Classic Poem

I.

John P ETER , Count of Madalone, son
Of Count John Anthony Carafa, fled
From Rome, indignant at the evil done
By wolves that on the fold of Christ were fed:

II.

And gave himself to Poverty and God:
And with firm footstep, pure, severe, and sad,
The untrodden paths of abnegation trod,
Poor amidst wealth, and grieved by evil glad.

III.

The fame of his fair life, and fervid faith,
Grew with the growing evil of the time,
And sounded as the archangelic breath,
Blown thro' Heaven's trump, in challenge to Earth's crime.

IV.

The Holy Father of the Faithful thought,
" My counsellor shall be this saintly man,
As God is his: " and many a time besought
John Peter's presence at the Vatican.

V.

But to the sinful city he had fled
With feet that, wing'd by indignation, shook
Rome's dust away, the self-made exile said,
" The spirit that is within me will not brook

VI.

" To breathe the breath of thy polluted air. "
Howbeit, when God's Vicegerent sent from Rome
Command to him to come, in place of prayer,
Loyal to his high lord, he groan'd, " I come. "

VII.

And, being at Rome, he cried, " I loathe this life,
And call on Death to lead my spirit home.
Death hears me not. God's will prolongs the strife
My sad soul wages with the sins of Rome. "

VIII.

Sometimes the high hand of His Holiness
Doth, for the ennobling of the Church, dispense
Honours whereby a good man's lowliness
Is raised into a great man's Eminence:

IX.

But, in the Church's pious customs never
(Nor the traditions, nor the usages
Of immemorial Rome, wherein forever
As the tradition so the usage is)

X.

Prescription, precedent, or practice show'd
That, if the head of its recipient
Were housed in Rome, to the man's own abode
A scarlet hat might properly be sent.

XI.

This pauper Priest was made a Cardinal:
The Pope's own envoy bore the scarlet hat
To his poor house: and found not wherewithal,
(Save the one stool where its lone inmate sat)

XII.

In that bare lodge, that wanted all save worth,
To place the gift: whose stern recipient gazed
Ungladden'd, and from thankless doors drave forth
The messenger unmoney'd and amazed.

XIII.

At length one Pope, and then another, died:
And Cardinal Carafa, after these,
Became a Pope, himself. The whole world cried,
" 'Tis well! for he is worthy of the keys. "

XIV.

Simple, austere, men knew him. Pure his name,
And praised his virtues. Nobly born was he,
Yet not ignobly known. His ample fame
Was spotless. Worthier Pope there could not be:

XV.

" The luxury of the new Pope's table " (writes
A Venice envoy to the Vatican)
" Is more than may be dream'd of. All delights
With all magnificences this proud man.

XVI.

" Mingles in one. The daintiest viands grace
The costliest dishes, the most sumptuous wines
From the most gorgeous goblets flow to chase
Care from the banquet where his splendour shines:

XVII.

" Good cheer he loves: and lustily he eats
And deep he drinks: right royal is his tone:
The mightiest monarchs of the world he treats
As clots of common dust beneath his throne:

XVIII.

" His daily drink is butts of burning black
Fierce Naples wine, and cups of Malvoisie.
Methinks his belly is but a Bacchus' sack.
And his least meal meats five and twenty be.

XIX.

" Wondrous his wealth is. Of his noble birth
So proud is he, and of his present state,
That even as tho' he scorn'd to tread on earth
Is the high going of his haughty gait.

XX.

" His nephews are the richest lords in Rome.
And, for the greatness of the power they have,
Many there be that flatter them, and some
That in dark wishes dig them a deep grave. "

XXI.

Dame History is so old, she knows not well
Present from Past. She loves to say her say
Till it is stale, and the same story tell
To-morrow as she told it yesterday.