Of dooms august, that doom both God and Man,
Raised to high meed, the spirits of just men
Made here companions of immortal Gods;
Themselves perchance — grudge not, O seed of Heaven!
Destined, despite their clay, to conquer death.
There for long years, how long I know not yet,
My lot is fixed with that dear folk to dwell;
But not for ever; sometime yet to be
(Thus far I know and tell) I come again,
To counsel, and to do, and endure.
But whether to this glorious hall of Heaven,
Or whether unto Man's long-suffering brood,
I know not-nay nor even surely know
If this my shape wherein I stand to-day
Be changed at my new coming on such wise
Wears my great Mother many a form and name,
Yet holds through all her one identity.
Thus may I too. Or if the time shall come
When all the storèd counsel of my soul
Is spent, and all mine oracles outworn,
There shall not fail a prophet in my place,
Some hand to bear the torch, new wisdom bringing
Wiser than Promethean; yet that too
Taught him not only by the all-teacher Time,
But by long toil and travail, hate and love,
Design, and disappointment, and defeat,
And by rapt converse held with Earth, and Stars,
And with deep hidden well-springs of the world.
But now to my much yearned for rest afar
I must be gone. Wherefore, for that long way,
I pray ye, deathless Presences of Heaven,
Suffer one moment in your shining halls
The appointed convoy that shall bear me hence.
They wait without, and now are near at hand.
My strength is spent in speaking: Gods, farewell!'
He ceased, but with his word they saw descend
Two Shapes benign that with wide-hovering wing,
Noiseless as birds' that through the brooding night
Flit all unheard, and of like feathery form,
Close to the Titan's side came floating down.
Well known the one, and welcome even in Heaven,
For even in Heaven who shall not welcome Sleep?
But round his brother twin a halo hung,
Well-nigh invisible, a filmy veil,
And his calm lips were paler: through the Gods
A brief scare-heeded shudder lightly ran
At that mild Presence, for they looked on Death.
Not for dominion came he there that day,
But helpmeet of his brother, bound with him
To welcome succor of the weary God.
So to his side those Forms fraternal drew.
His faint eyes half had closed, his failing head
Sank on the breast of Sleep: together both
Raised him with reverend touch, and spread their plumes
Inaudibly. One beat of those wide wings,
Fraught with their sacred burden, bare them forth;
And in a moment, lo, the heavenly hall
Held them no more, but far they fleeted on
Down through the glimmering deep of empty air.
WHAT came we forth to see? a fair or race?
Some hero fêted by an eager crowd?
Or would we do some favored princeling grace,
That thus we herd so close, and talk so loud?
Pushing and struggling, fighting, crushing, shouting,
What are these motley gazers here to seek,
Like merry-makers on a summer outing?
'T is but the services of Holy Week.
The Eternal City swarms with eager strangers
From every quarter of the busy earth;
Who fill the temples like the money-changers,
And say some prayers — for what they may be worth.
A never-ending tide of restless motion,
They come to burn, in fashion rather odd,
The incense of their polyglot devotion,
Before the altars of the Latin God.
As flock the Londoners to Epsom Races,
Or form a 'queue' to see the newest play,
So do the pilgrim-tourists fight for places
Before the chapels in their zeal to pray.
From holy place to holy place they flit,
To 'do' as many churches as they can;
And humbly kneeling, for the fun of it,
They climb the ladder of the Lateran.
Here some fair maid, her Heavenward journey steering,
Where by Swiss bayonets the way is barred,
Nor Law, nor Pope, nor Antonelli fearing —
Breaks through the lines of the astonished guard.
In customary suit of solemn black,
With string of beads and veil à l'Espagnole,
She means to see it' all; to keep her back
Would be to peril her immortal soul.
There a slim youth, while all but he are kneeling
Through levelled opera-glass looks down on them,
When round the Sistine's pictured roof is pealing
Our buried Lord's majestic Requiem.
For him each storied wonder of the globe is
'The sort of thing a fellow ought to see ;'
And so he patronized Ora pro nobis,
And wanted to encore the Tenebræ.
Stranger! what though these sounds and sights be grandest
Of all that on Earth's surface can be found?
Remember that the place whereon thou standest,
Be thy creed what it may, is holy ground.
Yet I have gaped and worshipped with the rest –
I, too, beneath St. Peter's lofty dome
Have seen, in all their richest colors dressed,
The golden glories of historic Rome;
Have heard the Pontiff's ringing voice bestow,
'Mid cheering multitudes and flags unfurled,
Borne by the cannon of St. Angelo,
His blessing on the 'City and the World ;'
Have seen - and thrilled with wonder as I gazed ·
Ablaze with living lines of golden light,
Like some fire-throne to the Eternal raised,
The great Basilica burn through the night;
Have heard the trumpet-notes of Easter Day,
Their silver echoes circling all around,
In strange unearthly music float away,
Stones on the lake translated into sound; ·
Yet would I wander from the crowd apart,
While heads were bowed and tuneful voices sang,
And through the deep recesses of my heart
A still small voice in solemn warning rang.
'Oh vanity of vanities! ye seem,
Ye pomps and panoplies of mortal state,
To make this text the matter of your theme,
That God is little, and that Man is great.
'Is this parade of the world's wealth and splendor The lesson of the simple gospel-word?
Is this the sacrifice of self-surrender
Taught by the lowly followers of the Lord?
'Do we, who broider thus the garment's hem,
Think of the swaddling-clothes the child had on?
Grace we the casket, to neglect the gem?
Forget we quite the manger for the throne?'
While thus in moralizing mood I pondered,
I turned me from the hum of men alone;
And, as my vagrant fancy led me, wandered
Amid the maze of monumental stone.
The crowd their favorite lions now forswore,
Left galleries and ruins in the lurch;
The cicerone's glory was no more,
For all the world was gathered in the church.
So at my will I strayed from place to place,
From classic shrines to modern studios -
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