Amen!
God bless thee also for the pious wish!
No cherubim are these, but, Heaven be thanked,
Two healthy boys. Pray, sit and rest with us:
The heat has been too fierce for wayfarers,
And 'neath these shady vines the afternoon
Is doubly fresh.
_Raphael_. Thanks, 'tis a grateful air:
The weariness of travel it uplifts
From heavy brow and body with its breath,
Delicious as cool water to the touch.
_Maria_. Bernardo, climb yon trunk again and pluck
Some ripened clusters for this gentleman.
_Raphael_. Ah, 'tis a radiant child: what full, lithe limbs!
What cream-white dimpling flesh! what golden lights
Glance through the foliage on his crisp-curled head!
What rosy shadows on the naked form
Against gray olive leaves and blue-green vine!
And see, where now the bright, round face peers down,
And smiles and nods, and beckons us as one
Who leaneth out of heaven.
_Maria_. A wanton imp,
And full of freaks. I marvel much thereat,
Since I have named him from a holy saint,
Who bode among us many years, and gave
His dying blessing unto me and mine.
_Raphael_. The child could be no other than he is
Without some loss, mother. But what saint
Had here his hermitage?
_Maria_. Nay, pardon me,
'Twas but my reverent love that sainted him;
Yet was he one most worthy of the crown,
If austere life of white simplicity,
Large charity and strict self-sacrifice
Can sanctify a mortal.
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