By death of her, the Marquisate returned

To that Orsini House from whence it came:
Oriolo having passed as donative

To Santa Croce from their ancestors.

And no word more? By all means! Would you know

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The authoritative answer, when folk urged

"What made Aldobrandini, hound-like staunch,
Hunt out of life a harmless simpleton?"
The answer was- "Hatred implacable,

By reason they were rivals in their love."

The Cardinal's desire was to a dame

Whose favour was Onofrio's. Pricked with pride,

The simpleton must ostentatiously

Display a ring, the Cardinal's love-gift,

Given to Onofrio as the lady's gage;

Which ring on finger, as he put forth hand

To draw a tapestry, the Cardinal

Saw and knew, gift and owner, old and young;

Whereon a fury entered him

- the fire

He quenched with what coul. quench fire only — blood.
Nay, more: "there want not who affirm to boot,

The unwise boy, a certain festal eve,

Feigned ignorance of who the wight might be
That pressed too closely on him with a crowd.
He struck the Cardinal a blow: and then,

To put a face upon the incident,

Dared next day, smug as ever, go pay court

I' the Cardinal's antechamber. Mark and mend,
Ye youth, by this example how may greed
Vainglorious operate in worldly souls!"

So ends the chronicler, beginning with
"God's justice, tardy tho' it prove perchance,
Rests never till it reach delinquency."
Ay, or how otherwise had come to pass

That Victor rules, this present year, in Rome?

PORPHYRIA'S LOVER.

I.

HE rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.

S

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II.

When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate

Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form

III.

Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me.

When no voice replied,

IV.

She put my arm about her waist,

And made her smooth white shoulder bare,

And all her yellow hair displaced,

And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,

And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,

V.

Murmuring how she loved me- she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free

From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.

VI.

But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain

A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain :

So, she was come thro' wind and rain.

VII.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes

Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshiped me; surprise

Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do.

VIII.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found

A thing to do, and all her hair

In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,

IX.

And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,

I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

X.

And I untightened next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:

I propped her head up as before.
Only, this time my shoulder bore

XI.

Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!

XII.

Porphyria's love: she guessed not how

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Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now.

And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

60

FILIPPO BALDINUCCI ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL

A Reminiscence of A.D. 1676.

I.

No, boy, we must not (so began

My Uncle - he 's with God long since

A-petting me, the good old man!)

We must not (and he seemed to wince,

And lost that laugh whereto had grown
His chuckle at my piece of news,
How cleverly I aimed my stone)
I fear we must not pelt the Jews!

II.

When I was young, indeed, ah, faith
Was young and strong in Florence too!
We Christians never dreamed of scathe
Because we cursed or kicked the crew.
But now - well, well! The olive-crops
Weighed double then, and Arno's pranks
Would always spare religious shops
Whenever he o'erflowed his banks!

III.

I'll tell you (and his eye regained
Its twinkle) tell you something choice!
Something may help you keep unstained
Your honest zeal to stop the voice
Of unbelief with stone-throw - spite
Of laws, which modern fools enact,
That we must suffer Jews in sight
Go wholly unmolested! Fact!

IV.

There was, then, in my youth, and yet
Is, by our San Frediano, just

Below the Blessed Olivet,

A wayside ground wherein they thrust

Their dead, — these Jews, the more our shame!

Except that, so they will but die,

Christians perchance incur no blame

In giving hogs a hoist to stye.

V.

There, anyhow, Jews stow away

Their dead; and, — such their insolence, Slink at odd times to sing and pray

As Christians do- all make-pretence ! Which wickedness they perpetrate

Because they think no Christians see.

They reckoned here, at any rate,
Without their host: ha, ha! he, he!

IO

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VI.

For, what should join their plot of ground
But a good Farmer's Christian field?
The Jews had hedged their corner round
With bramble-bush to keep concealed
Their doings for the public road

Ran betwixt this their ground and that
The Farmer's, where he ploughed and sowed,
Grew corn for barn and grapes for vat.

Which shrine he fixed, who says him nay?—

A-facing with its picture-side

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Curse Christians, and so home, no doubt!

X.

Whereas, each phiz upturned beholds
Mary, I warrant, soaring brave!

And in a trice, beneath the folds

Of filthy garb which gowns each knave,