<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="" class="head">The Story of the Bambino</h1><div class="couplet"><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">What</span> is it like a light that goes</p><p class="line">Swaddled in gold from head to toes</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">With chanting cleric and acolyte </p><p class="line">In the crimson and in the white.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">'Tis the Bambino goeth with speed </p><p class="line">To succour a woman in her need,</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">For the dear Lady's sake who lay </p><p class="line">And bore her Son in the cattle's hay.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The woman is taken in mortal strait. </p><p class="line"><em>Peace!</em> the Bambino is at the gate!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The woman cries from her loneliness. </p><p class="line"><em>Peace!</em> the Bambino cometh to bless!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Three fair sons she hath borne in pain: </p><p class="line">The three lie out in the night and rain.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Dear Bambino, dear holy one, </p><p class="line">Save for this mother one little son!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">To her own heart she speaks: If he, </p><p class="line">The blest Bambino, would stay with me,</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Surely my pangs would be light and short, </p><p class="line">Nor the little bird new-'scaped take hurt.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Joy and peace would be mine and his </p><p class="line">Who comes when the travail hardest is.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Surely my little son would thrive</p><p class="line">Nor go to his brothers who would not live.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Under the linen sheet there is </p><p class="line">Another Bambino like to this;</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Painted so fine, carven so well, </p><p class="line">No man could one from the other tell.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The dear Bambino by her is laid, </p><p class="line">Joy is come to the childing-bed.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">She takes from Bambino his robe and crown; </p><p class="line">The false Bambino hath a gold gown.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">On the Bambino she turns the key: </p><p class="line">I and my babe shall have joy: saith she.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Her travail is over; the child is come </p><p class="line">No finer baby may be in Rome.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The women cry from their beds and pray: </p><p class="line">Blessed Bambino, where dost thou stay</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The priests come singing their hymns and bear </p><p class="line">The false Bambino high in the air.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The people drop on their knees and cry </p><p class="line"><em>Viva Bambino!</em> while that goes by.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Bambino goeth in gold and white; </p><p class="line">No woman is eased of her grief to-night.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">For the true Bambino lieth forlorn, </p><p class="line">Naked as Christ in the stable born.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Patience, Lordkin, the woman saith: </p><p class="line">Who has saved this night my son from death,</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">I will build Bambino so fair a shrine </p><p class="line">For Ara Cœli he will not pine.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">He shall have a cradle as soft as down, </p><p class="line">And finest woollen to be his gown,</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Not stiff with jewels, nor miniver, </p><p class="line">But soft for a precious baby dear.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The night is dark and the snows fall. </p><p class="line">What is it flits by the outer wall?</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">There's a patter of naked feet, as soft </p><p class="line">As Mary kissed in the cattle-croft.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Whence is this baby in the chill light, </p><p class="line">Ringed about with a ring of light?</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The Burning Bush that Moses saw, </p><p class="line">And a golden bird in the golden shaw.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">At Ara Cœli they sleep and dream. </p><p class="line">What is it flits in the wet moonbeam?</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The bell soundeth, the knocker too: </p><p class="line">Let me in: I have much to do.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Let me in, for I heard as I ran </p><p class="line">The women call me in street and lane.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The sleepy brother is come awake: </p><p class="line">Who is it knocketh before daybreak?</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">A little child on the door doth knock. </p><p class="line">Oh, hear them crying, my piteous folk!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The door was opened and in there came </p><p class="line">A naked child in a golden flame.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The rain falls and the wind blows; </p><p class="line">In comes Bambino, fresh as a rose.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The women called me and I made haste. </p><p class="line">I, the Bambino, have travelled fast.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">One hath taken my robe away: </p><p class="line">His feet are plaster, his body clay.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">He hath no healing for them that cry </p><p class="line">On me in their bitter agony.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">They have stripped the false usurper bare; </p><p class="line">They have taken the crown of gold from his hair.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">They have cast him out, of his splendour shorn, </p><p class="line">He hath no care for the people's scorn.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Once more Bambino goes up and down </p><p class="line">The steep high streets of the groaning town,</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">And climbs the stairway, and through the door </p><p class="line">Brings life and healing as oft before.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">The shrine in Ara Cœli hath </p><p class="line" style="text-indent:%">Many new cradles, many a wreath.</p></div></body></html> · Great War