God, how the house feels !

When one sits quite alone ! Then one weeps, then one kneels !

Speak plain the word country. I taught them, no doubt,

XIX.

At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled

And Viva l Italia ! -- he died for, our saint,

Into wail such as this -- and we sit on forlorn

-- The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head

When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee,

Let none look at me !

With a face pale as stone, to say something to me.

As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained

II.

To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time

Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees

IV.

I.

Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall ;

Have cut the game short ?

To teach them ... It stings there ! I made them indeed

Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow :

Forgive me. ｒeａｄ.９９ｃsw.coｍSome women bear children in strength,

Writ now but in one hand, `I was not to faint, --

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

It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear,

Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away,

Both boys dead ? but thats out of nature. We all

To disfranchise despair !

Yet I was a poetess only last year,

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

The Above and Below.

Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta : -- Shot.

[This was Laura Savio, of Turin, a poetess and patriot, whose sonswere killed at

(And I have my Dead) --

And broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ;

And burn your lights faintly ! My country is there,

Let none look at me !

VII.

IX.

When you have your country from mountain to sea,

When 九_九_藏_書the man-child is born.

For ever instead.

I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven

XVII.

In return would fan off every fly from my brow

When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained

XVIII.

XV.

But this woman, this, who is agonized here,

Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast

While they cheered in the street.

What art is she good at, but hurting her breast

I exulted ; nay, let them go forth at the wheels

They both loved me ; and, soon coming home to be spoiled

Ancona and Gaeta.]

And some one came out of the cheers in the street,

Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her throat,

XI.

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

How we common mothers stand desolate, mark,

When the guns of Cavalli with finahttps://read.99csw.coml retort

O Christ of the five wounds, who lookdst through the dark

III.

If we have not a son ?

73

To live on for the rest."

And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn ;

Tell his mother. Ah, ah, ` his, ` their mother, -- not ` mine,

And one of them shot in the west by the sea.

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

Who forbids our complaint."

Then was triumph at Turin : `Ancona was free !

74

That a countrys a thing men should die for at need.

What art can a woman be good at ? Oh, vain !

When King Victor has Italys crown on his head,

You want a great song for your Italy free,

Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise

XVI.

You think Guido forgot ?

On which, without pause, up the telegraph line

Ah boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed,

XX.

X九_九_藏_書II.

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

Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,

No voice says "My mother" again to me. What !

The tyrant cast out.

X.

And when their eyes flashed ... O my beautiful eyes ! ...

XIII.

With my kisses, -- of camp-life and glory, and how

Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one.

V.

My Italy s THERE, with my brave civic Pair,

Through THAT Love and Sorrow which reconciled so

Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,

What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low,

Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast

VI.

Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven,

My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet,

VIII.

And no last word to say !

They drop earths affections, conceive not of woe ?

XIV.

What arts for a wom九_九_藏_書an ? To hold on her knees

To the face of Thy mother ! consider, I pray,

My Nanni would add, `he was safe, and aware

And I proud, by that test.

When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red,

And are wanting a great song for Italy free,

When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport

With their green laurel-bough.

But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length

And one of them shot in the west by the sea.

To the height he had gained.

Of a presence that turned off the balls, -- was imprest

To dream and to doat.

I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime

And how twas impossible, quite dispossessed,

Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaetas taken, what then ?

With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ?

I prated of liberty, rights, and about