Leoline 10
At Milan awhile they tarried, sought and saw the picture painted
By heaven-inspired Da Vinci, painted on a convent's wall,
Where our Lord and his apostles are so grandly represented
At that sorrowful “Last Supper,” when the shadow fell on all.
Much they found it marred and faded—not by Time's destroying fingers,
Nor the damp gloom of the cloister, but by vandal hand of man;
Yet, through all, a nameless glory round its holy faces lingers,
And through all, it is thy pilgrim-shrine, thy glory, O Milan!
Ay, far more than thy Cathedral, where a hundred rainbows stealing
In through story-pictured windows, on high altars shimmering fall—
More than all its statued pinnacles, and dome to heaven appealing
Is that picture, marred and faded, on the gloomy convent wall.
Thence, they came through Domo D'Ossala, when purple evening lighted
Up the stars that bind a coronal on Simplon's hoary brow;
And they met the early morning where the human eye affrighted
Looks down on gorge and ghastly chasm, a thousand feet below.
Slowly went the glooms departing, slowly came the sun and gilded
The snow-clad domes and minarets, far above their path that stood,
Slowly lighted up the arches, which some mighty earthquake builded,
When Jehovah, All-Creating, saw at evening “it was good.”
And ever, as they journeyed lofty ramparts 'round and under,
They saw the startled avalanche leaping from some hoary height,
And heard its many voices, like successive peals of thunder,
Repeated by the echoes, in the pauses of its flight.
But at length they heard the laughter of glad rivulets and fountains,
And they passed the awful gorges, where the lonely glazier weeps,
To a world of rural beauty, at the feet of many mountains,
And awakened from their wonder-dream, where lovely Valais sleeps.
O mountain guards of Switzerland! O valleys drest so queenly!
Golden-threaded summer sunshine, blossom-perfumed summer air!
Lakes that charm the soul to quiet, looking heavenward so serenely!
Never gave ye sweetest welcome to happier hearts than theirs.
By heaven-inspired Da Vinci, painted on a convent's wall,
Where our Lord and his apostles are so grandly represented
At that sorrowful “Last Supper,” when the shadow fell on all.
Much they found it marred and faded—not by Time's destroying fingers,
Nor the damp gloom of the cloister, but by vandal hand of man;
Yet, through all, a nameless glory round its holy faces lingers,
And through all, it is thy pilgrim-shrine, thy glory, O Milan!
Ay, far more than thy Cathedral, where a hundred rainbows stealing
In through story-pictured windows, on high altars shimmering fall—
More than all its statued pinnacles, and dome to heaven appealing
Is that picture, marred and faded, on the gloomy convent wall.
Thence, they came through Domo D'Ossala, when purple evening lighted
Up the stars that bind a coronal on Simplon's hoary brow;
And they met the early morning where the human eye affrighted
Looks down on gorge and ghastly chasm, a thousand feet below.
Slowly went the glooms departing, slowly came the sun and gilded
The snow-clad domes and minarets, far above their path that stood,
Slowly lighted up the arches, which some mighty earthquake builded,
When Jehovah, All-Creating, saw at evening “it was good.”
And ever, as they journeyed lofty ramparts 'round and under,
They saw the startled avalanche leaping from some hoary height,
And heard its many voices, like successive peals of thunder,
Repeated by the echoes, in the pauses of its flight.
But at length they heard the laughter of glad rivulets and fountains,
And they passed the awful gorges, where the lonely glazier weeps,
To a world of rural beauty, at the feet of many mountains,
And awakened from their wonder-dream, where lovely Valais sleeps.
O mountain guards of Switzerland! O valleys drest so queenly!
Golden-threaded summer sunshine, blossom-perfumed summer air!
Lakes that charm the soul to quiet, looking heavenward so serenely!
Never gave ye sweetest welcome to happier hearts than theirs.
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