Some Chatterton shall have the luck Someone shall somehow run a muck Still more distinguished, like the games Of children. Turn our sport to earnest With a visage of the sternest! Bring the real times back, confessed II I "WHEN I last saw Waring . . ." II "We were sailing by Triest "Where a day or two we harboured: "When, looking over the vessel's side, "And drew itself up close beside, "Its great sail on the instant furled, "And o'er its thwarts a shrill voice cried, (A neck as bronzed as a Lascar's) "Buy wine of us, you English Brig? "Or fruit, tobacco and cigars? "A pilot for you to Triest? "Without one, look you ne'er so big, "They'll never let you up the bay! "We natives should know best.' "I turned, and 'just those fellows' way,' “Our captain said, 'The 'long-shore thieves "Are laughing at us in their sleeves.' III "In truth, the boy leaned laughing back; "And one, half-hidden by his side "Under the furled sail, soon I spied, "With great grass hat and kerchief black, "Who looked up with his kingly throat, "Said somewhat, while the other shook "His hair back from his eyes to look "Their longest at us; then the boat, "I know not how, turned sharply round, "Laying her whole side on the sea "As a leaping fish does; from the lee "Into the weather, cut somehow "Her sparkling path beneath our bow, "And so went off, as with a bound, "Into the rosy and golden half "And reach the shore, like the sea-calf "Of Waring!"-You? Oh, never star Look East, where whole new thousands are! HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD. I OH, to be in England now that April 's there, And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough And after April, when May follows And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows! Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge- The first fine careless rapture! And, though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND. THAT second time they hunted me Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side, Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked The fire-flies from the roof above, Bright creeping thro' the moss they love : And when that peril ceased at night, To help, I knew; when these had passed, And saw me beckon from the ground. A wild bush grows and hides my crypt; She picked my glove up while she stripped A branch off, then rejoined the rest With that; my glove lay in her breast: Then I drew breath; they disappeared : It was for Italy I feared. An hour, and she returned alone Exactly where my glove was thrown. Meanwhile came many thoughts; on me Rested the hopes of Italy; I had devised a certain tale Which, when 't was told her, could not fail Persuade a peasant of its truth; I meant to call a freak of youth This hiding, and give hopes of pay, And no temptation to betray. But when I saw that woman's face, Our Italy's own attitude In which she walked thus far, and stood, Planting each naked foot so firm, To crush the snake and spare the worm At first sight of her eyes, I said, "I am that man upon whose head "They fix the price, because I hate "The Austrians over us; the State "Will give you gold-oh, gold so much!"If you betray me to their clutch, "And be your death, for aught I know, "If once they find you saved their foe. "Now, you must bring me food and drink, "And also paper, pen and ink, "And carry safe what I shall write "To Padua, which you 'll reach at night |