THE FIG-TREES OF GHERARDESCA.
Ye brave old fig-trees! worthy pair!
Beneath whose shade I often lay
To breathe awhile a cooler air,
And shield me from the darts of day.
Strangers have visited the spot,
Led thither by my parting song;
Alas! the strangers found you not,
And curst the poet's lying tongue.
Vanisht each venerable head,
Nor bough nor leaf could tell them where
To look for you, alive or dead;
Unheeded was my distant prayer.*
I might have hoped (if hope had ever
Been mine) that storm or time alone
Your firm alliance would dissever. .
Hath mortal hand your strength o'erthrown?
Before an axe had bitten thro'
The bleeding bark, some tender thought,
If not for me, at least for you,
On younger bosoms might have wrought.
Age after age your honeyed fruit
From boys unseen thro' foliage fell
On lifted apron; now is mute
The girlish glee! Old friends, farewell!
CROMWELL IN COUNCIL.
Prelates and Judges! Privy-Councillors!
In virtue of my office I besought
Ye were taught obedience,
And ye should teach it, if so be ye learnt
Your lesson ere ye thrust it into hands
Under your ferule, smarting from it yet.
What is that word I caught from yonder corner? Jabber no longer. Talk to me of laws!
* Et ficus maneant duo,
Semper religiosius
Servandæ, umbriferum caput
Conquassante senecta.
Laws there are thousands; Justice there is one,
One only. God created her, well pleas'd
With his creation. Men like you can make,
And do make, year by year and day by day,
What ᎩᎾ call laws. Laws thrust down Eliot
Into Death's chamber, agonized with blows
Of ponderous damp incessant. Better men
Than you or I are doom'd if one escape.
But, by the Lord above! whose holy name
I utter not profanely, by the Lord!
That one shall not escape. God's signature
I bear, and I affix it on the blood
Of those brave hearts that bounded at Dunbar.
(The Prelates and Judges &c. go.)
Conduct them tenderly;
Draw up the gloves for it, thy softest pair.
Ireton! thou hast not gliber speech than I,
But tell those cravats, frills, and furbelows,
Those curl'd purveyors to the Unicorn,
A bushel of such heads, priced honestly,
Is not worth one grey hair of Eliot
Pluckt by the torturer Grief, untoucht by Time.
Givers of laws, forsooth!
The feast is over
Which they got drunk at, striking right and left
Until their shins and shoulders fared the worst.
Troth! I can scarce be grave in looking at them;
They have now done their work, let us do ours.
We, tho' unworthy of a sight so grand,
Shall see God strike the throne: they who again
So sin, shall see Him raise it in His wrath.
The snows have fallen since my eyes were closed
Upon thy downs and pine-woods, genial Bath!
In whose soft bosom my young head reposed,
Whose willing hand shed flowers throughout my path.
The snows have fallen on more heads than mine,
Alas! on few with heavier cares opprest.
My early wreath of love didst thou entwine,
Wilt thou entwine one for my last long rest?
My little kid! if I forbid
Your visit to my tender trees,
Take it not ill, nor vainly fill
With hoarse lament the mountain breeze.
Your father there with hoary hair
And there your gentler mother stands;
I sadly fear their coming near
My quiet nook on lower lands.
Let poet rest his throbbing breast
In the lone woodland's cool retreat;
Let higher state the goat await
Who scorns alike the wind and heat,
For you alone, my little one,
I spread behind the stable door
The softest straw you ever saw.
Against the lintel more and more
You may bring out the horns that sprout
So ruddily, and polish each.
A shining brook runs near
Affrighted.. what a thoughtless speech!
So here I find on kiddish mind
Traditionary lore instil'd.
Tho' fairly bookt, Nymph might have lookt
For poet's promise unfulfil'd.
But never mind; no hand shall bind
For a Bandusia such a kid.
Bound if you are, one fond and fair
Shall bind you in fresh flowers half-hid.
My groves delight by day and night
To hear her name: this makes them still.
Should she have prest to yours her breast
A little hard, don't take it ill.
Her cheek tho' warm will do no harm
To the cool nostril she may kiss.
We all must bear things as they are.
Now one word more . . and it is this.
As you grow old grow not too bold,
Learn modesty, nor ramp nor roam.
Lest blushes rise to pain her eyes
Your lady cousins must not come.
Meanwhile, though play you fairly may,
Hit not the inviting knee too hard;
For haply he afar may be
Who knows the cure, her faithful bard.
Ye native gems of beauty! golden hairs
Once mingled with my own,
While soft desires, ah me! were all the cares
Two idle hearts had known.
How is it that I take ye from the shrine
Which holds one treasure yet,
That ye, now all of Nancy that is mine,
Shrink from my fond regret?
Ye leaves that droopt not with the plant that bore ye,
Start ye before my breath?
Shrink ye from fonder Love that would adore ye,
0 ye who fear not Death?
My serious son! I see thee look
First at the picture, then the book.
I catch the wish that thou couldst paint
The yearnings of the ecstatic saint.
Give it not up, my serious son!
Wish it again and it is done.
Seldom will any fail who tries
With patient hand and earnest eyes
And wooes the Arts with such pure sighs.
Julius! how many hours have we
Together spent with sages old!
In wisdom none surpassing thee,
In Truth's bright armour none more bold.
By friends around thy couch in death
My name from those pure lips was heard.
O Fame! how feebler all thy breath
Than Virtue's one expiring word!
TO THE CHILDREN OF GARIBALDI.
Children! be not too proud, altho' the man
Whom Ocean smiles on with parental love,
And Earth from every coast with loud applause
Hails a deliverer, children, is your sire.
O what vast empire have ye to defend!
A name so high, so inaccessible,
Virtues so pure and courage so humane,
All are your heritage: by liveried serfs
On right and left will these be long assail'd:
March ever onward, but march watchfully,
Follow his steps and ye are safe; depart
One furlong from them and ye sink beneath
The vilest head that ever dozed on throne
Or ever bow'd to it: be true to Faith,
Not Faith recumbent upon downy lies,
But Faith that grasps the hand of Providence
And Justice, in this darkened world of ours,
And bends to One above, to none below.
Now thou hast left this friendly shore,
And civic shouts are heard no more,
Crisping afar the pliant wave
That bore the beauteous with the brave.
Aloof from others here I stand
Erect upon my native land.
Napoleon! never came I near
The courtly train while thou wert here,
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