At every step by which I've hither climbed I've found a sorrow; but upon the summit All sorrows are; and thorns more thickly spring Around my chair than ever round a throne. What weary toil to keep up from the dust This mantle that's weighed down the strongest limbs! These splendid gems that blaze in my tiara, They are a fire that burns the aching brow, I lift with many tears, O Lord, to thee! Yet I must fear not; He that did know how To bear the cross, so heavy with the sins Of all the world, will succor the weak servant That represents his power here on earth. Of mine own isle that make the light o' the sun Obscure as one day was my lot, amidst The furious tumults of this guilty Rome, Here, under the superb effulgency Of burning skies, I think of you and weep! The Pope's messenger finds Arnaldo in the castle of Giordano, where these two are talking of the present fortunes and future chances of Rome. The patrician forebodes evil from the approach of the emperor, but Arnaldo encourages him, and, when the Pope's messenger appears, he is eager to go to Adrian, believing that good to their cause will come of it. Giordano in vain warns him against treachery, bidding him remember that Adrian will hold any falsehood sacred that is used with a heretic. It is observable throughout that Niccolini is always careful to make his rebellious priest a good Catholic; and now Arnaldo rebukes Giordano for some doubts of the spiritual authority of the Pope. When Giordano says: These modern pharisees, upon the cross, Where Christ hung dying once, have nailed mankind, Arnaldo answers: He will know how to save that rose and conquered; And Giordano replies: Yes, Christ arose; but Freedom cannot break The stone that shuts her ancient sepulcher, For on it stands the altar. Adrian, when Arnaldo appears before him, bids him fall down and kiss his feet, and speak to him as to God; he will hear Arnaldo only as a penitent. Arnaldo answers: The feet Of his disciples did that meek One kiss Whom here thou representest. But I hear Now from thy lips the voice of fiercest pride. Repent, O Peter, that deniest him, And near the temple art, but far from God! * * * * * The name of the king Is never heard in Rome. And if thou are The vicar of Christ on earth, well should'st thou know That of thorns only was the crown he wore.