XLIV.
“Ora pro nobis, Mater!”—What a spell
Was in those notes, with day’s last glory dying
On the flush’d waters—seem’d they not to swell
From the far dust wherein my sires were lying
With crucifix and sword? Oh! yet how clear
Comes their reproachful sweetness to mine ear!
“Ora”—with all the purple waves replying,
All my youth’s visions rising in the strain—
And I had thought it much to bear the rack and chain!