WRITTEN IN HOLY WEEK AT GENOA
WANDERED through Scoglietto's far retreat,
The oranges on each o'erchanging spray
Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the
Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet Made snow of all the blossoms, at my feet
Like silver moons, the pale narcissi lay, And the curved waves that streaked the great green bay
Laughed i' the sun, and life seemed very sweet. Outside the young boy-priest passed singing
"Jesus the Son of Mary has been slain,
O come and fill his sepulchre with flowers." Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours Had drowned all memory of thy bitter pain, The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers, and the
OLGER the Dane and Desiderio,
King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower
Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains,
League after league of harvests, to the foot
Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach
A mighty army, thronging all the roads
That led into the city. And the King
Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth
As hostage at the court of France, and knew The Emperor's form and face: "Is Charlemagne Among that host?" And Olger answered: "No."
And still the innumerable multitude
Flowed onward and increased, until the King
Cried in amazement: "Surely Charlemagne
Is coming in the midst of all these knights!"
And Olger answered slowly: "No; not yet;
He will not come so soon. Then much disturbed
King Desiderio asked: "What shall we do,
If he approach with a still greater army?”
And Olger answered: "When he shall appear,
You will behold what manner of man he is;
But what will then befall us I know not."
Then came the guard that never knew repose,
The Paladins of France, and at the sight
The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried:
"This must be Charlemagne !" and as before
answer: "No; not yet, not yet."
And then appeared in panoply complete
The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests
Of the Imperial chapel, and the Counts;
And Desiderio could no more endure
The light of day, nor yet encounter death,
But sobbed aloud and said: "Let us go down
And hide us in the bosom of the earth,
Far from the sight and anger of a foe
So terrible as this!" And Olger said:
"When you behold the harvests in the fields
Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino
Lashing the city walls with iron waves,
Then may you know that Charlemagne is come."
And even as he spake, in the northwest,
Lo! there uprose a black and threatening cloud,
Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms.
Upon the people pent up in the city;
A light more terrible than darkness:
And Charlemagne appeared;-a Man of Iron!
His helmet was of iron, and his gloves
Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves
And tassets were of iron, and his shield.
In his left hand he held an iron spear,
In his right hand his sword invincible.
The horse he rode on had the strength of iron,
And color of iron. All who went before him,
Beside him, and behind him, his whole host,
Were armed with iron, and their hearts within
them
Were stronger than the armor that they wore.
The fields and all the roads were filled with iron,
And points of iron glistened in the sun
And shed a terror through the city streets.
This at a single glance Olger the Dane
Saw from the tower, and turning to the King
Exclaimed in haste, "Behold, this is the man
You looked for with such eagerness!" and then
Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
MODENA stands upon a spacious plain,
Hemmed in by ridges to the south and west,
And rugged fragments of the lofty chain
Or Apennine, whose elevated crest
Sees the last sunbeam in the western main,
Glittering and fading on its rippling breast;
And on the top with ice eternal crowned,
The sky seems bending in repose profound.
The flowery banks where beautifully flow
Panaro's limpid waters, eastward lie;
In front Bologna, on the left the Po,
Where Phaeton tumbled headlong from the sky;
North, Secchia's rapid stream is seen to go,
With changeful course in whirling eddies by,
Bursting the shores, and with unfruitful sand
Sowing the meadows and adjacent land.
ALESSANDRO TASSONI.
Tr. James Atkinson.
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