ESTRANGEMENT.
203
LITERARY.
ESTRANGEMENT.
Oft have I watched a glorious sunset form, Till all the west had brightened into gold. Till all the east gave back the colors bold in soft and mellow hues,yet rich and warm.
And I have turned my eyes from such a sight, Rather than watch the black usurp the gold; And waited till the myriad starry fold Had come to light the peaceful brow of night.
I see, O friend, whom I thought mine for years,
Your love, that was the glory of my day,
Begins to wane; oh, let me turn away,
Nor bid me gaze until it disappears.
Let me remember that I had your love; And what that love was at its brightest hour. Till, looking up, I recognize the power Of stars of comfort, shining from above,
TWO MEMORIES OF SAN MARCO.
In storied Florence, city of flowers, stands the famous convent of San Marco, empty, swept and garnished. No cowled monks now bar entrance to the sunny cloister; no black and white robed figures clasp the cross and kneel in the narrow cells; no humble novice gazes in rapt enthusiasm at the beautiful, heavenly visions growing under a master-hand. The history of this remarkable convent has long ceased to be great. Its virtual foundation or rebuilding when transferred to the Dominican order, its decoration, its tragic climax of power and closely following downfall, were all summed up within the fifteenth century. Italy now watches over it as becomes its
importance in the history of Florence and in the history of art.
Two names are closely connected with this convent—Angelico and Savonarola, two beautiful and noble characters, as unlike as morning and evening. The calm, uneventful life of the painter, forms a strange introduction to the tragic career and passionate eloquence of the martyred prophet. The beauty-loving monk, from pure devotion, covered the bare white convent wall with pictures which centuries later, were to thrill the beholder with sympathy for his genius. He cared not for wealth or fame or power. He could not argue or exhort, but he preached best through his lovely