At Virgil’s tomb - a poem by Philipp Mainländer

Virgil's tomb, painting by Joseph Wright

By Philipp Mainländer

Shall I praise you on your ashes?

What one deserves who joyful life ignoring,

All people’s misfortunes clashes

And even at the grave, is glorifying them?

No doubt, your fame is still assured,

Stands firm like stone vault, attained.

And even after thousands of years,

It’s now, like before, maintained.

It’s true that driven by the golden Musa,

Despite the clouds of the past,

I’m running to the bay

Where the greatest men of epochs last

The altar built eternal.

But wait, is it eternal, truly? Oh, catch the deepest Lute sounds,

You, dark spirit, in my chest,

And hand moves slowly to the rope

In searching for the blessed fest!

It's best to think of leaden day

That sends us back to you, Virgil! When pure sound's wealth

And even loud trumpets of devotees,

Could not protect you from the reign of death.

Torrents of time, passing thousands of years.

Are they not a form of mankind,

Divided in short days and fleeting hours,

Making a person and his life?

Flying fast with deathly pale look,

Approaching the past on every hour,

With all its births and whole world!

The latter always throws the crowd out,

The former feels at home every night.

Until, finally, they reach the farthest covers

Of lonely sparkling stars as leading the entourage!

And through the darkness their pallid form appears:

No rest in cruel Nature, just this mirage.

The time will come. Yes, it will come, oh Virgil!

When even all the fame exhales final sounds,

Like sweetest notes of most lovely harp

Die slowly in the mountains’ bounds.

But wish for life remains innate.

For though death breaks all the bonds,

Continues the tiring daily work of mortals,

Not ceasing on earthly pond.

But beautiful spirit struggles with death.

A feeling is telling me right,

I contemplate those distant,

And resonant children of night.

I often seem to hear voice

That whispers softly:

Just trust the words of throbbing heart,

Dictates them to you gently, listen.

Although I don't know, I feel another life,

Totally different from present mess.

It's free from restless and concerned efforts,

There's neither rush nor pain, just absolute rest.

Translated and adapted into English by Vladislav Luchianov. Source: Diario de un Poeta by Carlos Javier González Serrano and Manuel Pérez Cornejo.

Note Virgil's tomb (Italian: Tomba di Virgilio) is a Roman burial vault in Naples, said to be the tomb of the poet Virgil. It is located at the entrance to the old Roman tunnel known as the grotta vecchia or cripta napoletana in the Piedigrotta district of the city, between Mergellina and Fuorigrotta. It is a small structure, with a small dome of rocks located at the top of the park.

Virgil's tomb became a place of pilgrimage for many centuries, and such writers like Petrarch and Boccaccio found their way to the shrine. The place was described by Seneca, Strabo, Petronius, Petrarch, Goethe, Alexandre Dumas père, Gérard de Nerval, Pedro Antonio de Alarcón and others.