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Some Chatterton shall have the luck
Of calling Rowley into life!
Someone shall somehow run a muck
With this old world, for want of strife
Sound asleep. Contrive, contrive
To rouse us, Waring! Who's alive?
Our men scarce seem in earnest now.
Distinguished names ! but 't is, somehow,
As if they played at being names
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
Still better than our very best !

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« WHEN I last saw Waring ..."
(How all turned to him who spoke !
You saw Waring ? Truth or joke?
In land-travel or sea-faring ?)


“ We were sailing by Triest
“ Where a day or two we harboured :
“ A sunset was in the West,
“ When, looking over the vessel's side,
“ One of our company espied
“ A sudden speck to larboard.
“ And as a sea-duck flies and swims
“At once, so came the light craft up,
“ With its sole lateen sail that trims
“ And turns (the water round its rims
“Dancing, as round a sinking cup)
“ And by us like a fish it curled,

“ 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? co 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 ! 66. 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 “ O'the sky, to overtake the sun “ And reach the shore, like the sea-calf “ Its singing cave ; yet I caught one “ Glance ere away the boat quite passed, " And neither time nor toil could mar “ Those features : so I saw the last

“ Of Waring !"_You? Oh, never star
Was lost here but it rose afar !
Look East, where whole new thousands are !
In Vishnu-land what Avatar?


OH, to be in England now that April 's there,
And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning,

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
In England—now !
And after April, when May follows
And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows !
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge-
That's the wise thrush : he sings each song twice over
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture !
And, though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
-Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower !


THAT second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide

Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side,
Breathed hot and instant on my trace.-
I made, six days, a hiding-place
Of that dry green old aqueduct
Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked
The fire-flies from the roof above,
Bright creeping thro' the moss they love :
-How long it seems since Charles was lost!
Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed
The country in my very sight;
And when that peril ceased at night,
The sky broke out in red dismay
With signal-fires. Well, there I lay
Close covered o'er in my recess,
Up to the neck in ferns and cress,
Thinking on Metternich our friend,
And Charles's miserable end,
And much beside, two days; the third,
Hunger o'ercame me when I heard
The peasants from the village go
To work among the maize : you know,
With us in Lombardy, they bring
Provisions packed on mules, a string,
With little bells that cheer their task,
And casks, and boughs on every cask
To keep the sun's heat from the wine;
These I let pass in jingling line,
And, close on them, dear noisy crew,
The peasants from the village, too;
For at the very rear would troop
Their wives and sisters in a group
To help, I knew; when these had passed,
I threw my glove to strike the last,
Taking the chance : she did not start,
Much less cry out, but stooped apart,
One instant rapidly glanced round,

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, Its calm simplicity of grace, 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 wormAt 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

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