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WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF SIGNOR ANGELO MICHELE NEGRELLI AND ELISABETHA NEGRELLI OF PRIMIERO WHO AFTER HAVING
BEEN SIXTY FOUR YEARS MARRIED, AND HAVING EACH ATTAINED NEARLY THE AGE OF NINETY, DIED IN THE YEAR 1849 WITHIN THREE DAYS OF
THEY lived through every change of wind and weather
Sixty four years, a loving pair, together;
Thén, within three days of each other, died
Ere either missed the other from the side.
Thrice háppy, happy, pair! to the last breath
United, and not parted even by death.
PRIMIERO in the Italian TYROL, July 29,
“HOW háppens it that no one with his lot
Contented lives?" Horace once asked Mecenas;
Í, for Mecenas answered not, will answer,
Meáning no harm to Horace or Mecenas:
“Nó one contented with his own lot lives,
Because each one his neighbour's lot thinks better,
And each one bétter thinks his neighbour's lot
And worse his own, because each one the goods
Sees of his neighbour's lot, feels · not the pains;
Whilst of his own lot each one feels the pains
And, blind as any bat, sees not the goods.”
PRIMIERO in the Italian TYROL, July 30, 1854.
THERE ảre two gates of Sleep, the poet says;
Of pólished ivory one, of horn the other;
But I, besides these gates, to blessed Sleep
Three other gates have found which thus I count:
First the star-spángled arch of deep midnight,
When lábor ceases, every sound is hushed,
And Náture, drowsy, nods upon her throne.
Pále-visaged Spectres round this gate keep watch,
And Fears and Horrors vain, and beyond these
Rést, balmy Sweát, and dim Forgetfulness,
Relieved, at dawn of day, by buoyant Hope,
Fresh Strength and ruddy Health and calm Composure
And dáring Enterprize and Selfreliance.
The sécond gate is wreathed, sideposts and lintel,
With ódorous trailing hop, and poppystalks ;
The shadowy gateway paved with poppyheads.
And thére, all day and night, keeps watch sick Fancy
Haggard and trembling, and delirium wild,
And Ímpotence with drunken glistening eye,
And Ídiotey, and, in the background, Death.
The third gate is of lead, and there sits ever
Húmming her tedious tune Monotony,
Tired of herself; about her on the ground
Sermons and psalms and hymns lie numerous strewed,
To the same import all, and all almost
In the same words varied in form and order
To cheát, if possible, the weary sense,
And different seem, where difference is none.
At th' opposite doorpost, on her knees, Routine
Keeps túrning over still the well-thumbed leaves
Óf the same prayerbook; reading prayers, not praying;
Behind them waiting stand Conformity
And Úniformity, Oneness of faith,
Oneness of laws and customs, arts and manners,
And, Sélfdevelopment's unrelenting foe,
Centralisation; and behind these still,
Fár in the portal's deepest gloom ensconced,
A pérfect, unimprovable Paradise
Of mére, blank nought unchangeable for ever
Thése as I count them are the Gates of Sleep.
PRIMIERO, in the Italian TYROL, July 30, 1854.
“So young! so fair! so kind! so true!
Gó, Death, she is no bride for you;
Úgly, rapácious, cruel, old,
With heart as marble hard and cold,
Gó, seek elsewhere more fitting bride."
But hé, with arms extended wide,
“Cóme!" in a voice terrific cried,
And clásped her waist; I swooned away
And when I woke, there Emma lay
Stiff, stark, and cold, in nuptial white,
Death's bride upon her bridal night. Walking from PRIMIERO to CASTEL DELLA BETTOLA, on the SCHENNER (Italian TYROL), Aug. 1, 1854.
WRITTEN IN LA BARONESSA SOFIA FIORIO'S ALBUM.
SAN GIACOMO, NEAR RIVA ON THE LAGO DI GARDA, AUG. 25, 1854.
“COME, something for me write, Sir.”
“What, Lady, shall I write?”
“The first thought in your head comes
That 's beaútiful and bright.”
friends are sketches
Which dón't pretend to art;
I have their perfect portraits,
But they 're locked up in my heart.
WRITTEN UNDER THE PRECEDING.
I álways knew my sister
Was an adept in her art,
But I never until now knew
She had a hollow heart.
San Giacomo, near Riva on the LAGO DI GARDA, Aug. 25,
WÉT and dry and hot and cold,
Light and dark and young and old,
Great and small and quick and slów,
Só the world will ever gó;
Só the world hath ever gone
Since the sun the world shone ón;
If with mé thou thinkest só,
Come and cry with mé, Heigh hó!
VILSHOFEN in BAVARIA , June 25, 1854.
It happened in a distant clime
Were travelling, once upon a time,
Through every change of wind and weather,
Jólly companions three together:
The first was neither young nor old,
But brówn and muscular, wise and bold;
The second delicate and fair,
With soft, sweet eyes, and flaxen hair;
The third was inoffensive, mild
And dócile as a well reared child,
Patient of wrong and in all ill
And hardship uncomplaining still.
As thús they travelled on and on,
Through heat and cold in shade and sun,
Each óne at night in separate bed,
The first thus to the second said: