_Moral._ I pray you think upon it well. There are full many people in this world Who think that they are wondrous wise in ART, And who, as Critics, write about the same In transcendental phrase with capitals, And call it Faith, and Love, and Heaven knows what, And cannot think of it without a gasp And uttering phrases silly, mystical,— Because they are the empty, windy ones, Inflating and inflated, who but blow The bellows of the organ, yet believe That they are leaders in the Realm of Art!
Among the merry tales of olden time Which are still current in fair Italy Are many told in taverns or in type About the rude barbarians of the North Who cross the Alps, even as they did of yore, When they invaded fertile Lombardy, And helped themselves to all which pleased their eyes, And paid for it in iron and with blood: Those times are fled, but Northmen still are here; States fall, arts fade, but English yet abound, And Austrian-Germans and Americans Stalk proudly through the streets with Baedeker, Or Murray, with the very gait and air Of their barbarian ancestors—although They are cleaner washed and more completely shaved— Bet high upon the latter; for as once They came to rob the natives of their goods, The latter now do live by spoiling them. And thus strange things do happen in this world.
Thus we may note that all these foreigners, Be it the daintiest English dame alive, Or damsel born in fair America, Or Russians of a royal family, Or Frenchmen of the very noblest stock, Or Viennese as elegant and _fesch_[12] As even Viennese can be produced— Wherein they wellnigh rival Baltimore— Are still regarded by the Italian with A doubtful smile, who as he smiles exclaims: “_Sono forestieri_”—which indeed Means “They are foreigners”—and yet the word Comes from _Foresto_—savage—desert—wild— And so do ancient thorns live round the rose. And thus strange things do happen in the world.
Now it befell that in the Lombard time When Dieterich-Theodoric was king, And from Ravenna ruled all Italy, The court religion was the Arian, To which men nowadays an Unit add, Yet do not add by the process—that I see— Aught to its value; but the odd result Was that the Gothic warriors nothing knew About the mystery of the Trinity,— Nay, they were even far more ignorant Than was the English curate, who when asked What he did understand by the Holy Ghost, Replied: “I am not sure, but I believe It is a kind of pigeon.” These poor Goths Had never learned so much as this youth knew. And thus strange things do happen in the world.