LXXX.

MOTHER AND POET.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Dead! one of them shot by the sea in the east,
And one of them shot in the west by the sea.
Dead! both my boys! when you sit at the feast
And are wanting a great song for Italy free,
Let none look at me!

Yet I was a poetess only last year,

And good at my art, for a woman, men said,

But this woman, this, who is agonized here,
The east sea, and west sea rhyme on in her head
Forever instead!

Both darlings! to feel all their arms round her throat
Cling, strangle a little! to sew by degrees,

And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat;
To dream and to dote.

To teach them. It stings there. I made them, indeed,
Speak plain the word "country." I taught them, no doubt,
That a country's a thing men should die for at need.

I prated of liberty, rights, and about

The tyrant turned out.

And when their eyes flashed

-O my beautiful eyes!—

I exulted! Nay, let them go forth at the wheels

Of the guns, and denied not.
When one sits quite alone!

But then the surprise

Then one weeps, then one kneels!

- God! how the house feels!

At first happy news came, in gay letters moiled
With my kisses, of camp-life and glory, and how
They both loved me, and soon, coming home to be spoiled,
In return would fan off every fly from my brow
With their green laurel-bough.

Then was triumph at Turin, " Ancona was free,"
And some one came out of the cheers in the street,
With a face pale as stone, to say something to me.
"My Guido was dead!" I fell down at his feet
While they cheered in the street.

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I bore it! friends soothed me; my grief looked sublime
As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained

To be leant on, and walked with, recalling the time
When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained
To the height he had gained.

And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong,

Writ now but in one hand.

I was not to faint.

One loved me for two- would be with me ere long:

And "Viva Italia" he died for, our saint,
Who forbids our complaint.

was imprest

My Nanni would add he was safe, and aware
Of a presence that turned off the balls
It was Guido himself who knew what I could bear
And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossessed,
To live on for the rest.

"Shot.

On which without pause up the telegraph line,
Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta:
Tell his mother." Ah! ah! "his," "their" mother, not "mine."
No voice says "my mother" again to me. What!
You think Guido forgot?

Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with heaven,
They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe?
I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven
Through that love and that sorrow which reconciles so
The Above and Below.

O Christ of the seven wounds, who look dst through the dark
To the face of thy mother! consider, I pray,

How we common mothers stand desolate, mark,

Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away,
And no last word to say!

Both boys dead! but that's out of nature.

We all

Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. 'Twere imbecile hewing out roads to a wall.

And, when Italy's made, for what end is it done

If we have not a son?

Ah! ah! ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then?

When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport

Of the fire-balls of death, crashing souls out of men,

When the guns of Cavalli with final retort

Have cut the game short,

When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee,
When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green,
When you have a country from mountain to sea,
When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head,
(And I have my dead,)

What then? Do not mock me.

And burn your lights faintly.

and red,

Ah! ring your bells low,

My country is there,

Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow;
My Italy's there, with my brave civic pair,
To disfranchise despair.

Dead! one of them shot by the sea in the east,
And one of them shot in the west by the sea.
Both both my boys! If in keeping the feast
You want a great song for your Italy free,
Let none look at me.

LXXXI.

DEACON STOKES.

THOMAS QUILP.

1. There is something very curious in the manner

In which you can twist words into rhymes,

Single and double;

To see how one thing with another chimes;
That is, if you have wit enough to plan a
Story, or something else to write about
Without much trouble.

2. Suppose we try it now; one Asa Stokes, One of those men whom every thing provokes,

A surly-tempered, evil minded, bearish,

Ill-natured kind of being;

He was the deacon of the parish,

And had the overseeing

Of some small matters, such as the ringing

Of the church-bell, and took the lead in singing.

3. Well, Deacon Stokes had gone to bed, one night,

About eleven or before,

'T was in December, if my memory's right, in '24.

'Twas cold enough to make a Russian shiver;
I think I never knew one

Colder than this,-in faith it was a blue one!
As by the almanac foretold, 't was

A real Lapland night. Oh dear! how cold 't was!

4. There was a chap about there named Ezekiel, 1 clever, good-for-nothing fellow,

Who very often used to get quite mellow

Of whom the Deacon always used to speak ill;

For he was fond of cracking jokes

On Deacon Stokes, to show on

What terms he stood among the women folks, and so on.

5. It came to pass that on the night I speak of, Ezekiel left the tavern bar-room, where

He spent the evening, for the sake of
Drowning his care, by partaking

Of the merry-making and enjoyment

Of some good fellows there, whose sole employment
Was, all kinds of weather, on every night,

By early candle light, to get together

Reading the papers, smoking pipes and chewing,
Telling long yarns, and pouring down the ruin.

6, Pretty well corned, and up to any thing,
Drunk as a lord, and happy as a king,
Blue as a razor, from his midnight revel,
Nor fearing muskets, women, or the devil;

With a light heart-much lighter than a feather

With a light soul that spurned the freezing weather,

And with a head ten times as light as either;

And a purse, perhaps, as light as all together,

On went Ezekiel, with a great expansion

Of thought, until he brought

Up at a post before the Deacon's mansion.

7. With one arm around the post, awhile he stood

In thoughtful mood, with one eye turned

Up toward the window where, with feeble glare,
A candle burned;

Then with a serious face, and a grave, mysterious

Shake of the head, Ezekiel said

(His right eye once more thrown upon the beacon

That from the window shone,) "I'll start the Deacon!"

8. Rap, rap, rap, rap, went Deacon Stokes' knocker. But no one stirred; rap, rap, it went again;

By George, it must be after ten, or

They must take an early hour for turning in."

1

Rap, rap, rap, rap,
'My conscience how they keep
A fellow waiting-Patience, how they sleep!"

9. The Deacon.then began to be alarmed, And in amazement threw up the casement; And with cap on head, of fiery red,

Demanded what the cause was of the riot,
That thus disturbed his quiet.

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IO. Quite cool this evening, Deacon Stokes," replied The voice below. "Well, sir, what is the matter?"

Quite chilly, Deacon: how your teeth do chatter!"

"You vagabond, a pretty time you have chosen

"

To show your wit; for I am almost frozen;

Be off or I will put the lash on!"

'Why bless you, Deacon, do n't be in a passion!"

'T was all in vain to speak again,

For with the Deacon's threat about the lash,
Down went the sash.

11. Rap, rap, rap, rap, the knocker went again,
And neither of them was a very light rap;
Thump, thump, against the door went Ezekiel's cane,
And that once more brought Deacon Stoke's night-cap.

12. "Very cold weather, Deacon Stokes, to-night!"

'Begone, you vile, insolent dog, or I'll

Give you a warming that shall serve you right;

You villain, it is time to end the hoax!"

"Why bless your soul and body, Deacon Stokes,

Don't be so cross when I've come here, in this severe

Night, which is cold enough to kill a horse,

For your advice upon a very difficult and nice

Question. Now, bless you, do make haste and dress you."

13. "Well, well, out with it, if it must be so;

Be quick about it, I'm very cold."

"Well, Deacon, I don't doubt it,

In a few words the matter can be told.

Deacon the case is this: I want to know

If this cold weather lasts all summer here,

What time will green peas come along next year?"

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