The Dream Of Pio Nono

It chanced that while the pious troops of France     Fought in the crusade Pio Nono preached,     What time the holy Bourbons stayed his hands     (The Hur and Aaron meet for such a Moses),     Stretched forth from Naples towards rebellious Rome     To bless the ministry of Oudinot,     And sanctify his iron homilies     And sharp persuasions of the bayonet,     That the great pontiff fell asleep, and dreamed.     He stood by Lake Tiberias, in the sun     Of the bright Orient; and beheld the lame,.     The sick, and blind, kneel at the Master's feet,     And rise up whole. And, sweetly over all,     Dropping the ladder of their hymn of praise     From heaven to earth, in silver rounds of song,     He heard the blessed angels sing of peace,     Good-will to man, and glory to the Lord.     Then one, with feet unshod, and leathern face     Hardened and darkened by fierce summer suns     And hot winds of the desert, closer drew     His fisher's haick, and girded up his loins,     And spake, as one who had authority:     "Come thou with me."     Lakeside and eastern sky     And the sweet song of angels passed away,     And, with a dream's alacrity of change,     The priest, and the swart fisher by his side,     Beheld the Eternal City lift its domes     And solemn fanes and monumental pomp     Above the waste Campagna. On the hills     The blaze of burning villas rose and fell,     And momently the mortar's iron throat     Roared from the trenches; and, within the walls,     Sharp crash of shells, low groans of human pain,     Shout, drum beat, and the clanging larum-bell,     And tramp of hosts, sent up a mingled sound,     Half wail and half defiance. As they passed     The gate of San Pancrazio, human blood     Flowed ankle-high about them, and dead men     Choked the long street with gashed and gory piles,     A ghastly barricade of mangled flesh,     From which, at times, quivered a living hand,     And white lips moved and moaned. A father tore     His gray hairs, by the body of his son,     In frenzy; and his fair young daughter wept     On his old bosom. Suddenly a flash     Clove the thick sulphurous air, and man and maid     Sank, crushed and mangled by the shattering shell.     Then spake the Galilean: "Thou hast seen     The blessed Master and His works of love;     Look now on thine! Hear'st thou the angels sing     Above this open hell? Thou God's high-priest!     Thou the Vicegerent of the Prince of Peace!     Thou the successor of His chosen ones!     I, Peter, fisherman of Galilee,     In the dear Master's name, and for the love     Of His true Church, proclaim thee Antichrist,     Alien and separate from His holy faith,     Wide as the difference between death and life,     The hate of man and the great love of God!     Hence, and repent!"     Thereat the pontiff woke,     Trembling, and muttering o'er his fearful dream.     "What means he?" cried the Bourbon. "Nothing more     Than that your majesty hath all too well     Catered for your poor guests, and that, in sooth,     The Holy Father's supper troubleth him,"     Said Cardinal Antonelli, with a smile