VIII

A great man's voice, the common words he said

Turn oracles,—the meanings which he yoked

      Like horses, draw like griffins!—this is true

And acceptable. Also I desire,

When men make reoord, with the flowers they strew,

"Savonarola's soul went out in fire

      Upon our Grand-duke's piazza, and burned through

A moment first, or ere he did expire,

      The veil betwixt the right and wrong, and showed

How near God sate and judged the judges there,—"

      Desire, upon the pavement ovenstrewed,

To cast my violets with as reverent care,

      And prove that all the winters which have snowed

Cannot snow out the scent, from stones and air,

      Of a sincere man's virtues. This was he,

Savonarola, who, while Peter sank

      With his whole boat-load, called courageously

"Wake Christ, wake Christ!"—who, having tried the tank

      Of the church-waters used for baptistry

Ere Luther lived to spill them, said they stank!

      Who also, by a princely deathbed, cried

"Loose Florence, or God will not loose thy soul,"

      While the Magnificent fell back and died

Beneath the star-looks, shooting from the cowl,

      Which turned to wormwood bitterness the wide

Deep sea of his ambitions. It were foul

      To grudge Savonarola and the rest

Their violets! rather pay them quick and fresh!

      The emphasis of death makes manifest

The eloquence of action in our flesh;

      And men who, living, were but dimly guessed,

When once free from their life's entangled mesh,

Show their full length in graves, or even indeed

Exaggerate their stature, in the flat,

      To noble admirations which exceed

Nobly, nor sin in such excess. For that

      Is wise and righteous. We, who are the seed

Of buried creatures, if we turned and spate

      Upon our antecedents, we were vile.

Bring violets rather! If these had not walked

      Their furlong, could we hope to walk our mile?

Therefore bring violets! Yet if we, self-baulked,

      Stand still a-strewing violets all the while,

These had as well not moved, ourselves not talked

      Of these. So rise up with a cheerful smile,

And, having strewn the violets, reap the corn,

      And, having reaped and garnered, bring the plough

And draw new furrows 'neath the healthy morn,

      And plant the great Hereafter in this Now.