Can live elsewhere; but he must pine | Age must give way. for Rome, And must return to it. I, who am born Because I breathe in Rome an atmosphere Heavy with odors of the laurel leaves That crowned great heroes of the sword and pen, In ages past. Or Trajan rode in triumph; but far more, And most of all, because the great Colonna Breathes the same air I breathe, and is to me An inspiration. Now that she is gone, Rome is no longer Rome till she return. This feeling overmasters me. I know not If it be love, this strong desire to be Forever in her presence; but I know That I, who was the friend of solitude, And ever was best pleased when most alone, Now weary grow of my own company. room enough There was not Even for this great poet. In his song Celestial from the gates of paradise. He came, and he is gone. The people knew not What manner of man was passing by their doors, Until he passed no more; but in his vision He saw the torments and beatitudes Of souls condemned or pardoned, and hath left Behind him this sublime Apocalypse. I strive in vain to draw here on the margin The face of Beatrice. It is not hers, But the Colonna's. Each hath his ideal, The image of some woman excellent, That is his guide. No Grecian art, nor Roman, Hath yet revealed such loveliness as hers. II. VITERBO. For the first time old age seems lonely VITTORIA COLONNA at the convent win to me. [Opening the Divina Commedia. I turn for consolation to the leaves Of the great master of our Tuscan tongue, Whose words, like colored garnet-shirls in lava, Betray the heat in which they were en gendered. A mendicant, he ate the bitter bread That from the world of spirits comes no greeting, No message of remembrance? It may be The thoughts that visit us, we know not whence, Sudden as inspiration, are the whispers Of disembodied spirits, speaking to us As friends, who wait outside a prison wall, Through the barred windows speak to those within. [A pause. For age and youth upon this little As quiet as the lake that lies beneath room enough planet. me, As quiet as the tranquil sky above me, As quiet as a heart that beats no more, This convent seems. Above, below, all peace! Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends, Are with me here, and the tumultuous world Makes no more noise than the remotest planet. O gentle spirit, unto the third circle Of heaven among the blessed souls ascended, III. MICHAEL ANGELO AND BENVENUTO CELLINI. MICHAEL ANGELO, BENVENUTO CEL LINI in gay attire. BENVENUTO. A good day and good year to the divine Maestro Michael Angelo, the sculptor! MICHAEL ANGELO. Who, living in the faith and dying for Welcome, my Benvenuto. it, Have gone to their reward, I do not That I am still alive. Turn those dear eyes, Once so benignant to me, upon mine, That open to their tears such uncontrolled And such continual issue. Still awhile Have patience; I will come to thee at last. A few more goings in and out these doors, A few more chimings of these convent bells, A few more prayers, a few more sighs and tears, And the long agony of this life will end, And I shall be with thee. If I am wanting To thy well-being, as thou art to mine, Have patience; I will come to thee at last. Ye minds that loiter in these cloister gardens, Or wander far above the city walls, Bear unto him this message, that I ever Or speak or think of him, or weep for him. By unseen hands uplifted in the light And wafted up to heaven. It fades away, And melts into the air. Ah, would Malaria? that I Could thus be wafted unto thee, Fran cesco, BENVENUTO. MICHAEL ANGELO. Yes, malaria of the mind, A cloud of white, an incorporeal spirit! | Out of this tomb of the majestic Past; MICHAEL ANGELO. The fever to accomplish some great | And distant things go with us. work That will not let us sleep. I must go antly Pleas Come back to me the days when, as a youth, I walked with Ghirlandajo in the gar dens Of Medici, and saw the antique statues, The forms august of gods and godlike men, And the great world of art revealed itself To my young eyes. Then all that man hath done Seemed possible to me. Alas! how Who dress in silks and velvets, and wear swords, With such display of gunnery, and amazed Are ready with your weapons, and have To see the man in scarlet cut in two, Gave me his benediction, and absolved all A taste for homicide. Of that artillery. I saw far off, Prati, A Spanish cavalier in scarlet cloak; me From all the homicides I had committed In service of the Apostolic Church, I have not held in very high esteem MICHAEL ANGELO. And who absolved Pope Clement? Now let us speak of Art. BENVENUTO. Of what you will. MICHAEL ANGELO. Say, have you seen our friend Fra Since by a turn of fortune he became BENVENUTO. Faith, a pretty artist To pass his days in stamping leaden seals On Papal bulls ! MICHAEL ANGELO. He has grown fat and lazy, As if the lead clung to him like a sinker. He paints no more, since he was sent to Fondi By Cardinal Ippolito to paint seen him As I did, riding through the city gate, In his brown hood, attended by four horsemen, Completely armed, to frighten the banditti. I think he would have frightened them alone, For he was rounder than the O of Giotto. BENVENUTO. He must have looked more like a sack of meal And firing at him with due aim and Than a great painter. |