New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1882-08-27
FRA GI4COHO.
Alas. Fra Giacomo,


Too late but follow me . .
Hush draw the curtain-sOl
She Is dead quite dead you see.
Poor little lady She lies,
All the light gone out Of her eyes
But her features still wear that soft,
Gray, medItatIve expression,
W Inch you must have noticed Oft
IhTO' the peephOie at confession.
How sanity she looks, how meek
Though this be the chamber of death,
fancy | feel her breath,
As kiss her on the cneek.
Too holy for me- by far! -
As colo and pure a star,
Not fashioned for kissing and pressing,
But made for q heavenly crown!
Ay, Father, let rs 90 down, -
But first, If Won please, yOur blessing.
Vine No. Come, come, you must!
Blessing il with your prayers,
You'll quglf a cup, trust
To the heal h of the SAINT, upstairs
My hear; /, aching So,
Ana feel 80 weary and sad,
Through the blow that have had!
1Odu slt, FRA OlacomO
Heigho lis now SIX summers
Since / saw that angel and married her
/ was passing rich AMI carried her
OH In the face of all corners.
50 fresh, ycC 80 trimming with Soul!
sweeter mOrsel / swear,
Never made the dull black coal
OF a monks eye glitter and glare.
Your pordon-nay, keep yQnr chair =
A jest but jest Very true,
II IS hardly becoming 10 jest,
And that saint mp stairs at rest
Her soul may be listening. TOO!
10 think now doubted and doubted,
Suspected, gIumbled at, Houtcd
That goden-hair'd Angel and solely
Because she was Jealous aud holy -
Nignt and noon, and morn
She devoted herself 10 piety-
Not thai she seemed 10 scOrn
Or shun her husband society;
But the claims of her Soul superseded
All that asked for or needed,
And her thoughts were tar away
From the level OF lustiu clay,
And she tTemblcd lest earthly matters
IDterferpd with her arcs and DIiCTs!
sweet dove She So iluttered. in flying
70 avoid the black vapOrs OF He'll,
So bent on sclf-sanctlfylug-
That sac never thought Of trying
To save her poor husband as we'll!
And while she was named and elected
For place on the heavenly roll,
J beast that was suspected
Her manner OF saving Der Soul
SO half for the fun OF the thing.
What did tblasphemerl Out fling
On my shoulders the gown If monk,
Whom managed for that very day
70 get safely ont Of the way
And seat NE, half-sober, half drunk,
With the cOwl drawn over my face,
in the Fathrr Coufessors place y.
Elm! beRsdicte!
In her beautiful sweet simplicity,
With that pens We. gray expression.
She sghfuuy knelt at confession
While 1 biJ my lips till they bie'l,
And dug my nails IN my palm,
And heard with averted mead
The horrible words come calm
Each word was a serpent'a sung;
But. wrapt ~ my gloomy gown,
| sat like a marble thing
As she uttered your name. SIT DOWN!
More wine. Fra GiacomO9
One cup-as You love me! MOI
Come. drink twill bring the streaks
OF crimson back 10 yOur cheeks.
Come drink again TO the saint,
Whose virtues you loved to paint,
Who. stretched on her wiley bed,
With the soft sweet gray expression
You saw aud admired at Confession
Lies poisoned, overhead!
Sit s1ll-or, by God, you die
Face to face, soul TO soul, you and
Have settled accounts in fine,
Pleasant fashion, over orr wine
Stir not, and seek not 10 fly
Nay. whether or not you are mine!
Thank MOntepulclanO tor giving
Your death In such delicate sips
iTls not every monk ceases living
With SO pleasant a taste on his lips
But lest Moutepulclano unsurely should kiss,
Take this and this!-and this!
Raise him; and cast him, PietrO,
Into the deep canal below;
You can be secret, lad, know.
And bark Won. then to the convent go
Bid every bell of the convent toll,
And the monks say mass. for yOdr mistress
soul ROBERT BUCHANAN.