ing away

Nor stop till, where the cold sea raves
By Lido's wet accursed graves,
They scoop mine, roll me to its brink,
And... on thy breast I sink!

She replies, musing

And now,

As of old, I am I, thou art thou!

He muses

Oh, which were best, to roam or rest?
The land's lap or the water's breast?
To sleep on yellow millet-sheaves,
Or swim in lucid shallows, just
Eluding water-lily leaves,

An inch from Death's black fingers, thrust
To lock you, whom release he must ;
Which life were best on Summer eves?

He speaks, musing

Lie back could thought of mine improve

you?

From this shoulder let there spring
A wing; from this, another wing;
Wings, not legs and feet, shall move
you!

Snow-white must they spring, to blend
With your flesh, but I intend
They shall deepen to the end,
Broader, into burning gold,

Till both wings crescent-wise enfold
Your perfect self, from 'neath your feet
To o'er your head, where, lo, they meet
As if a million sword-blades hurl'd
Defiance from you to the world!
Rescue me thou, the only real !
And scare away this mad ideal
That came, nor motions to depart!
Thanks! Now, stay ever as thou art!

Still he muses

What if the Three should catch at last
Thy serenader? While there's cast
Paul's cloak about my head, and fast
Gian pinions me, Himself has past
His stylet through my back; I reel ;
And... is it thou I feel?

They trail me, these three godless knaves, Past every church that saints and saves,

Row home? must we row home? Too surely
Know I where its front 's demurely
Over the Guidecca pil'd;
Window just with window mating,
Door on door exactly waiting,
All's the set face of a child :
But behind it, where 's a trace
Of the staidness and reserve,
And formal lines without a curve,
In the same child's playing-face?
No two windows look one way
O'er the small sea-water thread
Below them. Ah, the autumn day
I, passing, saw you overhead!
First, out a cloud of curtain blew,
Then a sweet cry, and last came you
To catch your lory that must needs
Escape just then, of all times then,
To peck a tall plant's fleecy seeds
And make me happiest of men.

I scarce could breathe to see you reach
So far back o'er the balcony,
To catch him ere he climb'd too high
Above you in the Smyrna peach,
That quick the round smooth cord of gold,
This coil'd hair on your head, unroil d,
Fell down you like a gorgeous snake
The Roman girls were wont, of old,
When Rome there was, for coolness' sake

To let lie curling o'er their bosoms.
Dear lory, may his beak retain
Ever its delicate rose stain,

As if the wounded lotus-blossoms
Had mark'd their thief to know again.
Stay longer yet, for others' sake

Than mine! What should your chamber do?

With all its rarities that ache

In silence while day lasts, but wake
At night-time and their life renew,
Suspended just to pleasure you

Who brought against their will together
These objects, and, while day lasts, weave
Around them such a magic tether
That dumb they look: your harp, believe,
With all the sensitive tight strings
Which dare not speak, now to itself
Breathes slumberously, as if some elf
Went in and out the chords,
his wings
Make murmur, wheresoe'er they graze,
As an angel may, between the maze
Of midnight palace-pillars, on
And on, to sow God's plagues, have gone
Through guilty glorious Babylon.
And while such murmurs flow, the nymph
Bends o'er the harp-top from her shell
As the dry limpet for the lymph
Come with a tune he knows so well.
And how your statues' hearts must swell!
And how your pictures must descend
To see each other, friend with friend!
Oh, could you take them by surprise,
You'd find Schidone's eager Duke
Doing the quaintest courtesies

To that prim saint by Haste-thee-Luke!
And, deeper into her rock den,
Bold Castelfranco's Magdalen
You'd find retreated from the ken
Of that rob'd counsel-keeping Ser-
As if the Tizian thinks of her,
And is not, rather, gravely bent
On seeing for himself what toys
Are these his progeny invent,
What litter now the board employs
Whereon he sign'd a document
That got him murder'd! Each enjoys
Its night so well, you cannot break
The sport up: so, indeed must make
More stay with me, for others' sake.

She speaks

To-morrow, if a harp-string, say, Is used to tie the jasmine back

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I gallop'd, Dirck gallop'd, we gallop'd all three;

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ;

"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we gallop'd abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;

I turn'd in my saddle and made its girths tight,

Then shorten'd each stirrup, and set the

By Hasselt, Dirck groan'd; and cried Joris " Stay spur!

Your Roos gallop'd bravely, the fault's not in her,

We'll remember at Aix" -for one heard the quick wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretch'd neck and staggering knees,

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shudder'd and sank.

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laugh'd a pitiless laugh,

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright

stubble like chaff;

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!

Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,

One task more deelin'd, one more footpath untrod,

One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels,

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!

Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!

There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain,

Forced praise on our part - the glimmer of twilight,

Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well, for we taught him strike gallantly,

Menace our heart ere we master his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,

Pardon'd in heaven, the first by the throne !

YOUTH AND ART

IT once might have been, once only:
We lodged in a street together,
You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely,
I, a lone she-bird of his feather.

Your trade was with sticks and clay,

You thumb'd, thrust, patted and polish'd, Then laugh'd, "They will see, some day, Smith made, and Gibson demolish'd."

My business was song, song, song;

I chirp'd, cheep'd, trill'd and twitter'd, "Kate Brown 's on the boards ere long, And Grisi's existence embitter'd !"

I earn'd no more by a warble
Than you by a sketch in plaster;
You wanted a piece of marble,

I needed a music-master.

We studied hard in our styles,

Chipp'd each at a crust like Hindoos, For air, look'd out on the tiles,

For fun, watch'd each other's windows.

You lounged, like a boy of the South,
Cap and blouse nay, a bit of beard too;
Or you got it, rubbing your mouth
With fingers the clay adher'd to.