In his 1817 poem “Ozymandias,” Percy Bysshe Shelley reflected on a fragment of the colossal statue of Pharaoh Ramses II—the once great ruler of whom “Nothing beside remains.” Two years after composing those verses, Shelley was inspired by a different ancient monument—the Arch of Titus, which portrays Roman soldiers parading the menorah and other items pillaged from the Second Temple—to write two “orations.” Meir Soloveichik comments on them:
The first fragment imagines a 19th-century Jew standing at the Arch of Titus, staring at “the desolation of a city.” The Jew describes himself studying the Roman “procession of the victors, bearing in their profane hands the holy candlesticks and the tables of shewbread, and the sacred instruments of the eternal worship of the Jews.” On the opposite panel, he sees the emperor, “crowned with laurel, and surrounded by the tumultuous numbers of his triumphant army.” Titus, in other words, demands that all in his empire look upon his works and despair. Yet studying the destroyed colosseum nearby, the Jew is struck by a realization: “The arch is now moldering into ruins. . . . The power, of whose possession it was once the type, and of whose departure it is now the emblem, is become a dream and a memory.”
Or to put it differently, when it came to the Roman Empire, “nothing beside remains.”
The same, of course, could not be said for Jewish civilization. The menorah borne aloft to Rome ultimately disappeared when the city was sacked by the Vandals, but it was remembered in lamps relit in Jewish homes throughout the centuries, as it will be this and every year at Hanukkah. And if Jews chose to remember the story of one small flask of oil that somehow endured, it was because they view that tiny miracle as a metaphor for their own national life. Shelley’s Ozymandias is a story not only of Egypt, but of nation after nation throughout history—except one.
More about: Ancient Egypt, Ancient Rome, Hanukkah, Poetry