Lur. So no great battle for my Florentines!
No crowning deed, decisive and complete,
For all of them, the simple as the wise,
Old, young, alike, that do not understand
Our wearisome pedantic art of war,

By which we prove retreat may be success,

Delay-best speed,-half loss, at times,-whole gain:
They want results-as if it were their fault!
And you, with warmest wish to be my friend,
Will not be able now to simply say

"Your servant has performed his task-enough!
"You ordered, he has executed: good!

"Now walk the streets in holiday attire, "Congratulate your friends, till noon strikes fierce, "Then form bright groups beneath the Duomo's shade!" No! you will have to argue and explain,

Persuade them all is not so ill in the end,

Tease, tire them out! Arrive, arrive, Lucchese!

Dom. Well, you will triumph for the Past enough,
Whatever be the Present's chance-no service
Falls to the ground with Florence; she awaits

Her saviour, will receive him fittingly.

Lur. Ah, Braccio, you know Florence. . will she,

-Receive compatriots, doubtless—I am none :

And yet Domizia promises so much!

Brac. Kind women still give men a woman's prize.

I know not o'er which gate most boughs will arch,

Nor if the Square will wave red flags or blue—
I should have judged, the fullest of rewards
Our State gave Luria, when she made him chief
Of her whole force, in her best Captain's place.

Lur. That my reward? Florence on my account
Relieved Ser Puccio?—mark you, my reward!
And Puccio's having all the fight's true joy—
Goes here and there, directs, may fight himself,
While I must order, stand aloof, o'ersee!
That was my calling-there was my true place!
I should have felt, in some one over me,
Florence impersonate, my visible Head,
As I am over Puccio,-taking life

Directly from her eye!—They give me you!
But do you cross me, set me half to work?
I enjoy nothing-but I will, for once!

Decide, shall we join battle? may I wait?

Brac. Let us compound the matter; wait till noon; Then, no arrival,—

Lur.

Ah, noon comes too fast!

I wonder, do you guess why I delay

Involuntarily the final blow

As long as possible? Peace follows it!

Florence at peace, and the calm studious heads
Come out again, the penetrating eyes;

As if a spell broke, all 's resumed, each art
You boast, more vivid that it slept awhile!
'Gainst the glad heaven, o'er the white palace-front
The interrupted scaffold climbs anew ;

The walls are peopled by the Painter's brush;
The Statue to its niche ascends to dwell;

The Present's noise and trouble have retired
And left the eternal Past to rule once more.-
You speak its speech and read its records plain,
Greece lives with you, each Roman breathes your friend,
-But Luria-where will then be Luria's place?
Dom. Highest in honour, for that Past's own sake,

Of which his actions, sealing up the sum

By saving all that went before from wreck,

Will range as part, with which be worshipped too.

Lur. Then I may walk and watch you in your streets Leading the life my rough life helps no more, So different, so new, so beautiful—

Nor fear that you will tire to see parade

The club that slew the lion, now that crooks
And shepherd-pipes come into use again?

For

very lone and silent seems my East

In its drear vastness-still it spreads, and still
No Braccios, no Domizias anywhere—

Not ever more!—Well, well, to-day is ours!

Dom. [to BRAC.] Should he not have been one of us
Lur.

Not one of you, and so escape the thrill
Of coming into you, and changing thus,―
Feeling a soul grow on me that restricts
The boundless unrest of the savage heart!
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land,
Breaks there and buries its tumultuous strength;

?

Oh, no!

Horror, and silence, and a pause awhile;
Lo, inland glides the gulf-stream, miles away,
In rapture of assent, subdued and still,

'Neath those strange banks, those unimagined skies! Well, 'tis not sure the quiet lasts for ever!

Your placid heads still find our hands new work;

Some minutes' chance-there comes the need of mine—

And, all resolved on, I too hear at last.

Oh, you must find some use for me, Ser Braccio !
You hold my strength; 'twere best dispose of it!
What you created, see that you

I shall be dangerous else!

Brac.

Lur. Oh, there are many

find food for

How dangerous, Sir?

ways, Domizia warns me,

And one with half the power that I

possess,

Grows very formidable! Do you doubt?

Why, first, who holds the army . . .

Dom.

While we talk

Morn wears, we keep you from your proper place

In the field!

Lur.

Nay, to the field I move no more!

My part is done, and Puccio's may begin!

I cannot trench upon his province longer

With any face. You think yourselves so safe?

Why see in concert with Tiburzio, now—

One could ...

Dom

Lur.

A trumpet!

My Lucchese at last!

Arrived, as sure as Florence stands! your leave!

[Springs out.

Dom. How plainly is true greatness charactered By such unconsciousness as Luria's here,

And sharing least the secret of itself!

Be it with head that schemes or hand that acts,

Such save the world which none but they could save,
Yet think whate'er they did, that world could do.

Brac. Yes and how worthy note, that those same

great ones

In hand or head, with such unconsciousness

And all its due entailed humility,

Should never shrink, so far as I perceive,
From taking up whatever offices

Involve the whole world's safety or mishap,
Into their mild hands as a thing of course!
The Statist finds it natural to lead

The mob who might as easily lead him—

The Soldier marshals men who know as much-
Statist and Soldier verily believe!

While we poor scribes .

...

you catch me thinking, now,

That I shall in this very letter write

What none of you are able! To it, Lapo!

This last, worst, all affected childish fit

[DOMIZIA goes.

Of Luria's, this be-praised unconsciousness, Convinces me the Past was no child's play; a man beat Pisa,-not a child.

It was

All's mere dissimulation-to remove

The fear, he best knows we should entertain.

The utmost danger was at hand. Is 't written?