cavafy
(1864-1933)

What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?

The barbarians are due here today.

Why isn't anything happening in the senate?
Why do the senators sit there without legislating?

Because the barbarians are coming today.
What laws can the senators make now?
Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating.

Why did our emperor get up so early,
and why is he sitting at the city's main gate
on his throne, in state, wearing the crown?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader.
He has even prepared a scroll to give him,
replete with titles, with imposing names.

Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today
wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas?
Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts,
and rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds?
Why are they carrying elegant canes
beautifully worked in silver and gold?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and things like that dazzle the barbarians.

Why don't our distinguished orators come forward as usual
to make their speeches, say what they have to say?

Because the barbarians are coming today
and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking.

Why this sudden restlessness, this confusion?
(How serious people's faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home so lost in thought?

Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come.
And some who have just returned from the border say
there are no barbarians any longer.

And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution.

[Primitivus]

A Pict Song

Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on -- that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
With only our tongues for our swords.

We are the Little Folk -- we!
Too little to love or to hate.
Leave us alone and you'll see
How we can drag down the State!
We are the worm in the wood!
We are the rot at the root!
We are the taint in the blood!
We are the thorn in the foot!

Mistletoe killing an oak --
Rats gnawing cables in two --
Moths making holes in a cloak --
How they must love what they do!
Yes -- and we Little Folk too,
We are busy as they --
Working our works out of view --
Watch, and you'll see it some day!

No indeed! We are not strong,
But we know Peoples that are.
Yes, and we'll guide them along
To smash and destroy you in War!
We shall be slaves just the same?
Yes, we have always been slaves,
But you -- you will die of the shame,
And then we shall dance on your graves!

We are the Little Folk, we, etc.

[Primitivus]

[size=150:32gsu44g]An Old Twenty-Third Man[/size]
by Robert Graves
(1895 – 1985)

“Is that the Three-and-Twentieth, Strabo mine,
Marching below, and we still gulping wine?â€

[Primitivus]

[size=150:xitshnht]The Saint And The Hunchback[/size]
By William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)

Hunchback. Stand up and lift your hand and bless
A man that finds great bitterness
In thinking of his lost renown.
A Roman Caesar is held down
Under this hump.

Saint. God tries each man
According to a different plan.
I shall not cease to bless because
I lay about me with the taws
That night and morning I may thrash
Greek Alexander from my flesh,
Augustus Caesar, and after these
That great rogue Alcibiades.

Hunchback. To all that in your flesh have stood
And blessed, I give my gratitude,
Honoured by all in their degrees,
But most to Alcibiades.