The Sack of Rome: "Gravitas," by Andrew Benson Brown

gravitas a poem on the sack of Rome by the gulls in 390 BC or some say 387 BC adapted from LI abond or from the foundation of the city book 5 chapters 38 to 42 the sunset torched the Summer Sky the spectral Moon Rose round when a shadow passed the city Gates and staggered to the ground some rushed to help the soldier up he swatted them annoyed he SP f up blood and bitter news Rome's Legions were destroyed we took no opes he said we did not stake our odds upon the ashes of our fathers or the temples of our Gods this Folly augured our defeat this negligence our Doom for when we met the GOC Spears that plane became our tomb we stretched our wings avoiding flank their front was longer still the Galls Unleashed their battlecry and then attacked our hill we were not Romans on this day our Center did not not hold we turned and blocked each other's paths in panic none were bold we fled across the tyers bank but armor weighed us down and in that swirling riverbed we struggled and we drowned disorder ruled their javelins pelted our backs in Flight I cast my armor off and ran the coward's load is light the soldier clutched his heavy heart a heavy breath was drawn his shadow soaked the dusty Earth his conscience rattled on the Gs are Marching on us now their force is very near here they're camping near the onio tomorrow they'll be here cruel brenis is their Army's Chief if an arm is what they are a locust swarm more like that plagues our country from afar they've come for olives figs and grapes they've come to starve our pride against cruel brenis there's no hope this said the soldier died laments rose up to fill the night but grief soon turned to fear the howls of the Barbarian were heard on the frontier The vestle Virgins fled to keep the sacred relics safe The Peasants to the Wilderness where rocks and brambles chafe those few who could bear arms prepared with children and Loud wives to fortify The Citadel and fight there for their lives the city's Elders scorned all flight though they could not bear arms they would be Romans to the end in spite of wild alarms these generals and cils who for Country family friend had won The Laurels in their day knew not how knees could Bend they clasped each younger shoulder firm and said reserved goodbyes then LED them to the Citadel amidst the women's cries no speeches flowed with purple Pros these old patricians calm bade all remember Fortune lay in youth's un wrinkled Palm these past 360 years since Rome in sacred lore was built upon the Palatine it never lost a war their wives did not want them to go these Warriors gone gray but guiding love to wipe wet cheeks their husbands walked away they dawned their faded purple robes these old patricians few with victories insignias they held their honor true instated in their Noble homes they sat on Ivory chairs AUST as thunderous Jupiter unweathered to their hairs their statures hardened to the scene receding then to blend with Effigies of ancestors they waited for the end the Galls approached the city Gates invited them onard there were no Shields standing w watch no Sentinels on guard they gazed upon the temples bare and walked through empty streets where were the soldiers who had fled where were the town Elites the doors of plebians were locked of nobles open wide it seemed a trap too quiet then bold brenis went inside he marveled at mosaic glint that patterned every wall and from a verdant Garden speechless entered a marble Hall he walked along the sculpted heads then stopping seemed to see a bust more lifelike than the rest in kind and not degree was this the statue of a God or just a God in plain it seemed with all its gravity set down on Earth to rain he reached out touched its chiseled beard and then received a whack an ivory staff came down on him and gave his head a crack the statue's eyes in a slow crawl met brena's rude Lear the corner of the statue's lip curled upwards in a sneer the gull's face flushed he plunged his blade in the Phantom's cool white skin its Graven features glazed it dropped like broken porcelain men only simple brenis cried not deities at all he signaled that the rest be slain and watched each Idol fall the elders deaths unfettered chaos plunder knew no shame each house was pillaged none were spared the temples set a flame The Citadel looked on and mourned its crying crackling land Nails tore at hair fists grip ripped their swords to make a final stand and when Youth triumphed and rebuilt for ages none would stray from the example of their elders and the lesson of that day that Citadel is long since raised its wardens dead and gone and few now living can recall those Elders that read Dawn such ancient virtue though still lives in Livy's Dusty Tome a state of worth all Hearts should know the Dignity of Rome [Music]