William Gibson, U. S. N.

Philip St. George Cooke

Radical Freelance, Esq.

William Gibson, USN

Augustus Ely Silliman

Texts by Anonymous

Resources

Events

THREADING our way through alleys dark,                         

     Lo!  in a breadth of liberal sun,

Laughs the piazza of Saint Mark,

     Gay with a triple Gonfalon;

Flies the flag of United Italy                                                 

     Where the Winged Lion once pawed the air;

And the doves of Peace, on pure plumes, prettily

     Flutter into the square.

Victor Emmanuel enters Rome,

     Venice to-day joins festival                                             

With Italy all, for deliverance come

     From alien thrones and from priestly thrall.

But, divine with the Cross in which all believe,

     No blot on the festa is that fair church,

Matched but in dreams or in pageants of eve,                       

     Where the pigeons build and perch.

There, where that glory of marble and gold

     And grand mosaic our faith exalts,

Moslemesque pinnacles manifold,

     And Our Lord supreme in divinest vaults,                        

Lo!  manes of the bronze steeds, curl and crown

     Of carved foam live as in billowy coves,

White angels and martyrs, shake them down,

     Saint Mark’s immemorial doves!

From the Campanile, huge and high,                                    

     Where man, with the birds and bells, may view

The Tyrol peaks on the northern sky,

     And Adria’s spousal ring of blue;

From the long arcades of the palace-fronts,

     Out of the dazzle of soft blue air,                                     

Swiftly, suddenly, all at once,

     They come from everywhere.

None to startle them, none to molest,

     Fearless as harmless, those ring-doves tame

Have been for centuries by bequest                                     

     Of a tender-hearted Venetian dame;

And as gentle a lady from over the sea

     Calls them now to her lily hand,

A golden-grained cornucopia

     Her symbol of command.                                

All about her those lovely things                                           

     Float, and flutter, and perch, and coo,

With a glisten of wings, and of rainbow-rings

     On the soft necks arching up to view.

Snowily gowned in purest white,                                          

     Their white plumes touch her like flakes of snow,

A more heavenly sight, O my heart’s delight!

     Charmed never this world below.

O my love and my treasure-trove!

     Blissfully blest beyond words to speak,                           

A moment half jealous of even the dove

     That pecks at thy shoulder and dainty cheek,

I smile at the thought; and thy form above

     A vision of sweet Saint Mary bends,

Where a virginal charm with thy rose of love                        

     Like the lily’s perfume blends.

O simple doves to Madonna dear!

     O lily-like Mary from over the sea!

Welcome, O people assembled here,

     Their innocence to your jubilee!                                      

For it seems most meet, as it is most sweet,

     That by one from the world an Italian found,

With a rapture of peace and of grace complete,

     Should Italy’s joy be crowned.