Chronicles and Characters By Robert Lytton (Owen Meredith): In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
 | VIII. |
|
|
| IX. |
|
 | Chronicles and Characters |  |
XII.
To this Pope however, yet upon earth,Who, tho' dead, knew what a live Pope is worth,
That sight was somewhat provoking:
Millions of men, all jostling, joking,
As merry as so many Prodigal Sons,
Having kill'd and roasted their fatted calf,
And enjoying the chance to quaff and laugh;
And yet not one of those millions
Who seem'd aware of the dead Pope there,
Or even very much to care
What had become of His Holiness,
121
Who, all the while, was nevertheless
Sole cause of the general joyousness.
This was certainly hard to bear.
His hand he raised: no man lookt to it.
His finger: not a knee was crookt to it.
He raised his voice: no man heeded it.
He gave his blessing: no man needed it.
'Twas the merest waste of benevolence,
Since the holiday went on with or without him.
He might have been to all intents
The golden Saint stuck up on the steeple,
Who is always blessing a thankless people,
Nobody caring a button about him.
Bless, or curse, neither better nor worse
For a single word that he said,
On its wonted way a world perverse
Went onward, nobody bowing the head
Either for hope, or yet for dread.
| Chronicles and Characters | |