University of Virginia Library

A Nun's Story—Modern Rome.

Before the great house on the Palatine
The blood as yet is purple on the vine,
Nor has it faded from the leather belt
On which 'twas poured when cursed Guido dealt
Last night his blow. Ah, Guido! down below
Lorenzo's grave they're digging by a row
Of broken wine-jars on the cellar shelf;
And there the snow-white body keeps itself;
And here above does Lady Catherine sit,
And watch the vine that points to her and it:
Two stories has the vine—her ear to please—
Two lovers walk beneath a cirque of trees
Which closes round a pool of water-lilies,
Whose bank so steep almost a little hill is;
And she will gather one of those white flowers—
No danger, yet his very spirit cowers
At thought of it for her; upon his knees
He nerves himself, and holds her hand in his;
Then forth they walk in bliss, but after them
A staggering shadow steals, a flashing gem
Curves through the dusky air,—Lorenzo falls,
Dyeing the grass; then to these cloistered halls
They drag her, force the habit o'er her head,
And leave her senseless on her novice bed.
These are the vine's two stories; just awake,
She hears them for the first time, scarcely quake
Her eyes, but gaze far, far beyond the hills
In meditation how the deep air fills
With sea-like purple all the hollow land.
Poor angel! quickly wilt thou understand,
Oft wilt thou hear them with a wild despair
Too awful, writhing, shuddering, sobbing there,—
Would thou couldst die; and yet, if souls can guess,
I think that o'er death's purple haziness
A great white cloud is floating, heavenly fair,
On which she sits, as purely white; her hair
Blessed with the rainbow, and her feet just dipped
In the dark flood beneath; and, lo! now slipped
From some high heaven his spirit headlong falls,
To clasp her round the neck; alas! it palls,
And the long years by moments 'gin to fly—
Alas! poor angel, would that thou couldst die!