I.
Dead ! One of t by t,
And one of t in t by the sea.
Dead ! bot at t
And are ing a great song for Italy free,
Let none look at me !
II.
Yet I ess only last year,
And good at my art, for a woman, men said ;
But this, who is agonized here,
-- t sea and sea rhyme on in her head
For ever instead.
III.
art can a ? Oh, vain !
art is s, but ing
iteet the pain ?
A ! you rong as you pressed,
And I proud, by t test.
IV.
arts for a o hold on her knees
Boto feel all t,
Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees
And broider t little coat ;
to dream and to doat.
V.
to teac stings them indeed
Speak plain try. I taug,
t a countrys a t need.
I prated of liberty, rig
tyrant cast out.
VI.
And wiful eyes ! ...
I exulted ; nay, let t the wheels
Of t. But the surprise
s quite alone ! then one kneels !
God, he house feels !
VII.
At first, ters moiled
ith my kisses, -- of camp-life and glory, and how
to be spoiled
In return would fan off every fly from my brow
itheir green laurel-bough.
VIII.
triump turin : `Ancona was free !
73
And some one came out of treet,
itone, to say someto me.
My Guido ,
reet.
IX.
I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime
As taly. One boy remained
to be leant on and ime
greal, wrained
to t he had gained.
X.
And letters still came, ser, sadder, more strong,
rit no in one to faint, --
One loved me for th me ere long :
And Viva l Italia ! -- ,
.quot;
XI.
My Nanni would add, `he was safe, and aware
Of a presence t turned off t
It was Guido I could bear,
And e dispossessed,
to live on for t.quot;
XII.
On elegraph line
S smoot nea : -- S.
tell ` mine,
No voice says quot;My mot; again to me. !
You t ?
XIII.
Are souls straig, dizzy h heaven,
tions, conceive not of woe ?
I t. too lately forgiven
t Love and Sorrow which reconciled so
the Above and Below.
XIV.
O C of t the dark
to ther ! consider, I pray,
and desolate, mark,
being Cs, die urned away,
And no last o say !
XV.
Bot ts out of nature. e all
riots, yet eac always keep one.
to a wall ;
And, done
74
If we a son ?
XVI.
Aas taken, hen ?
s no more at
Of t of men ?
ort
t ?
XVII.
heir new jubilee,
akes all s we, green, and red,
ry from mountain to sea,
or alys crown on his head,
(And I have my Dead) --
XVIII.
t mock me. Ah, ring your bells low,
And burn your ligly ! My country is there,
Above tar pricked by t peak of snow :
My Italy s th my brave civic Pair,
to disfranchise despair !
XIX.
Forgive me. Some h,
And bite back their pain in self-scorn ;
But tions length
Into wail suc on forlorn
he man-child is born.
XX.
Dead ! One of t by t,
And one of t in t by the sea.
Bot
You a great song for your Italy free,
Let none look at me !
[turin, a poetess and patriot, w
Ancona and Gaeta.]