ST. JOHN LATERAN OF TEMPLES built by mortal hands, And grew unto a great estate, And waxed strong in grace and power, With Christ for head and faithful mate, And learning for her dower. Since first this house to him was raised, Three times five hundred years have run; For this let Constantine be praised, An English mother's son! He with his own imperial sword Did dig foundations broad and deep, That henceforth in his hand the Lord Rome and her hills should keep. In after ages, one by one, Arose the altars vowed to Heaven; Each crest is sacred now, but none Like this of all the Seven! Behold she stands! The Mother Church! For thrice five hundred years! BESSIE RAYNER PARKES. THE PANTHEON SIMPLE, erect, severe, austere, sublime,- Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes,—glorious dome! Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods Shiver upon thee,-sanctuary and home Of art and piety,-Pantheon!-pride of Rome! Relic of nobler days and noblest arts! Despoiled yet perfect, with thy circle spreads A holiness appealing to all hearts,To art a model; and to him who treads Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds Her light through thy sole aperture; to those Who worship, here are altars for their beads; And they who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honoured forms, whose busts around them close. LORD BYRON. ARA COELI. WHOEVER Will go to Rome may see, If the holy winter day prove mild, It is shown to the wondering, gaping crowd On the church's steps,-held high aloft,— While every sinful head is bowed, And the music plays, and the censer's soft Tattered and hungry, without a home, And though it may neither drink nor eat, It could have the choicest wine and meat. Adored alike by simple and wise. The people kneel to Him in the street. THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. THE STEPS OF ARA CŒLI A ladder, realler, dearer Than that to the patriarch known; A stair whose every stone Leads one to Heaven nearer. For this divine, aerial Fabric the architect Searched Nature to select The grandest of material. Marbles, in ancient time Unrivalled, he took as a token,- Which now will never salute us From the gleaming shrine of the god, By the feet of the Gracchi and Brutus. But in spite of the cavalieros And the rabble that worship the doll- Lo! the mounting shades of the heroes! SULLY PRUDHOMME. Tr. Robert Haven Schauffler. THE VATICAN OR, TURNING to the Vatican, go see grasp, The old man's clench; the long envenomed chain Rivets the living links, the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. Or view the lord of the unerring bow, |