Ascend, true hearts! Such tribute is your due!
In Rome’s old triumphs thus the car-bound slave
Scoffed, as he passed, of Fortune’s spite, and Fate’s.[[42]]
III.
THE CONFESSOR PONTIFF.
Full fifty years are past since first that weight
Descended on his head which made more strong
His heart, his hands more swift to war with wrong—
His martyred Master’s dread Episcopate:
Full thirty years beside the Apostles’ Gate
He reigned, and reigns: he roamed, an exile, long: