On St. John's Eve, at vespers, proudly sat
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat,
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again
Repeated, like a burden, or refrain,
He caught the words "Deposuit potentes
De sede, et exaltavit humiles ;"
And slowly lifting up his kingly head,
He, to a learned clerk beside him, said,
"What mean these words?"
"He has put down the mighty from their seat,
And has exalted them of low degree."
Thereat king Robert mutter'd scornfully,
"Tis well that such seditious words are sung
Only by priests, and in the Latin tongue :
For unto priests and people be it known,
There is no power can push me from my throne."
And leaning back he yawn'd and fell asleep,
Lull'd by the chant, monotonous and deep.
When he awoke it was already night,
The church was empty, and there was no light,
Save where the lamps, that glimmer'd few and faint,
Lighted a little space before some saint.
He started from his seat and gazed around,
He saw no living thing and heard no sound;
He grop'd toward the door, but it was lock'd-
He cried aloud, and listen'd, and then knock'd,
And utter'd awful threat'nings and complaints,
And imprecations upon men and saints.
The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls,
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.
At length the sexton, hearing from without
The tumult of the knocking, and the shout,
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,
Came with his lantern, asking "Who is there?"
Half choked with rage, king Robert fiercely said,
Open: 'tis I, the king, art thou afraid?"
The frighten'd sexton flung the portal wide;
A man rush'd by him at a single stride-
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak-
Who neither turn'd, nor look'd at him, nor spoke,
But leap'd into the blackness of the night,
And, like a spectre, vanish'd from the sight.
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, emperor of Allemaine,
Despoil'd of his magnificent attire,
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,
Strode on, and thunder'd at the palace gate,
Rush'd thro' the court-yard, thrusting in his rage
To right and left each seneschal and page,
Until at last he reach'd the banquet room,
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.
There on the dais sat another king,
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring;
King Robert's self in features, form, and height,
But all transfigured with angelic light!
It was an angel; and his presence there
With a divine effulgence fill'd the air,
An exaltation piercing the disguise,
Though none the hidden angel recognise.
A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,
The throneless monarch on the angel gazed:
Who met his looks of anger and surprise
With the divine compassion of his eyes;
Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?"
To which king Robert answer'd, with a sneer,
"I am the king, and come to claim my own
From an impostor, who usurps my throne.”
The angel answer'd, with unruffled brow,
“Nay, not the king, but the king's jester; thou
Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scallop'd cape,
And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape,
Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall.”
Deaf to king Robert's threats, and cries, and prayers,
They thrust him from the hall, and down the stairs,
It was no dream; the world he lov'd so much,
Had turn'd to dust and ashes at his touch.
Days came and went, and now return'd again
To Sicily, the old Saturnian reign;
Under the angel's governance benign
The happy island danced with corn and wine;
And deep within the mountain's burning breast
Enceladus the giant was at rest.
Meanwhile king Robert yielded to his fate,
Sullen, and silent, and disconsolate;
Dress'd in the motley garb that jesters wear,
Close shaven above the ears, with vacant stare,
His only friend the ape, his only food
What others left, he still was unsubdued.
And when the angel met him on his way,
And half in earnest, half in jest would say,
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,
"Art thou the king?" the passion of his woe
Burst from him, in resistless overflow,
And lifting high his forehead, he would fling
The passionate answer back, “I am, I am the king.”
Almost three years were ended, when there came
Ambassadors of great repute and name
From Valmond, emperor of Allemaine,
Unto king Robert, saying that Pope Urbane
By letter summon'd them forthwith to come
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome.
The angel with great joy received his guests,
And gave them presents of embroider'd vests. . . .
Then he departed with them o'er the sea,
Into the lovely land of Italy. . . .
And lo! among the menials, in mock state,
Upon a piebald steed with shambling gait,
His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,
The solemn ape demurely perch'd behind,
King Robert rode, making huge merriment
In all the country towns thro' which they went.
The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare
Of banner'd trumpets, in St. Peter's Square;
Giving his benediction and embrace,
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.
While, with congratulations and with prayers,
He entertain❜d an angel unawares.
In solemn state the holy week went by,
And Easter Sunday gleam'd upon the sky;
The presence of the angel, with its light,
Before the sun rose, made the city bright,
And with new fervour fill'd the hearts of men,
Who felt that Christ was risen indeed again.
Even the jester on his bed of straw,
With haggard eyes the' unwonted splendour saw,
He felt within a power unfelt before,
And kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.
And now the visit ending, and once more
Valmond returning to the Danube shore,
Homeward the angel journey'd, and again
The land was made resplendent with his train,
Flashing along the towns of Italy
Unto Salerno, and from there by sea.
And when once more within Palermo's wall,
And seated on the throne in his great hall,
He heard the Angelus from convent towers,
As if the better world convers'd with ours,
He beckon❜d to king Robert to draw nigher,
And with a gesture bade the rest retire ;
And when they were alone, the angel said,
"Art thou the king?" Then bowing down his head,
King Robert cross'd both hands upon his breast,
And meekly answer'd him, "Thou knowest best :
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,
And in some cloister's school of penitence,
Across those stones that pave the way to heaven,
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven!"
The angel smiled, and from his radiant face
A holy light illumin'd all the place,
And through the open window, loud and clear,
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,
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