Part 2 — LINES ON THE PONTIFICAL HAT PRESERVED IN MADAME UZIELLI'S PRIVATE ORATORY.

O high exalted instinct of the soul! That evermore doth find A grace and hidden splendor not their own In things of curious kind;

Casket, or signet-ring, or coat of mail, Or ermined robe of state, That once belonged to history's champions, The good, the wise, the great!

This relic fair, which love most Catholic Devoutly treasures here, To me, beholding it, than rubied crown More glorious doth appear.

For cinctured round with spiry wheaten ears And clustering grapes of gold, Types of the pure oblation offered now For bloody rites of old,

Here, (by no freak of fancy,) underneath Its rim of mystic red, It shaded from a Roman summer's sun The sacred snow-white head

Of our dear Pius; as from church to church, Amidst the kneeling throng, Serene he passed—a vision of delight, The ancient ways along!

Angels of Rome! oh! shield that head beloved From danger and all fears; Watch o'er the pontiff brave, the sovereign good, The priest of fifty years!

And when his hour arrives, so long postponed By Christendom's fond prayer, May he in heaven's own hierarchy throned, Be still our glory there!