V.

XX.

Let none look at me !

When the man-child is born.

But this woman, this, who is agonized here,

At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled

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

When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained

To the height he had gained.

And no last word to say !

In return would fan off every fly from my brow

To dream and to doat.

X.

VIII.

Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees

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

IX.

74

The tyrant cast out.

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

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

73

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

(And I have my Dead) --

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

As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained

I pwww.99lib.netrated of liberty, rights, and about

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

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

III.

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

XII.

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

VI.

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

Have cut the game short ?

When King Victor has Italys crown on his head,

XVI.

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

And how twas impossible, quite dispossessed,

Ancona and Gaeta.]

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

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

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

To disfranchise despair !

XIV.

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

On which, without pause, up the teleg九九藏书raph line

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

IV.

Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast

What art is she good at, but hurting her breast

Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall ;

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

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

You want a great song for your Italy free,

When the guns of Cavalli with final retort

When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport

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

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

For ever instead.

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

Through THAT Love and Sorrow which reconciled so

Let none look at me !

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

How we common mothers stand 九-九-藏-书-网desolate, mark,

My Italy s THERE, with my brave civic Pair,

Who forbids our complaint."

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

While they cheered in the street.

When you have your country from mountain to sea,

XI.

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

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

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

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

The Above and Below.

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

XIII.

They drop earths affections, conceive not of woe ?

Yet I was a poetess only last year,

Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength,

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

And some one came out99lib•net of the cheers in the street,

With their green laurel-bough.

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

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

You think Guido forgot ?

And broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ;

And burn your lights faintly ! My country is there,

XVII.

To live on for the rest."

XIX.

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

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

Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow :

XVIII.

And are wanting a great song for Italy free,

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

Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven,

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

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

When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee,

God, how the house feels !

9９ｌiｂ•nｅtOf the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise

If we have not a son ?

Then was triumph at Turin : `Ancona was free !

I.

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

And I proud, by that test.

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

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

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

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

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

I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven

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

To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time

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

VII.

II.

XV.

What arts for a woman ? To hold on her knees

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