THE IRON CROWN

On the classic shore of Como,

‘ Neath a headland steep and bold,

Which, though leaden at the dawning,

In the sunset turns to gold,

Nestles beautiful Varenna,

Still invested with renown

By the legend that connects it

With the Lombards’ Iron Crown.

Far above it on the mountain

Stands the castle, old and gray,

With its battlements in ruin

And its towers in decay;

But a subtle charm still lingers

Round that residence sublime,

And the beauty of its story

Is triumphant over time.

As we trace its ancient pavement,

As we tread its roofless halls,

How alluring is the figure

Which this castle still recalls!

For‘ tis Queen Theodelinda

Whom its ruined arches frame,

And the passing breeze seems laden

With the music of her name.

As we gaze from ivied ramparts

On the storied lake below,

We forget the world about us

For the world of long ago,

When the Lombards had descended

From the mountains to the plain,

And all Italy lay mourning

For the thousands of her slain;

When their brave, ambitious leader,

Not content to make his home

By these northern lakes of beauty,

Had resolved to capture Rome!

For no longer could her legions

His resistless course withstand,

And the road lay open, southward,

To the conquest of the land.

When his valiant host stood ready

And impatient for the start,

What reversed their king's decision?

What so changed the warlord's heart?

‘ Twas the passionate entreaty

Of his wife,— a Christian queen;

‘ Twas the conquest of the pagan

By the lowly Nazarene.

Through her prayers Rome's agèd Pontiff

From the threatened doom was freed;

By her aid the Church was strengthened

As the king professed its creed;

And Saint Peter's great successor,

Thus preserved from grievous loss,

Gave to her, his faithful daughter,

A true relic of the Cross.

What to pious Theodelinda

Could be recompense more sweet

Than the nail, forever sacred,

That once pierced her Saviour's feet?

Which, when rounded to a circlet,

( To fine wire beaten down,)

Then became the precious basis

Of the Lombards’ Iron Crown.

Through the ages that have followed

What a line of the Renowned

Have been proud to wear this emblem,

As they, each in turn, were crowned!

Charlemagne, Charles Fifth, Napoleon,

German Kaisers by the score,

And at last poor King Umberto,

Basely slain at Monza's door!

Since that coronet was fashioned

Fifteen centuries have passed

O'er the castle by Lake Como,

Where the good queen breathed her last;

But the Crown is still at Monza,

And its iron basic line

Tells the world of human glory

And the death of the Divine.