When she died broken-hearted; and each note

Which to his brothers, pupils, friends he wrote,
Alike the imprint show'd of his wise mind,
The tokens of his heart so true and kind,
And yet withal so manly and so brave;
Forgetting not the land he strove to save,
Even in the depth of his domestic sorrow,
But from his dungeon hailing the bright morrow
Then dawning on his clear prophetic eye,
And soon to flash along the azure sky
O'er Alp and Appenine, and from the Sea
Of Adria to the beach of Sicily.

Slowly that year of agonies roll'd round, But he was never more to hear the sound, Even in his dungeon, of the hallow'd bells That would rejoice the prisoners in their cells, The chimes that would commemorate the morn When He who came to set all free was born. Of drear November twenty-third the day, Just after he awoke to mourn and pray,

The warder told the sufferer that a friend,
The priest Martini, would that day attend
And visit him; and soon Martini came.
When, in his heavy fetters maim'd and lame,
Enrico rose and clasp'd the reverend man,
And did each line of his known features scan;
Nor did Martini shrink from the embrace,

Though grave and trist the aspect of his face,
Like one who had sad tidings to announce,
But lack'd the courage to report at once.

Enrico was not tardy to surmise

That some sad message prompted those deep sighs, And instantly prepared his mind to hear

That the last hour, for which he long'd, was near.
In tones like accents from a sepulchre,

While calm he listen'd, spoke the messenger,
Saying the Church had made decree that he
And Ottonelli should degraded be,

And then disconsecrated. With a smile

Compassionate, like that he wore erewhile,

Enrico heard, then question'd for what crime?

'High Treason! Or, as call'd in Rome's old time,

So like these days, the Law of Majesty.

In vain Enrico urged, as his just plea,

'Twas without sanction of the Canon Law;

Martini, who cared not to split a straw,

Said Rome commands it.' 6

'But must we obey,

If Rome commands injustice as this day?' 'We treat not here of dogma-Rome commands,

The Bishop will tomorrow with his hands

Perform the act.' The speaker's faltering voice
Proved that the mission had not been his choice ;
And when Enrico, smiling, as before

Complain'd of Rome's injustice, and still more
Her haste without a hearing to condemn,

While the War Council (less he hoped from them)
His sentence still delay'd or secret kept,—

Martini, as if he knew other, wept,

And of Christ on the Cross reminded him.

Pointing, as if he saw the Sanhedrim,

Priests, soldiers, rabble, spoke Enrico thus :

Placed there by ruthless foes iniquitous !

6

Dost thou assume that character? I dare

Not with the Lamb of God myself compare.'

"True-I but meant that thou should'st bear the rod

Of chastisement as if it came from God.'

Yes, in that mode the traveller should receive

The assassin's blow as dealt by God's own leave.'

The morrow came, and Rome fulfill'd her pledge, Preluding sacrifice with sacrilege.

While some shed tears, the Bishop shuddering rasp'd The anointed fingers, and the robe unclasp'd

Of the mute prisoner, meekly kneeling there

As if before his God he bent in prayer.

Then came more forms, and prohibitions dread

To soothe the dying or to bless the dead;
Which done and utter'd, and laid down the knife,
The Bishop told him not to hope for life,
And sobbing, swooning on the pavement fell,
But unperturb'd the victim reach'd his cell.

Promptly Enrico did the Bishop send

A protest, in his dungeon's glimmer penn'd;

Expressing solemn thoughts in simple words,
Yet tender as the last song of sweet birds;
A sermon on the Apostolic text

Cupio dissolvi! Here long sorely vex'd,

And without function now, he long'd to part,

And find the love which in his mother's heart

Had throbb'd for him, and which would never cease In the asylum of eternal peace.

And he concluded, pleading earnestly

For all involved, whatever the degree,

Cleric or lay; had he more lives to give,

He'd give them freely so that they might live.

Letters to kin and friends he then address'd, And each the same serenity express'd,

And proved, if other proof were needed then,
His wisdom, and his love of God and men.
To quote from them were only to repeat
What I have told, except that now more sweet
The cup of comfort, hallow'd by his lip,

The pathos deep as if his pen could dip