It was no dream; the world he loved so much
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!
Days came and went; and now returned again
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign;
Under the Angel's governance benign
The happy island danced with corn and wine,
And deep within the mountain's burning breast
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,
Sullen, and silent, and disconsolate.
Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,
With looks bewildered, and a vacant stare,
Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn,
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,
His only friend his ape, the only food
What others left-he still was unsubdued.
And when the Angel met him on his way,
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say,
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,
“Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe
Burst from him in resistless overflow,
And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling
The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!"
Almost three years were ended when there came
Ambassadors of great repute and name
From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane
By letter summoned them forthwith to come
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome.
The Angel with great joy received his guests,
And
gave them presents of embroidered vests,
And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined,
And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.
Then he departed with them o'er the sea
Into the lovely land of Italy,
Whose loveliness was more resplendent made
By the mere passing of that cavalcade,
With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir
Of jewelled bridle, and of golden spur.
And lo! among the menials, in mock state,
Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait,
His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,
The solemn ape demurely perched behind,
King Robert rode, making huge merriment
In all the country towns through which they went.
The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare
Of bannered trumpets on St. Peter's-square,
Giving his benediction and embrace,
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.
While with congratulations and with prayers
He entertained the Angel unawares,
Robert the Jester, bursting through the crowd,
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,
"I am the King! Look, and behold in me
Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!
This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes
Is an impostor in a king's disguise.
Do you not know me ?-does no voice within
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? "
The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,
Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene.
The Emperor, laughing, said: "It is strange sport
To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!
And the poor baffled Jester in disgrace
Was hustled back among the populace.
In solemn state the Holy Week went by,
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;
The presence of the Angel, with its light,
Before the sun rose made the city bright,
And with new fervour filled the hearts of men,
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.
Even the Jester on his bed of straw
With haggard eyes the unwonted splendour saw.
He felt within a power unfelt before,
And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.
And now the visit ending, and once more
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again
The land was made resplendent with his train,
Flashing along the towns of Italy
Unto Salerno, and from there by sea.
And when once more within Palermo's wall,
And, seated on the throne in his great hall,
He heard the Angelus from convent towers,
As if the better world conversed with ours,
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,
And with a gesture bade the rest retire;
And when they were alone, the Angel said:
"Art thou the King?" then, bowing down his head,
King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,
And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,
And in some cloister's school of penitence,
Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven!"
The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face
A holy light illumined all the place,
And through the open window, loud and clear,
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,
Above the stir and tumult of the street:
"He has put down the mighty from their seat,
And has exalted them of low. degree!"
And through the chant a second melody
Rose like the throbbing of a single string:
"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"
King Robert, who was standing near the throne,
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!
But all apparelled, as in days of old,
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;
And when his courtiers came, they found him there
Kneeling upon the floor absorbed in silent prayer.
It was a summer evening, old Kaspar's work was done;
And he before his cottage door was sitting in the sun, And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin roll something arge and round,
Which he beside the rivulet in playing there had found:
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.
Old Kaspar took it from the boy, who stood expectant by;
And then the old man shook his head, and with a natural sigh,
""Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory!
"I find them in the garden, for there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough, the ploughshare turns
"Were slain in that great victory."
"Now tell us what 'twas all about," young Peterkin,
And little Wilhelmine looks up with wonder-waiting eyes:
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for ?"
"It was the English," Kaspar cried, "who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for I could not well make out;
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.
"My father lived at Blenheim then, yon little stream hard by;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground, and he was forced to fly;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.
"With fire and sword the country round was wasted far and wide,
And many a widowed mother then and new-born baby died!
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.
They say it was a shocking sight, after the field was
many thousand bodies here lay rotting in the sun: But things like that, you know, must be
"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, and our good Prince Eugene "
Why, 'twas a very wicked thing! said little Wilhelmine.
"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.
"And everybody praised the Duke who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?" quoth little
"Why, that I cannot tell," said he;
"But 'twas a famous victory!"
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