Classic Poem

Between the Hadrian and the Tyrrhene shores,
And not far distant from the Tuscan line,
A jutting crag above the thunder soars,
Cresting with ridgy rocks the Apennine.
Catria 't is called, and oft the tempest roars
Down in the region of the fig and vine,

While sunny Catria shines in cloudless June;
And at its foot a consecrated cell
From the rough granite opens, rudely-hewn,
A fit abode for one who bids farewell
To life's harsh jar, desiring to attune
His thoughts to heaven, and in seclusion dwell.

There, in my peaceful hermitage, serene,
I with so constant zeal my God obeyed,
That, with continual fasts and vigils lean,
Through summer heats and winter frosts I prayed.
Clad in a garment like my Saviour's mean,
Of simple olives my repast I made;

And, on the great hereafter wholly bent,
Weeding the garden of my soul from sin,
The lonely meditative hours I spent,
Above the busy world's distracting din.
And joyous, in my rocky cloister pent,
Abundant harvests did I gather in,

Upon that bleak and barren cliff, to pour
Into the garners of the Lord. Alas!
That sacred seat is hallowed now no more
By morning orisons or midnight mass,
Or sandaled anchorite that numbers o'er
His holy beads as the slow moments pass.

But now, sole occupant, the lizard crawls
At noonday round my desolate retreat;
Nor ever sanctified are those rude walls
By the blest echoes of a pilgrim's feet;
And with a low, reproachful murmur falls
The rill beside my old accustomed seat,

Where, day by day, at Avellana's fount,
By men Pietro Damiano named,
Strict in my stewardship's exact account,
And through Romagna for my penance famed,
I sat and mused on mine adopted mount,
Serving my Master with a life unblamed.

Ah! what availed it that an abbey rose
With pillared pomp my modest rock to grace;
In those cold aisles Devotion's essence froze.
Dearer to Heaven was that sequestered place
Which for my chapel and my cave I chose,
Wherein, recluse, to run my godly race.

But Honors came, and Pomp found out my nest,
And like a weak hare I was hunted down;
They planted vanities within my breast,
And robed my shoulders with the searlet gown.
Then my long days of pensiveness and rest
Were poorly bartered for the world's renown.

To Rome they dragged me, and my thin white hairs
Were by the Cardinal's red hat concealed;
There the harsh lessons of my daily cares
Disclosed new truths and hidden wrongs revealed,
For soon I learned how oft the priesthood wears
Its reverend garb for Vice a mask and shield;

I saw the pride, the falsehood of their state;
I saw the low, the sensual, and the vain,
Implored for pardon and dispensing fate;
I saw them fawn and flatter, trick and feign;
I saw their outward smiles and hidden hate,
Their lust and luxury, and thirst for gain.

Saint Peter, barefoot, on his mission came;
And Paul, a " chosen vase, " in whom was poured
So lavishly the heavenly Spirit's flame,
Snatched his chance meal at any casual board,
And, reckoning honest poverty no shame,
Above all wants in lofty virtue soared.

Oft in the Lateran I thought of this,
Amid the tinseled priests' tumultuous tread,
As on the congregations, bowed submiss,
Its fragrant shower the fuming censer shed;
And some stooped low the foot of him to kiss
Whose Master " had not where to lay his head. "

And when I've seen, on some high holiday,
Through the live streets their long processions roll,
And the fat, ermined friars, on palfreys gay, —
Both creatures covered with one furry stole, —
Him I remembered, robed in mean array,
Who entered Zion on an ass's foal.

He like an humble peasant meekly rode,
While shouted forth Jerusalem a song,
And with palm-boughs his gladsome pathway strewed:
Our modern pastors need a hand full strong
On either side to prop their helpless load;
O patience! patience! that endur'st so long!