THE VIRGIN WITH THE BELLS MUCH strange is true. And yet so much Dan Time thereto of doubtful lays He blurs them both beneath his touch:— In this our tale his part he plays. At Florence, so the legend tells, There stood a church that men would praise (Even where Art the most excels) Gracious she was, and featly done, And sceptre in her hand did bear; Writ with Faith, Hope, and Charity. Of great or small. But this they told :— That once from out the blaze of square, More moved no doubt of heat than prayer, Came to the church an Umbrian, Lord of much gold and champaign fair, But, for all this, a hard, haught man. Praying him grant of his excess Such as for poor men's bread might pay, Thereat with scorn he answered—" Nay, "To swell the Church's overflow. "Or, likelier still, your doll's-eyed queen Shall ring her bells. . but not of craft. By Bacchus! ye are none too lean "For fasting folk!" With that he laughed, And so, across the porphyry floor, His hand upon his dagger-haft, Strode, and of these was seen no more. Oft dower shrunk souls. But, on a day, Chaffered around the basket ware, It chanced that when the priest would kneel Before the taper's flickering flame, Sudden a little tremulous peal From out the Virgin's altar came. Spoke in his pride, and therewithal Who, of the Duke, was banned the State, Such is the tale the Frati tell. "TH A TALE OF POLYPHEME HERE'S nothing new "-Not that I go so far But, as to novelty, in my conviction, Hence, at the outset, I make no apology, The Cyclops' love,-which, somewhat varied, I'm To tell once more, the adverse Muse permitting, In easy rhyme, and phrases neatly fitting. "Once on a time"-there's nothing new, It may be fifty years ago or more, Beside a lonely posting-road that led I said Seaward from Town, there used to stand of yore, With low-built bar and old bow-window shady, An ancient Inn, the "Dragon and the Lady." Say that by chance, wayfaring Reader mine, |