Chronicles and Characters :: :: University of Virginia Library

And, first, he fumbled, and stretch'd his hand,
Feeling for the accustom'd cup;
For the taste of the wine was yet in his mouth;
And, finding it not, and vext with drouth,
Feebly, as ever, he call'd out.
For a Pope . . . what need has a Pope to shout,
Whose feeblest whisper from land to land
Is echoed, east, west, and north, and south?
But, no one coming to his command,
He rubb'd his eyes, and look'd about,

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And saw, thro' a swimming mist, each face
Of his predecessors, gone to Grace
Many a century ago,
Sternly staring at him so
(From their marble seats, a mournful row)
As who should say ‘Be cheerful, pray!
‘Make the best of it as you may:
We are all of us here in the same sad case:
Each in his turn, we must one by one die,
Even the best of us—
God help the rest of us!
Your turn, friend, now. Make no grimace.
Consider sic transit gloria mundi!’

He began to grow aware of the place.

A settling strangeness more and more
Crept over him, never felt before,
As he stept down to the marble floor.
He look'd up, and down, above him, and under,
Fill'd with uncomfortable wonder.
What should persuade him that he was dead?
A horrible humming in the head?
A giddy lightness about the feet?
Last night's wine, and this night's heat!
Where were the Saints and Apostles, each
With the bird or beast that belongs to him,
Each on a cushion of cloud,—no film,

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But solid and smooth like a pale-colour'd peach;
In a holy hurry the hand to reach
Down to him out of the glory dim
Where the multitudinous cherubim,
With wingèd heads, and wonderful eyes
Wide open, are watching in due surprise
How Heaven puts on its holiday trim
To welcome a Pope when he dies?
He could guess by the incense afloat on the air
Some service not yet so long o'er
But what he might have slept unaware,
Nor yet quite waked. What alone made him fear
Was that draperied, lighted, black thing there,
Not quite like a couch, and too much like a bier.
But anyhow ‘Wherefore linger here?’
And, pushing the heavy curtain by
That flapp'd in the portal, the windy floor
Sucking its flat hem sullenly,
He pass'd out thro' the great church door.