Ii

The light of life has faded from thy cause, High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory: Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story, But the red prey was rent out of thy paws Long since: and they that dying brake down thy laws Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary High altars, waning with the world's applause. This Italy was Dante's: Bruno died Here: Campanella, too sublime for pride, Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home. And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome?

January 1882.