INTERLUDE.
"O Edrehi, forbear to-night Your ghostly legends of affright, And let the Talmud rest in peace; Spare us your dismal tales of death That almost take away one's breath; So doing, may your tribe increase."
Thus the Sicilian said; then went And on the spinet's rattling keys Played Marianina, like a breeze From Naples and the Southern seas, That brings us the delicious scent Of citron and of orange trees, And memories of soft days of ease At Capri and Amalfi spent.
"Not so," the eager Poet said; "At least, not so before I tell The story of my Azrael, An angel mortal as ourselves, Which in an ancient tome I found Upon a convent's dusty shelves, Chained with an iron chain, and bound In parchment, and with clasps of brass, Lest from its prison, some dark day, It might be stolen or steal away, While the good friars were singing mass.
"It is a tale of Charlemagne, When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers And sweeps from mountain-crest to coast, With lightning flaming through its showers, He swept across the Lombard plain, Beleaguering with his warlike train Pavia, the country's pride and boast, The City of the Hundred Towers." Thus heralded the tale began, And thus in sober measure ran.
THE POET'S TALE
CHARLEMAGNE
Olger the Dane and Desiderio, King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, League after league of harvests, to the foot Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach A mighty army, thronging all the roads That led into the city. And the King Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth As hostage at the court of France, and knew The Emperor's form and face "Is Charlemagne Among that host?" And Olger answered: "No."
And still the innumerable multitude Flowed onward and increased, until the King Cried in amazement: "Surely Charlemagne Is coming in the midst of all these knights!" And Olger answered slowly: "No; not yet; He will not come so soon." Then much disturbed King Desiderio asked: "What shall we do, if he approach with a still greater army!" And Olger answered: "When he shall appear, You will behold what manner of man he is; But what will then befall us I know not."
Then came the guard that never knew repose, The Paladins of France; and at the sight The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried: "This must be Charlemagne!" and as before Did Olger answer: "No; not yet, not yet."