To Longfellow.

I.     Pensive within the Colosseum's walls      I stood with thee, O Poet of the West! -      The day when each had been a welcome guest      In San Clemente's venerable halls: -     Ah, with what pride my memory now recalls      That hour of hours, that flower of all the rest,      When with thy white beard falling on thy breast -      That noble head, that well might serve as Paul's     In some divinest vision of the saint      By Raffael dreamed, I heard thee mourn the dead -      The martyred host who fearless there, though faint,     Walked the rough road that up to Heaven's gate led:      These were the pictures Calderon loved to paint      In golden hues that here perchance have fled.     II.     Yet take the colder copy from my hand,      Not for its own but for THE MASTER'S sake, -      Take it, as thou, returning home, wilt take      From that divinest soft Italian land     Fixed shadows of the Beautiful and Grand      In sunless pictures that the sun doth make -      Reflections that may pleasant memories wake      Of all that Raffael touched, or Angelo planned: -     As these may keep what memory else might lose,      So may this photograph of verse impart      An image, though without the native hues     Of Calderon's fire, and yet with Calderon's art,      Of what Thou lovest through a kindred Muse      That sings in heaven, yet nestles in the heart.     D. F. M. C.     Dublin, August 24th, 1869.