Part 27 (1/2)
What so changed the warlord's heart?
'Twas the pa.s.sionate entreaty Of his wife,--a Christian queen; 'Twas the conquest of the pagan By the lowly Nazarene.
Through her prayers Rome's aged Pontiff From the threatened doom was freed; By her aid the Church was strengthened As the king professed its creed; And Saint Peter's great successor, Thus preserved from grievous loss, Gave to her, his faithful daughter, A true relic of the Cross.
What to pious Theodelinda Could be recompense more sweet Than the nail, forever sacred, That once pierced her Saviour's feet?
Which, when rounded to a circlet, (To fine wire beaten down,) Then became the precious basis Of the Lombards' Iron Crown.
Through the ages that have followed What a line of the Renowned Have been proud to wear this emblem, As they, each in turn, were crowned!
Charlemagne, Charles Fifth, Napoleon, German Kaisers by the score, And at last poor King Umberto, Basely slain at Monza's door!
Since that coronet was fas.h.i.+oned Fifteen centuries have pa.s.sed O'er the castle by Lake Como, Where the good queen breathed her last; But the Crown is still at Monza, And its iron basic line Tells the world of human glory And the death of the Divine.
CONTRASTS
The wind is roaring down the lake, The clear, cold moon rides high, The mountains, crystal to their crests, Indent the starlit sky; The wild sea beats my garden-wall, And all its peace transforms; Dear Heart, how different is the lake When swept by Alpine storms!
My soul to-night is dark and sad From proofs of hate displayed, From envy and rapacity, And kindness ill-repaid; The baseness of humanity Hath spoiled a cherished dream; Dear Heart, how different is the lake When Evil reigns supreme!
The gale hath blown itself to rest, The sun turns all to gold, Once more the crystal mountain-sides A waveless plain enfold; And some will laugh, and lightly say The storm hath left no stain, But in my park one perfect rose Will never bloom again!
IN MY PERGOLA
Beyond the blue-robed, sleeping lake, I watch the flush of morning rise, While birds and flowers once more wake, To share with me my paradise.
Within this waveless bay of rest The Alpine winds contend no more, But skim, like gulls, its dimpled breast, And sink to silence on its sh.o.r.e.
The breath of dawn descends the hills, And round me, as I greet the day, I hear the lilt of laughing rills And songs of fountains at their play.
Tall, whispering trees their shadows fling Athwart the trellised path I tread, And incense-breathing roses swing Their pendent censers o'er my head.
What Moorish ceiling e'er excelled This arbor, roofed with cups of gold?
What Eastern casket ever held The perfume which their leaves unfold?
Fair chalices of bloom, swing low, And touch my lips with odors sweet!
Enfold me in your ardent glow, While petals flutter to my feet!
Let, for to-day, the dream remain That life is rose-hued, like this aisle,-- A fragrant pathway, free from pain, With every sun-kissed flower a smile!
EVANESCENCE
Pa.s.sing s.h.i.+ps! Pa.s.sing s.h.i.+ps!
The white foam sparkling at your lips And countless jewels in your wake Proclaim your progress o'er the lake, While on your decks a smiling throng Surveys this realm of sun and song.
Slipping by! Slipping by!