I.

    Dead ! One of t by t,

    And one of t in t by the sea.

    Dead ! bot at t

    And are ing a great song for Italy free,

    Let none look at me !

    II.

    Yet I ess only last year,

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

    But this, who is agonized here,

    -- t sea and  sea rhyme on in her head

    For ever instead.

    III.

    art can a  ? Oh, vain !

    art is s, but ing

    iteet the pain ?

    A ! you rong as you pressed,

    And I proud, by t test.

    IV.

    arts for a o hold on her knees

    Boto feel all t,

    Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees

    And broider t little coat ;

    to dream and to doat.

    V.

    to teac stings them indeed

    Speak plain try. I taug,

    t a countrys a t need.

    I prated of liberty, rig

    tyrant cast out.

    VI.

    And wiful eyes ! ...

    I exulted ; nay, let t the wheels

    Of t. But the surprise

    s quite alone ! then one kneels !

    God, he house feels !

    VII.

    At first, ters moiled

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

    to be spoiled

    In return would fan off every fly from my brow

    itheir green laurel-bough.

    VIII.

    triump turin : `Ancona was free !

    73

    And some one came out of treet,

    itone, to say someto me.

    My Guido  ,

    reet.

    IX.

    I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grie