_To John Barlas._
Lord of the Golden Branch, Virgil! and Caesar's friend:
Leader of pilgrim Dante! Yes: _things have their tears_:
So sighed thy song, when down sad winds pierced to thine ears
Wandering and immemorial sorrows without end.
_And things of death touch hearts, that die_: Yes: but joys blend,
And glories, with our little life of human fears:
Rome reigns, and Caesar triumphs! Ah, the Golden Years,
The Golden Years return: this also the Gods send.
_O men, who have endured an heavier burden yet!_
Hear you not happy airs, and voices augural?
For you, in these last days by sure foreknowledge set,
Looms no Italian shore, bright and imperial?
Wounded and worn! What Virgil sang, doth God forget?
Virgil, the melancholy, the majestical.
1891.