 | Fra Cipolla, and other poems |  |
85
THE CARDINAL.
Onward thou sweepest, haughty cardinal,
Pomp in thy train, dominion in thine eye,
As if thou dreamedst Rome imperial
Still ruled the world, as in the days gone by;
Onward thou sweepest, and the crowd adore
Thy footsteps, and thy blessings still implore.
Pomp in thy train, dominion in thine eye,
As if thou dreamedst Rome imperial
Still ruled the world, as in the days gone by;
Onward thou sweepest, and the crowd adore
Thy footsteps, and thy blessings still implore.
Doth, as a prisoned eagle's, chafe thy spirit
In secret 'neath that bearing calm and high,
When he sees the wide heaven he should inherit,
And his clipt wings, to soar that vain would try?
Or art thou soothed with purple majesty,
The shadow, though the substance may not be?
In secret 'neath that bearing calm and high,
When he sees the wide heaven he should inherit,
And his clipt wings, to soar that vain would try?
Or art thou soothed with purple majesty,
The shadow, though the substance may not be?
86
E'en as upon the great first Cæsar's throne,
With orb and diadem Augustulus
Sat, trembling when from northern Elbe or Rhone
Came sounds of Gothic warriors, to us
Dost thou seem successor of those who trod
On nations, who now teach thee how they're shod.
With orb and diadem Augustulus
Sat, trembling when from northern Elbe or Rhone
Came sounds of Gothic warriors, to us
Dost thou seem successor of those who trod
On nations, who now teach thee how they're shod.
Yet, oh! think not so scornfully, but rather
Say, Rome is likest Julius, in her fall,
When dying in the capitol, the father
Of empire caught his mantle for a pall,
Shrouding himself with robes of royal state,
That fitly the world's lord might sink to fate.
Say, Rome is likest Julius, in her fall,
When dying in the capitol, the father
Of empire caught his mantle for a pall,
Shrouding himself with robes of royal state,
That fitly the world's lord might sink to fate.
Rome, Nov. 1. Giorno d'ogni Santi.
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