Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/556

546 baldacchino, except Sant’ Elia Profita, who was not admitted to that honour, being left outside, a gentleman told me, because he had ascended in a flame of fire, and was therefore not received into Heaven, but had remained in the clouds. I cannot tell whether this be really the reason; there exists, unfortunately, such a spirit of persiflage on religious subjects in society, at least among the gentlemen. The approach of Saints Cosmo and Damiano was announced by a rush of wild dancers, dressed in white shirts and trousers, with coloured handkerchiefs tied over their heads, and striking right and left with others they held in their hands; these men are called “i bacchanti dei santi.” The officers and crowd drew back, a large circle was made, and the saints were whirled round and round, the bearers shouting all the while the legend appertaining to them. A man rushed forward, after a time, with a bell, which he rang furiously to stop the dancers, but such was their excitement that they went on till compelled by force to desist.

The procession of saints being over, a temporary altar was erected under the baldacchino; long trains of monks, each bearing a lighted taper, passed by, escorted by small boys anxiously catching on leaves or paper the drops of wax as they fell; next came a number of priests in various vestments, each one more richly attired than the preceding, till the archbishop, in full canonicals, and bearing the Host, drew near the altar. A canopy of white and gold was carried over him by the senators in their robes of office; at his side were two assistants, and behind him walked the governor, in stars and uniform; all the state officers, in their respective costumes, followed; then the Swiss guards, in their scarlet and white; and in the distance were seen the royal carriages. On approaching the altar, the archbishop performed the usual ceremonies previous to the elevation of the Host, at which moment the trumpets burst into a loud flourish, and all fell on their knees. It was an imposing sight; the magnificent dresses of the priests and senators, the rich uniforms of the officers, contrasted with the sober garb of the bare-footed monks, all kneeling in front of and behind the altar: the immense crowds which filled the streets and balconies prostrate at the same instant, and overhead a Sicilian sun and sky. After a few minutes every one arose, the archbishop was disrobed, and the whole procession moved onwards to the Duomo. The day closed with the different regiments parading through the streets.

I had a friend, long years ago,

I thought him all my own;

But he has long forgotten me,

And those bright days have flown.

We sat together on the sand,

We heard the billows roar;

We marked the blue waves come and go

Upon the lone sea-shore.

Oh! little dreamt I, as I gazed

Upon that ocean wide,

And fondly thought our love would be

As boundless as its tide,

That even as the waves effaced

Each mark upon the sand,

So would my joy be reft from me,

By sorrow’s stern demand.

If he were dead, and in the grave

Our friendship buried lay,

I’d still hope on, and patiently

Await a meeting day.

But he will never call me friend,

E’en though we meet again;

Tis that that adds to each day’s woe

Its bitterest draught of pain.

I thought then, in my ignorance,

That we were friends for ever;

And knowing not life’s sharpest pang,

Dreamt only death could sever.

But I have learnt, through weary years,

All that my hope was worth;

Now I have nothing to expect

Upon this changeful earth.

I never can have faith again,

Or trust as once I did;

I knew not what awaited me,

In the dim future hid.

And yet, I know not, if he stood

To-morrow at my side,

If I could coldly turn away,

And spurn him in my pride.

I know that, if he took my hand,

His voice rang in my ear;

Though he grieved not o’er years of wrong,

But once more called me “dear,”

I know, I feel it in my heart,

I should be weak again;

And yield me to those tender tones,

Though every word were pain.

Oh! no, whate’er may come between,

I never can forget,

Though he has long forgotten them,

Those days when first we met.

My trust is gone, but in my heart

My love lies buried deep;

His touch will never wake it more

From its long, lonely sleep.