"Thine too is the cause! and not more thine "Than ours, is the work of these dogs and swine, "Whose life laughs through and spits at their creed, "Who maintain thee in word, and defy thee in deed!

XVIII.

"We withstood Christ then? Be mindful how "At least we withstand Barabbas now!

"Was our outrage sore? But the worst we spared,
"To have called these-Christians, had we dared!
"Let defiance to them pay mistrust of thee,
"And Rome make amends for Calvary!

XIX.

"By the torture, prolonged from age to age,
"By the infamy, Israel's heritage,

"By the Ghetto's plague, by the garb's disgrace,
"By the badge of shame, by the felon's place,
"By the branding-tool, the bloody whip,
"And the summons to Christian fellowship,—

XX.

"We boast our proof that at least the Jew
"Would wrest Christ's name from the Devil's crew.
"Thy face took never so deep a shade
"But we fought them in it, God our aid!
"A trophy to bear, as we march, thy band
"South, East, and on to the Pleasant Land!"

[The present Pope abolished this bad business of the Sermon.-R. B.]

PROTUS.

AMONG these latter busts we count by scores,
Half-emperors and quarter-emperors,
Each with his bay-leaf fillet, loose-thonged vest,
Loric and low-browed Gorgon on the breast,—
One loves a baby face, with violets there,
Violets instead of laurel in the hair,
As those were all the little locks could bear.

Now read here.

"Protus ends a period

"Of empery beginning with a god; "Born in the porphyry chamber at Byzant, "Queens by his cradle, proud and ministrant: "And if he quickened breath there, 't would like fire "Pantingly through the dim vast realm transpire. "A fame that he was missing, spread afar: "The world, from its four corners, rose in war, "Till he was borne out on a balcony "To pacify the world when it should see. "Of captains ranged before him, one, his hand "Made baby points at, gained the chief command. "And day by day more beautiful he grew "In shape, all said, in feature and in hue, "While young Greek sculptors gazing on the child "Became, with old Greek sculpture, reconciled.

Already sages laboured to condense

"In easy tones a life's experience:

"And artists took grave counsel to impart "In one breath and one hand-sweep, all their art

"To make his graces prompt as blossoming "Of plentifully-watered palms in spring: "Since well beseems it, whoso mounts the throne, "For beauty, knowledge, strength, should stand alone, "And mortals love the letters of his name."

-Stop! Have you turned two pages? Still the same. New reign, same date. The scribe goes on to say How that same year, on such a month and day, "John the Pannonian, groundedly believed "A blacksmith's bastard, whose hard hand reprieved "The Empire from its fate the year before,— "Came, had a mind to take the crown, and wore "The same for six years, (during which the Huns "Kept off their fingers from us) till his sons "Put something in his liquor"-and so forth. Then a new reign. Stay-"Take at its just worth" (Subjoins an annotator) "What I give

"As hearsay. Some think, John let Protus live "And slip away. 'T is said, he reached man's age "At some blind northern court; made, first a page, "Then tutor to the children; last, of use

"About the hunting-stables. I deduce

"He wrote the little tract 'On worming dogs,'
"Whereof the name in sundry catalogues
"Is extant yet. A Protus of the race

"Is rumoured to have died a monk in Thrace,— "And, if the same, he reached senility."

Here's John the Smith's rough-hammered head. Great eye,

Gross jaw and griped lips do what granite can
To give you the crown-grasper. What a man!

THE STATUE AND THE BUST.

THERE'S a palace in Florence, the world knows well,
And a statue watches it from the square,
And this story of both do our townsmen tell.

Ages ago, a lady there,

At the farthest window facing the East
Asked, "Who rides by with the royal air?"

The bridesmaids' prattle around her ceased;
She leaned forth, one on either hand;
They saw how the blush of the bride increased-

They felt by its beats her heart expand-
As one at each ear and both in a breath
Whispered, "The Great-Duke Ferdinand."

That self-same instant, underneath,
The Duke rode past in his idle way,
Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.

Gay he rode, with a friend as gay,
Till he threw his head back-"Who is she?"
"A bride the Riccardi brings home to-day."

Robert Browning. III.

20

Hair in heaps lay heavily
Over a pale brow spirit-pure-
Carved like the heart of the coal-black tree,

Crisped like a war-steed's encolure-
And vainly sought to dissemble her eyes
Of the blackest black our eyes endure.

And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise
Filled the fine empty sheath of a man,—
The Duke grew straightway brave and wise.

He looked at her, as a lover can;
She looked at him, as one who awakes:
The past was a sleep, and her life began.

Now, love so ordered for both their sakes,
A feast was held that selfsame night
In the pile which the mighty shadow makes.

(For Via Larga is three-parts light,

But the palace overshadows one,
Because of a crime which may God requite!

To Florence and God the wrong was done,
Through the first republic's murder there
By Cosimo and his cursed son.)

The Duke (with the statue's face in the square) Turned in the midst of his multitude

At the bright approach of the bridal pair.