o his shoulder tapped and scornful
Said: "You are mistaken; never
Saw the world a greater bungler!
I say this, Salvator Rosa."
Coaches come, in front postilions;
Splendid uniforms are glittering
And with retinue attended
Steps an aged lady onward
To the portal of the Dome.
"How she's fading," said then someone,
"The illustrious Queen of Sweden!
Do you still recall her lovely
Looks when first she made her entrance?
Then the Gate del Popolo looked
Just as if built out of flowers;
And as far as Ponte Molle
Came the Romans out to greet her.
Down the long street of the Corso
Unto the Venetian Palace
Were the shouts of joy unending.
Do you see that little hunchback
Standing there, who now is sneezing?
He stands high in grace and favour
As one of the queen's attendants.
He's a scholar of deep learning,
The philologist Naudaeus.
He knows everything that happened,
And sometime ago he even,
Over there at Prince Corsini's,
Danced an ancient Saltarello
To instruct the royal party,
Whose loud laughter was heard plainly
Even far off by the Tiber."
In the throng now quite unnoticed
Came a heavy lumbering carriage;
In it were two black-robed ladies;
On the box sat worthy Anton
As their coachman, calling loudly:
"Room ye people for the gracious
Lady Abbess and my mistress!"
Called in German, which roused laughter.
With bewildered eyes he looked round
At the foreign scene, and just then
Passing by the queen's attendants,
He beheld a gray old coachman,
And he muttered from his coach-box:
"Don't I know thee, Swedish rascal?
Didst thou not belong once to the
Regiment of Sudermanland?
Do you now expect my thanks here
For the cut you had the kindness
To bestow upon my arm once
In the fight at Nuremberg?
A most marvellous place is truly
This old Rome, for long-forgotten
Friends and foes meet here again!"
On the classic soil of Italy
Now my song greets Margaretta.
Gladly would it strew its fairest
Blossoms on the path to welcome
And to cheer this pallid maiden,
So that smiles might light her features;
For, since Werner left the castle,
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