A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet Xxxi

Yes, Italy is wise, a cultured prude, Stored with all maxims of a statelier age; These are her lessons for our northern blood, With its dark Saxon madness and Norse rage. With these she tempers us and renders sage, As long ago she stayed the barbarous flood Surging against her, and her heritage Snatched from the feet of that brute multitude. Calmly she waits us. What to her shall be Our fevers of to--day, who erewhile knew Caesar's ambitions? What our pruriency, Who saw Rome sacked by the lewd Vandal crew? What our despair, who, while a world stood mute, Saw Henry kneel in tears at Peter's foot?