Nor that revel mirth is making
In her bosom, soon to cease.

No! but in that mingled feeling,
There's a depth which baffles both,

Just as if a God were sealing

On that brow a lover's oath.

August 26, 1859.

TO NAPOLEON. THE ITALIAN DUCHIES.

Better not helped at all, than now
The work you've done, undo;
If so, you will forswear your vow,
When you your weapon drew.

Leave them alone,-this all the boon,
This all the boon they ask,
Freedom of will to work, then soon
They will complete their task.

Let England's press be loud to tell,
A warning and in time;
And the conspirators compel
To hasten from the crime.

Let England's people too unite,

The trespass to prevent,

And help the cause of truth and right,
Against the bad intent.

For England knows what freedom's worth,

Its cost in wealth and blood,

A precious jewel in the earth,
For every people good.

Be it her righteous mission then,
To help the sacred cause,
Which gives to the Italian Men,
Arts, sciences, and laws.

August 27, 1859.

WAR.

War is the game of Kings,
Crowns are the stakes to win,
The pawns are living things,
Arranged upon the plain.

Those pawns the players pass
About the dusty field;

Mass rolling still on mass,
Till one or other yield.

As move on move is made,

Check to that King or this,

From many a glittering blade,

Which ne'er its stroke doth miss.

'Tis hard to tell the odds,

Before the game begins,

By favour of the Gods,

Or else by skill he wins.

Best as in days of yore,

When Chief with Chief engaged,

And on his foeman bore,

And single combat waged.

Alas in days we live,

Too civilised for this,

Our lives to death we give,

And court the mortal bliss.

August, 1859.

ON READING IN THE CONSTITUTIONEL THAT NAPOLEON WOULD NOT PERMIT AN ARMED INTERVENTION TO RESTORE THE ITALIAN DUKES.

The days are back returning,
The goodly days of yore,
When science, arts, and learning,
A precious harvest bore.

When poetry and sculpture,
And painting too did thrive,
Before the Austrian vulture,
The whole away did drive.

When Genoa's ships were bearing
The commerce of the world;
With seamen bold and daring,
With banners brave unfurled.

When Venice was commanding,
The Adriatic waves,

And on her Isles were landing

Free men, not crouching slaves.

When verse to music married,
A glorious offspring bore,

The prize when Dante carried,
Laurels when Tasso wore.

When Ariosto chanted

His song of noble rhyme,
And young Italians panted
To match his verse sublime.

Back are those days returning,
Those glorious days of yore,
For which we all are burning,
And striving to restore.

Napoleon hath spoken,

"Let Italy be free,"

With joy we hail the token,
The pledge of liberty.

August 31, 1859.

THE AMNESTY GRANTED BY THE FRENCH

EMPEROR,

TO NAPOLEON.

'Tis nobly done, to pardon who hath learned, A triumph's won, a noble victory carned.