Now the carriage-door he opened, And alighting, the old Abbess, Followed by fair Margaretta, Walked up to the church and entered. Margaretta gazed in wonder At the vastness of the building, Where man seems reduced to nothing; At the giant marble columns, And the dome with gold overladen. In the niche of the great nave stands The bronze statue of St. Peter, Which this day in papal vestments Was arrayed, the gold brocade robe Hanging stiffly on the statue; On the head the Bishop's mitre. And they saw how many people Kissed the foot of this bronze statue. Then a papal chamberlain led Both the German ladies forward To a seat close by the altar, Place of honour kept for strangers. Now was heard the sound of music; And the Holy Father coming Through the side-door from the Vatican Made his entrance to St. Peter's. Stout Swiss halberdiers were marching At the head of the procession, Followed by the celebrated Singers of the papal choir. Heavy music-books were carried By the choristers, some hardly Strong enough to bear the folios. Then there came in motley order Monsignori robed in violet; Abbots followed then and prelates, And the canons of St. Peter's, Heavy looking, their fat figures Corresponding to their livings. Leaning on his staff the General Of the Capuchins walked slowly For a load of more than ninety Years was resting on his shoulders; But his brain was working out still Many plans with youthful vigour. With Franciscans from the cloister Ara c[oe]li also came the Prior of Pallazuola. By the shores of Lake Albano, 'Neath the shade of Monte Cavo, Stands his little monastery, Peaceful spot for idle dreamers. On he walked in deep thought buried; And who knows wherefore his mutterings Did not sound like prayer, but more like "Fare-thee-well, Amalia." After them the choicest portion, All the cardinals, were walking, Their long robes of scarlet colour On the marble pavement trailing. "Heart, be patient," so was thinking Cardinal di Ottoboni; "Now I'm second to the Pope yet, But in seven years most likely I shall mount St Peter's chair." Then a train of cavaliers came With their shining swords, and followed In strict military order; 'Twas the Pope's own guard of honour. And at last the Holy Father Made his entrance, being carried On a throne by eight strong bearers. O'er his head were held by pages The great fans of peacock-feathers. Snow-white were his festal garments; And his right hand, raised in blessing, Wore the signet-ring of Peter. Low the crowd knelt down in silence.