THE LAST SUPPER.
A PICTURE BY LEONARDI DA VINCI.
Behold that countenance, where grief and love
Blend with ineffable benignity,
And deep, unuttered majesty divine.
Whose is that eye which seems to read the heart,
And yet to have shed the tear of mortal woe?—
Redeemer, is it thine?—And is this feast,
Thy last on earth?—Why do the chosen few,
Admitted to thy parting banquet, stand
As men transfixed with horror?—
Ah! I hear
The appalling answer, from those lips divine,
"One of you shall betray me."—
One of these?—
Who by thy hand was nurtured, heard thy prayers,
Received thy teachings, as the thirsty plant
Turns to the rain of summer?—One of these!—
Therefore, with deep and deadly paleness droops
The loved disciple, as if life's warm spring
Chilled to the ice of death, at such strange shock
Of unimagined guilt.—See, his whole soul
Concentered in his eye, the man who walked
The waves with Jesus, all impetuous prompts
The horror-struck inquiry,—"Is it I?
