And fix thy brave blue English eyes on mine, And from my soul, which fronts the future so, With unabashed and unabated gaze,

Teach me to hope for, what the angels know When they smile clear as thou dost. Down God's ways

With just alighted feet, between the snow And snowdrops, where a little lamb may graze, Thou hast no fear, my lamb, about the road, Albeit in our vain-glory we assume

That, less than we have, thou hast learnt of God. Stand out, my blue-eyed prophet!-thou, to whom The earliest world-day light that ever flowed, Through Casa Guidi windows, chanced to come ! Now shake the glittering nimbus of thy hair, And be God's witness that the elemental

New springs of life are gushing every where To cleanse the water-courses, and prevent all Concrete obstructions which infest the air! That earth's alive, and gentle or ungentle

Motions within her, signify but growth!The ground swells greenest o'er the labouring moles.

Howe'er the uneasy world is vexed and wroth,
Young children, lifted high on parent souls,
Look round them with a smile upon the mouth,
And take for music every bell that tolls;

(WHO said we should be better if like these?)
But we sit murmuring for the future though
Posterity is smiling on our knees,
Convicting us of folly. Let us go-

We will trust God. The blank interstices

Men take for ruins, He will build into

With pillared marbles rare, or knit across

With generous arches, till the fane's complete.
This world has no perdition, if some loss.

Such cheer I gather from thy smiling, Sweet!
The self-same cherub-faces which emboss
The Vail, lean inward to the Mercy-seat.

THE SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRUCANI.

Questa e per me.'-VICTOR EMANUEL.

I.

WHEN Victor Emanuel, the King,
Went down to his Lucca that day,
The people, each vaunting the thing
As he gave it, gave all things away
In a burst of fierce gratitude, say,
As they tore out their hearts for the King.

II.

Gave the green forest-walk on the wall,

With the Apennine blue through the trees; Gave palaces, churches, and all

The great pictures which burn out of these; But the eyes of the King seemed to freeze As he glanced upon ceiling and wall.

III.

'Good,' said the King as he past.

Was he cold to the arts? or else coy To possession? or crossed at the last,

Whispered some, by the vote in Savoy? Shout!-love him enough for his joy! 'Good,' said the King as he past.

IV.

He, travelling the whole day through flowers
And protesting amenities, found,
At Pistoia, betwixt the two showers
Of red roses, 'the Orphans' (renowned
As the heirs of Puccini) who wound

With a sword through the crowd and the flowers.

V.

"Tis the sword of Castruccio, O King!
In old strife of intestinal hate

Very famous. Accept what we bring,
We, who cannot be sons by our fate,
Rendered citizens by thee of late
And endowed with a country and King.

VI.

'Read:-Puccini has willed that this sword

(Which once made in an ignorant feud

Many orphans) remain in our ward

Till some patriot its pure civic blood Wipe away in the foe's and make good, In delivering the land by the sword.'

VII.

Then the King exclaimed, 'This is for me!'
And he dashed out his sword on the hilt,
While his blue eye shot fire openly

And his heart overboiled till it spilt

A hot prayer,-'God, the rest as thou wilt! But grant me this!--this is for me!'

VIII.

O Victor Emanuel, the King,

The sword be for thee, and the deed, And nought for the alien, next spring, Nought for Hapsburg and Bourbon agreed; But, for us, a great Italy freed, With a hero to head us, . our King!

SUMMING UP IN ITALY.

(INSCRIBED TO INTELLIGENT PUBLICS OUT of it.)

I.

OBSERVE how it will be at last,

When our Italy stands at full stature, A year ago tied down so fast

That the cord cut the quick of her nature! You'll honor the deed and its scope,

Then, in logical sequence upon it,

Will use up the remnants of rope

By hanging the men who have done it.

II.

The speech in the Commons which hits you
A sketch off, how dungeons must feel,-
The official dispatch, which commits you
From stamping out groans with your heel,-
Suggestions in journal or book for

Good efforts,-
‚—are praised . . . as is meet;
But what in this world can men look for,
Who only achieve and complete?

III.

True, you've praise for the fireman, who sets his
Brave face to the axe of the flame,
Disappears in the smoke, and then fetches
A babe down, or idiot that`s lame,—
For the boor even, who rescues through pity
A sheep from the brute who would kick it:
But saviours of nations!-'tis pretty,

And doubtful: they may be so wicked!

IV.

Azeglio, Farini, Mamiani,

Ricasoli,-doubt by the dozen!-here's

Pepoli too, and Cipriani,

Imperial cousins and cogeners; Arese, Laiatico, courtly

Of manners, if stringent of mouth. Garibaldi-we'll come to him shortly, (As soon as he ends in the south.)

V.

Napoleon, as strong as ten armies,
Corrupt as seven devils,-a fact

You accede to, then seek where the harm is
Drained off from the man to his act,

And find . . . a free nation. Suppose

Some hell-brood in Eden's sweet greenery, Convoked for creating . . . a rose !—

Would it suit the infernal machinery?

VI.

Cavour, to the despot's desire,

Who his own thought so craftily marries, What is he but just a thin wire

For conducting the lightning from Paris?