Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Amulet, 1835/The Festa of Madonna Dei Fiori

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2441968Poems in The Amulet 1835 — The Festa of Madonna Dei FioriLetitia Elizabeth Landon


FESTA OF MADONNA DEI FIORI

Painted by T. Uwins A. R. A.Engraved by S. Sangster





THE FESTA OF MADONNA DEI FIORI.


BY L. E. L.


They gathered in that holy place,
    A young and lovely band,
With banners wrought with sacred signs,
    And flowers in each hand.

It was a summer festival
    Worthy a summer sky,
That brought the fragrant and the fair
    Upon that shrine to die.

Many a little foot had been
    Amid the early dew,
While fresh the odour to each leaf,
    Fresh colour to each hue.


And many a little brow had watched
    For weeks some favourite flower,
Proud and impatient of its growth
    For this auspicious hour.

And many a little heart had linked
    Its deepest, dearest prayer,
And the fulfilment of its hope
    With the sweet offerings there.

One bore a banner, where was wrought
    The Virgin and her Son—
Her younger sister and herself
    The broidery begun.

But she who held the banner now
    Went on her way alone;
No sister shared the sacred task:—
    Her sister's task was done!

As yet the grass was scarcely grown
    Upon that bright young head;
As yet the tears were warm that fell
    Above the early dead.

Poor child! how pale and sorrowful
    She takes her silent way!
A prayer for the departed one
    Is on her lips to-day.


But foremost come two fairy ones
    With dark eyes filled with light,
The very roses that they bear
    Can scarcely be more bright.

The youngest bears a single plant,
    One that herself has nursed;
A far exotic from the South,
    The fairest and the first.

And they have tender hopes and fears
    To claim the votive vow;
And parents, for whose precious sake
    Their prayers are ready now.

Blest be their lovely pilgrimage,
    Although they seek a shrine
Hallowed by a believing faith
    Not unto us divine!

No banners in our humbler church
    Are waved, no flowers are strown;
The sacrifice we offer up
    Must in the heart be shown.

And that is much if truly given:
    Our vanity and pride,
Our empty hopes, our fair deceits,
    Must there be all denied.


Those children, with an earnest faith,
    Are offering early flowers;
Methinks their simple truth and love
    Might teach and strengthen ours.