The sounds re-echoed from the roofs and walls

As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls!

At length the sexton, hearing from without

The tumult of the knocking and the shout,

And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,

Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?"

Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,

"Open: 'tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"

The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse,

"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!"

Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;

A man rushed by him at a single stride, Haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak,

Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,

But leaped into the blackness of the night,

And vanished like a spectre from his sight.

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane

And Valmond, Emperior of Allemaine, Despoiled of his magnificent attire,

Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire,

With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,

Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;

Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage

To right and left each seneschal and page, And hurried up the broad and sounding

stair,

His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.

From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed;

Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed.

Until at last he reached the banquet

room,

say,

Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel

The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,

"Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe

Burst from him in resistless overflow, And, lifting high his forehead, he woul fling

The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King!"

Almost three years were ended; when there came

Ambassadors of great repute and name From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane

By letter summoned them forthwith to

And lo! among the menials, in mock state,

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait,

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,

The solemn ape demurely perched behind,

King Robert rode, making huge merri

ment

In all the country towns through which they went.

The Pope received them with great pomp, and blare

Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's Square,

Giving his benediction and embrace, Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. While with congratulations and with prayers

He entertained the Angel unawares, Robert the Jester, bursting through the crowd,

Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,

"I am the King! Look, and behold

in me

Robert, your brother, King of Sicily! This man, who wears my semblance to

your eyes,

Is an impostor in a King's disguise. Do you not know me? does no voice within

Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,

Gazed at the Angel's countenance

serene;

The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport

To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!"

And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace.

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;

The presence of the Angel, with its light, Before the sun rose, made the city bright,

And with new fervour filled the hearts

of men,

ours,

He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,

And with a gesture bade the rest retire; And when they were alone, the Angel said,

"Art thou the King?" Then bowing down his head,

King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,

And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!

My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, And in some cloister's school of penitence,

Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,

Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven!"

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face

A holy light illumined all the place, And through the open window, loud

and clear,