Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 1.djvu/377

1858.] :When loose as buffaloes on the wild Campagna
 * We roved and dined on crust and curds,
 * Olives, thin wine, and thinner birds,
 * And woke the echoes of divine Romagna;
 * And then returning late,
 * After long knocking at the Lateran gate,
 * Suppers and nights of gods; and then
 * Mornings that made us new-born men;
 * Rare nights at the Minerva tavern,
 * Math Orvieto from the Cardinal’s cavern;
 * Free nights, but fearless and without reproof,—
 * For Bayard's word ruled Beppo's roof.


 * O Rome! what memories awake,
 * When Crawford's name is said,
 * Of days and friends for whose dear sake<
 * That path of Hades unto me
 * Will have no more of dread
 * Than his own Orpheus felt, seeking Eurydice!
 * O Crawford! husband, father, brother
 * Are in that name, that little word!
 * Let me no more my sorrow smother;
 * Grief stirs me, and I must be stirred.


 * O Death, thou teacher true and rough!
 * Full oft I fear that we have erred,
 * And have not loved enough;

But oh, ye friends, this side of Acheron,
 * Who cling to me to-day,

I shall not know my love till ye are gone
 * And I am gray!
 * Fair women with your loving eyes,

Old men that once my footsteps led,
 * Sweet children,—much as all I prize,

Until the sacred dust of death be shed Upon each dear and venerable head, I cannot love you as I love the dead!


 * But now, the natural man being sown,

We can more lucidly behold
 * The spiritual one;
 * For we, till time shall end,
 * Full visibly shall see our friend

In all his hand did mould,— That worn and patient hand that lies so cold!


 * When on some blessed studious day
 * To my loved Library I wend my way,
 * Amid the forms that give the Gallery grace
 * His thought in that pale poet I shall trace,—
 * Keen Orpheus with his eyes
 * Fixed deep in ruddy hell,