George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.
The Price of the Divina CommediaJulia Ward Howe (18191910)
G
But the garment hangeth bare;
And the hand is gaunt and spare
That enforces Christian grace.
Such a point as this to sight,
That the world should so requite
Master heart and matchless string.
Fretting in the flinty road.
Hath this virtue no abode?
Hath this sorrow no retreat?
Muffled bays engird the brow.
Fame shall yield her topmost bough
Ere that laurel moult a leaf.
That extends an asking palm,
Tracing yet the loftiest psalm
By the heart of Nature spanned.
Did he patient hearing crave:
Smiles and splendors crown the slave,
While the patriot suffers wrong.
Meeting once the inspired gaze,
They should ransom all their days
With the beauty of his strain.
With a consummate love alone,
All his human blessings gone,
Doth he wander, void of rest.
Not a crust to help his way,
Making yet a Judgment Day
With his power to bless and curse.
That Posterity shall tell,—
All the majesty of Hell;
Half the ecstasy of Heaven.