Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Italy: Vols. XI–XIII. 1876–79.
Sant Onofrio
By Thomas DArcy McGee (18251868)
T
The noonday city sleeps;
No shadow from the cypress groves
Athwart the Tiber creeps.
This seems the very land of rest
To wondering wanderers from the West,
Who walk as if in dreams;
English Ambition’s onward cry,
To all beneath this opiate sky
Yet untranslated seems.
His tragedy of life!
The honors, banishment, recall,
The love, the hate, the strife!
A weary man, the poet came
To light a funeral-torch’s flame
At yonder chancel light;
When here he summed up all his days,
Heedless of human blame or praise,
And turned him to the Night!
Who could hope better meed,
Than he who sang the song divine
Of crusade and of creed!
Who loved upon Jerusalem,
As thou didst when at Bethlehem,
The Master’s steps to trace!
Who burned to tread the very sod
Imprinted by the feet of God,
In the first years of grace!
I breathe the air of Rome:
He found his final home
Where, freed from every patron’s yoke,
The Alban and the Sabine range
Down yonder, seeming nothing strange,
Although first seen by me;
Firm as those storied highlands stand,
So, deep-laid in Italian land,
Shall Tasso’s glory be.
The restless takes his rest;
Besculptured, as becomes the brave,
With nodding casque, and crest,
And shield, on which we trace the line,
The key-note of his song divine,
“Pro Fide!” Tasso lies.
So may we find our legend writ,
What time the Crucified shall sit
For judgment, in the skies!