692 The Crowning of Charlemagne. [Nov.
Wanes the hour—night's veil is drawn,
Sink the planets, one by one,
Earth awakes, 'tis lovely dawn!
Sweet and fresh the morning shone.
Rich with life the breezes blew,
From the thickets steep'd in dew.
Proud pavilions, through the haze,
Gleam like pyramids of snow;
Glowing in the golden rays—
But one standard's broader flow,
One vast eagle's shadowy wings,
Marks thy palace, King of Kings!
Now the huge imperial hive
Downward pours its fiery swarms;
All the mountain seems alive,
Thick with banners, thick with arms,
Rushing from the marble height,
Like a cataract of light!
In their centre rides a form,
Circled by his kingly peers,
Soul of council, battle's storm,
Sun of his surrounding spheres!
Rise the shouts from mount and plain,
"Charlemagne! mighty Charlemagne!
By his side an ancient priest
Rides, with humble garb and brow,
Clasp'd his hands upon his breast,
On his lips the mutter'd vow—
Pilgrim, thine's a stately home;
Exiled Leo comes to Rome!
O'er the "Eternal City's" walls
Rising, like a dome of gold,
Capitol of Capitols!
Where a thousand years have roll'd,
And a thousand roll'd in vain—
Shines St Peter's giant fane!
On they march, to clashing swords,
Grecian cymbal, Frankish horn,
Priestly chanting, shouting hordes:
Wildly shall the age unborn
Weep the pageant of that hour—
Rome, the birthday of thy power!
Now they reach the Temple gate;
Back the brazen barriers wheel.
'Twas the hour of Europe's fate!
Slavery—then was set thy seal!
Knowledge—then was shorn thy plume!
Freedom—then was dug thy tomb!
Yet all pomps that lure the eye—
Yet all bonds that bind the soul,—
Painting's glorious mystery,
Strains that on the spirit stole,
Jewell'd blaze, and shapes divine,
Stoop'd the world before the shrine.
For the tinsel on his brow,
There the Great Patrician gave
The sovereignty of all below!
Earth, a dungeon or a grave.
Charlemagne, thou hast gain'd a crown!
Pope, the living world's thine own!
