I stood amid the Pitti’s gilded halls,1
Where art with noble shapes had spread the walls,2
Where Raphael’s truthful grace, and Titian’s glow,3
Shone ’ mid the austerest forms of Angelo.4
Among the bright unmoving visions there5
Were gazing groups alive, but not so fair ;6
Gay girls admired, and counts and lords went by,7
Wits, artists, soldiers, connoisseurs, and I :8
And there came in, like ghosts in dreamy scenes,9
Three mantled, cowled, and barefoot Capuchins.10
No stranger spectres e’er confused our life11
Since Luther broke his bonds and took a wife.12
The men look’d dull and harmless, cheerful too,13
And stared as sagely round as travellers do ;14
Yet sad the sight, and worst of all despairs15
To see contentment with a lot like theirs.16