Punch (74.1878)

Jakuabt 19, 1878.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

23

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DOWN ON HIM.

Treasurer of Subscription Pack, "Hold hard, Sir ! You always press the Hounds at a Check. We should be better pleased

if you would Press me with a Cheque ! "

IL RE GALANTUOMO.

Ditto r &mmml

BORN MARCH 14, 1820. DIED, JANUARY 9, 1878.

Dead, in full-blow of strength, high-tide of blood!

The hunter's muscle, and the soldier's heart,
The frame so flush of life and lustihood,

All stark and still, and drest for King's last part.

The Victor dead, in prime of stalwart strength,
And over Tiber, scarce a stone's-throw down,

The Vanquished, at last span of his life's length,
Still living to bless him who took his crown.

Fate loves her irony. Still, on Earth's scene,
We play in " Contrasts " to our latest breath.

And all must mark Death that should Life have been,
And Life that flickers in chill gust of Death.

Here most, where the two Actors in the play
Are Italy's first King and last King-Pope.

The one so seeming-strong, bluff, gaillard, gay ;
The one so seeming-weak, old, sad, past hope.

It is as if we saw two dying beds,
Two graves of even date dug side by side ;

King and Pope putting off old hates and dreads,
And changing words of kindness as they died.

'Tis all too soon their epitaphs to write,

That must be interwoven, line with line ;
Though the one's black show as the other's white,

And either need the other's foil to shine.

But both loved Italy with life-long love,
Both laid the course for her that they deemed best ;

Though Pope marked shoals, where King at full-sail drove,
And this to larboard, that to starboard prest.

So they will stand, both, at the Future's bar,

Not blameless either, each with much to praise ;

King, blamed for man's sins that king's graces mar,
Pope, for unpriestly pride in the world's gaze.

A King coarse-fibred—but had finer-spun
Borne the rough strain of all he had to do,

Welding the sherds of Italy in one,
Facing fair work or foul that helped thereto ?

' Twas not for nothing that the people gave
The name he bore, unchallenged, clear and clean,

" King Honest-Man "—a title above " brave,"
For brave all sons of Savoy still have been.

But honesty—fast faith to plighted word,
And charter sworn,—is rare among the breed

That still to Christian virtues have preferred
Machiavelli's craft and pliant creed.

And if he had the faults that hang about

The neck of strength, he had the virtues too :

The quick-lit lusts, wrath that blazed sudden out
And soon died down, hot hates and friendships true.

And through all change, as he swore kingly oath,

From first to last he set his will aside
And wrought his country's : true to plighted troth,

And Italy that gave herself his bride.

He guided her across the twilight time
Betwixt the death of old and birth of new;

And stayed her steps the darkling hill to climb,
Spite of shrill-shrieking tongues nor faint nor few.

Saw the swift growth, the slow reform of wrong,
The weakness turning strength from day to day ;

And when his tide of life, like hers, ran strong,
And seemed at flood, sudden, he passed away!

Leaving his kingly shield without a stain,
And his life's record, if not free from soil,

Blurred with the sins which strength can least restrain,
And weakness finds it easiest to foil, j

Carve on his tomb the title he loved best,
Which in the Italy he made means most.

With " II Be Galantuomo " on his breast,
He may sleep well—not making other boast.