Memphis daily appeal. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1847-1886, 1872-12-22
From LippineOtts Magazine. january
THE MAEsTRO's COEFRssEON.
tAxDEEA DAL cAsrAoSO-l46o)


Threesoors and tent
wish Il we're ali 10 live again
Doesn't the Scripture somewhere say.
BY reason OF strength men OfI-times may
Even reach fOurscore7 Alack who knows?
Our Lady, and many and many a saint,
And thereby win my soul repOse.
YET Fra Bernardo, you shake your head:
Has tie leech once said
must die? But he
- only fallibie man, you see;
Now, = y mad been our father the Pope
should knO1C there W Is then no hope.
We're only sure OF few kind years
More % De merry n, then my Tears
I'd slip for a while, and turn ana smile
At their hated reokOnings: whence tne need
o. squaring accounts for word and deed
40, aoi You could noi have said, To-aigsfi
Al, well, ah, we'll
Confess VOC tell me, "and be forgiven
Is there no easier path TO heavenf
Santa Maria! how can tell
What, now FOR a score Of years and more,
I've buried away In nay heart 50 deep
That, how 50 tired I've been, I've kept
Eyes waking when near me another slept,
Lest might ulufter 70 in my sleepf
And now az the lat % 0iab it clear!
How theswomen viii shrink from my pie
- lures-and worse
VIII the men dO-spit on my name and curse;
faint faint!
Quick, Fra Bernardo The figure stands
There IN the niehe-my patron saint:
Put IL within my trembling hands
TIL they are steadier. SOL
NV brain
Whirled and grew dizzy with sudden pain,
Trying 70 span that gill Of years,
Fronting again those long-iaid fears.
Contess7 Why, yes, II must, must.
Vow, good SAINT Andre be my trust
But MI me first, from that crystal flask,
5Tbat 3hine Is gem 81 rafI1oa1s ~ .'A
Just marx how us euryings 1t the ltp)
All, you, in your dreamy, tranquil Life,
How can gOu fathOm the rage and strife,
The binding envy, the burning smart,
That, worm ike, gnaws the Maestro's heart
When he sees another snatch the prize
Out from under his very eyes,
For which he would barter his soul? You
see,
taught him his art from nrst to last:
Whatever he was he owed 70 me.
And then to be brOwbeat, overpassed,
Stealthfly jeered behind the hand
Why that was more than saint could stand
And was no saint. And II my soul,
With pride Ike Lueiier's, Knocked control,
And goaded me on 70 madness, TIL
/ lost all measure Of good or IL.
Whose gift wss il, pray? On, many a day
1 We cursed IL, yet whose Is the blame, saye
HIS 1auaef How strange that YOU question So
When I'm sure have told it DER and DER,
And why should you care 70 hear IL more?
III.
Well. as l was saying. DOmenfco
W as wont Of my skill to make such light,
That, seeing him go on a certain night
Out with his lutte, I followed. Hot
From war Of words, needed not
Whittier went, TIL heard him twang
A madrigal under the lattice where
Only the night before sang.
IA double robbery and I swear
Twas overmuch for the hesh TO bear.
Don't ask ne. knew not what did,
But fastened home with my rapier hid
Under my cloak, and the blade was wet.
Just open that cabinet there, and see
The strange red rustiness on IL yet.
A calm that was as dead as could be
Numbed me: seized my chalks 70 trace
What think yOu?-JldGs IseGriOf's JGcet
I just had finished the scOwl, no more,
When the shuttle Of feet drew near my door
tWel1Ted together, you know said:
Then wide they flung il, and on the floor
Laid down DOmenico-dead!
Back swan my senses: q sickening pain
Tingled like lightning through my brain,
And ere the spasm Of fear was broke,
The men who had borne him hOmeWard spoke
SOOthingly: = Some assas>in's knife
Had taken the innocent artists life
Wherefore, 'twere hard 10 say: all men
We're prone to have troubles now and then
The world knew aught Of. Toward his friend
Florence stood waiting to extend
Tenderest dole" Then came my tears,
And I've been sorry these TWEEN Y years.
Nov, Fra Bernardo, you have my sin:
Do you think Saint Peter will let me in?
MARGARET J. PRESTON.