And from the garden side the wind and rain Poured in upon us, and half quenched our fires. I was beside myself with desperation. I thought that I was dying, and was forced Led forth to death, exclaimed, "Poor Benve nuto, Thy work is spoiled! There is no remedy!" Then, with a cry so loud it might have reached The heaven of fire, I bounded to my feet, And rushed back to my workmen. They all stood Bewildered and desponding; and I looked I fed the fire with oak, whose terrible heat Soon made the sluggish metal shine and sparkle. Then followed a bright flash, and an explosion, As if a thunderbolt had fallen among us. The covering of the furnace had been rent Asunder, and the bronze was flowing over; So that I straightway opened all the sluices To fill the mould. The metal ran like lava, Sluggish and heavy; and I sent my workmen To ransack the whole house, and bring together My pewter plates and pans, two hundred of them, And cast them one by one into the furnace drank And went to bed, all hearty and contented. It was two hours before the break of day. My fever was quite gone. MICHAEL ANGELO. A strange adventure, That could have happened to no man alive But you, my Benvenuto. |