Classic Poem

The lady, who heard what the maiden had said,
As dizzy with pain, clasped her hands to her head;
While her white bosom heaved as with heart-broken sighs,
And she turned upon Roland her pitiful eyes;
And he read in her visage of pallid dismay,
Far more than her language of sorrow could say.

" Oh, the terrible dream! It is true — it is true!
And a beautiful demon there waiteth for you!
For you! Roland, you! and I to be left
In a poisonous world of all comfort bereft! "
" Though I die, it shall vanish! " the desperate man cried,
" No demon shall hold me away from thy side! "
The torch halfway dwindled — the crone muttered and moaned —
The maid hid her face and her deep bosom groaned!
Then seizing the monk, like one in despair,
Roland led through the hall to the shadowy stair;
And said, while ascending, " Let thy holy words be
A scourge which shall drive this fiend into the sea!
Ay, into its own native sea of black pain,
So deep it shall never turn earthward again! "

Then the monk's pious pleasure burst to laughter aloud,
Like a hot gust that blows the red leaves in a cloud;
And he cried — " By the Pope, whose brown livery I wear,
It shall frighten the night with its shriek of despair!
And when my Pope hears the good deed I have done,
He will call me to kneel at his great crimson throne;
And knowing the height of all priestly desire,
He will crown this old brow with the sacred attire
Of a cardinal's hat — flaming scarlet as fire!

" No monarch is half so sublime as our Pope!
You will visit our Rome and behold him, I hope; —
You will find him enthroned in magnificent state, —
His brow overweighed with the burthensome weight
Of care for the souls of mankind! You will see
The great of all nations there bending the knee —
Proud kings and their courts in their splendour replete,
Like an ocean of flame, surging up to his feet; —
All so eagerly crowding to press on his shoe
The kiss of allegiance, that the place through and through
Grows oppressively heated — besides, as you know,
Our Rome's a warm climate — excessively so!

" You will probably go there in carnival time, —
And see what no pencil, however sublime,
Could picture with justice. If one did not know
That the thing was a sanctioned and sanctified show,
One might deem he had passed into Lucifer's regions,
And think he saw Hell pouring out its red legions!
Indeed, they do say, that beneath his black dome
The Devil does try to imitate Rome!
But this is rank scandal — you see what I mean —
In no place but Rome can you find such a scene.

" And then, oh! those gorgeous great festival nights,
When the huge dusky dome is one fabric of lights,
Done with marvellous skill, which naught baffles or mars, —
A temple of flame! — a mosaic of stars!

" Believe me, nowhere are such fireworks known,
As you'll find in our Rome. Quite distinct and alone
They stand; for the artist who plans them is one
In that line of business not easily outdone! "