Classic Poem

In an old palace by the Arno's side,
Rich in sweet wonders of the rainbow art,
One portrait, with a look of gentle pride,
Seems to invoke the gazer's eye and heart.

Dark plumes his broad and manly forehead shade,
And in his grasp a jewelled hilt appears;
Some dream of hope before him seems to fade,
And youth to wear the thoughtfulness of years.

For ardent purpose, in that noble face,
Is tempered by a mild reflective mood;
The soldier's pride blends with the poet's grace,
And love o'er courage dove-like seems to brood.

His race was high—I see it written now,
In the knight's weapon and the princely dress;
And more than all in the uplifted brow,
The stately air, and smile of gentleness.

He was a hero—though, perchance, his deeds
Fame's partial glance swept all unheeded by
The clear resolve of valor warmly pleads
For honor's garland in his dauntless eye.

He must have loved—I know it by the thought
That o'er his youthful bloom a shade hath cast,
Like the sweet twilight, with calm sadness fraught,
That lingers when the sultry day is past.

Methinks some being fair, with love's keen gaze,
Watched o'er the limner as these lines he traced;
Time dimmed their hues, but grief nor length of days
The magic semblance from her soul effaced.

O frail memorial of the young and brave,
Vain trophy of a human brother's lot,
No record from oblivion thou dost save,
But that he lived, and loved, and is forgot!