LXXX. MOTHER AND POET. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. Dead! one of them shot by the sea in the east, Yet I was a poetess only last year, And good at my art, for a woman, men said, But this woman, this, who is agonized here, Both darlings! to feel all their arms round her throat And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat; To teach them. It stings there. I made them, indeed, I prated of liberty, rights, and about The tyrant turned out. And when their eyes flashed -O my beautiful eyes!— I exulted! Nay, let them go forth at the wheels Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise Then one weeps, then one kneels! - God! how the house feels! At first happy news came, in gay letters moiled Then was triumph at Turin, " Ancona was free," 229 230 I bore it! friends soothed me; my grief looked sublime To be leant on, and walked with, recalling the time And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong, Writ now but in one hand. I was not to faint. One loved me for two- would be with me ere long: And "Viva Italia" he died for, our saint, was imprest My Nanni would add he was safe, and aware "Shot. On which without pause up the telegraph line, Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with heaven, O Christ of the seven wounds, who look dst through the dark How we common mothers stand desolate, mark, Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, Both boys dead! but that's out of nature. We all Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. 'Twere imbecile hewing out roads to a wall. And, when Italy's made, for what end is it done If we have not a son? Ah! ah! ah! when Gaeta's taken, what then? When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport Of the fire-balls of death, crashing souls out of men, When the guns of Cavalli with final retort Have cut the game short, When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee, What then? Do not mock me. And burn your lights faintly. and red, Ah! ring your bells low, My country is there, Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow; Dead! one of them shot by the sea in the east, LXXXI. DEACON STOKES. THOMAS QUILP. 1. There is something very curious in the manner In which you can twist words into rhymes, Single and double; To see how one thing with another chimes; 2. Suppose we try it now; one Asa Stokes, One of those men whom every thing provokes, A surly-tempered, evil minded, bearish, Ill-natured kind of being; He was the deacon of the parish, And had the overseeing Of some small matters, such as the ringing Of the church-bell, and took the lead in singing. 3. Well, Deacon Stokes had gone to bed, one night, About eleven or before, 'T was in December, if my memory's right, in '24. 'Twas cold enough to make a Russian shiver; Colder than this,-in faith it was a blue one! A real Lapland night. Oh dear! how cold 't was! 4. There was a chap about there named Ezekiel, 1 clever, good-for-nothing fellow, Who very often used to get quite mellow Of whom the Deacon always used to speak ill; For he was fond of cracking jokes On Deacon Stokes, to show on What terms he stood among the women folks, and so on. 5. It came to pass that on the night I speak of, Ezekiel left the tavern bar-room, where He spent the evening, for the sake of Of the merry-making and enjoyment Of some good fellows there, whose sole employment By early candle light, to get together Reading the papers, smoking pipes and chewing, 6, Pretty well corned, and up to any thing, With a light heart-much lighter than a feather With a light soul that spurned the freezing weather, And with a head ten times as light as either; And a purse, perhaps, as light as all together, On went Ezekiel, with a great expansion Of thought, until he brought Up at a post before the Deacon's mansion. 7. With one arm around the post, awhile he stood In thoughtful mood, with one eye turned Up toward the window where, with feeble glare, Then with a serious face, and a grave, mysterious Shake of the head, Ezekiel said (His right eye once more thrown upon the beacon That from the window shone,) "I'll start the Deacon!" 8. Rap, rap, rap, rap, went Deacon Stokes' knocker. But no one stirred; rap, rap, it went again; By George, it must be after ten, or They must take an early hour for turning in." 1 Rap, rap, rap, rap, 9. The Deacon.then began to be alarmed, And in amazement threw up the casement; And with cap on head, of fiery red, Demanded what the cause was of the riot, 64 IO. Quite cool this evening, Deacon Stokes," replied The voice below. "Well, sir, what is the matter?" Quite chilly, Deacon: how your teeth do chatter!" "You vagabond, a pretty time you have chosen " To show your wit; for I am almost frozen; Be off or I will put the lash on!" 'Why bless you, Deacon, do n't be in a passion!" 'T was all in vain to speak again, For with the Deacon's threat about the lash, 11. Rap, rap, rap, rap, the knocker went again, 12. "Very cold weather, Deacon Stokes, to-night!" 'Begone, you vile, insolent dog, or I'll Give you a warming that shall serve you right; You villain, it is time to end the hoax!" "Why bless your soul and body, Deacon Stokes, Don't be so cross when I've come here, in this severe Night, which is cold enough to kill a horse, For your advice upon a very difficult and nice Question. Now, bless you, do make haste and dress you." 13. "Well, well, out with it, if it must be so; Be quick about it, I'm very cold." "Well, Deacon, I don't doubt it, In a few words the matter can be told. Deacon the case is this: I want to know If this cold weather lasts all summer here, What time will green peas come along next year?" 233 |