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

EACH OTHER.

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 happy, happy, pair! to the last breath
United, and not parted even by death.

PRIMIERO in the Italian TYROL, July 29, 1854.

"How happens it that no one with his lot
Conténted 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 better thinks his neighbour's lot
And worse his own, because each one the goods
Seés of his neighbour's lot, feels not the pains;
Whilst of his own lot éach one feels the pains
And, blind as any bat, sees not the goods."

PRIMIERO in the Italian TYROL, July 30, 1854.

THE GATES OF SLEEP.

THERE ȧre two gates of Sleep, the poet says;
Of pólished ivory one, of horn the other;
But Í, 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 daring Enterprize and Selfreliance.

The second gate is wreathed, sideposts and lintel,
With odorous trailing hop, and poppystalks;

The shadowy gateway paved with poppyheads.

And there, all day and night, keeps watch sick Fancy
Haggard and trémbling, and delirium wild,
And Impotence with drunken glistening eye,
And Ídiotey, and, in the background, Death.

The third gate is of lead, and thére sits ever
Húmming her tedious tune Monotony,

Tired of herself; about her on the ground

Sérmons and psalms and hymns lie numerous strewed,

To the same import all, and all almost
Ín 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,

Óneness of laws and customs, arts and manners,

And, Sélfdevelopment's unrelenting foe,

Céntralisation; 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.

DEATH'S BRIDE.

"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 clasped 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, sómething for me write, Sir."

"What, Lady, shall I write?"

"The first thought in your head comes
That's beautiful and bright."

“Nay, nảy; I vow I cánnot,
I cannot óne word write,
I'm dázzled by those eyes so,
The beautiful and bright."

INSCRIPTION FOR THE ALBUM IN WHICH LA BARONESSA KITTY FIORIO SKETCHED THE LIKENESSES OF HER FRIENDS.

Thése of my friends are sketches

Which don't pretend to art;

I have their perfect portraits,

But they're locked up in my heart.
KITTY FIORIO.

WRITTEN UNDER THE PRECEDING.

I always knew my sister

Was an adept in her art,
But I never until nów knew
She hád a hollow heart.

SOFIA FIORIO.

SAN GIACOMO, near RIVA on the LAGO DI GARDA, Aug. 25, 1854.

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 éver gó;

Só the world hath éver góne

Since the sún the world shone ón;
If with mé thou thinkest só,
Cóme and cry with mé, Heigh hó!
VILSHOFEN in BAVARIA, June 25, 1854.

HE SHE AND IT.

Ir 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 brown and muscular, wise and bold;

The sécond 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 one at night in separate bed,
The first thus to the second said: