Was intimated to Onofrio, all

Man could do-that did he to save himself.
'Twas much, the having gained for his defense
The Advocate o' the Poor, with natural help
Of many noble friendly persons fain
To disengage a man of family,

So young too, from his grim entanglement.
But Cardinal Aldobrandini ruled

There must be no diversion of the law.

Justice is justice, and the magistrate

Bears not the sword in vain. Who sins must die.

So, the Marchese had his head cut off
In place Saint Angelo beside the Bridge,
With Rome to see, a concourse infinite;
Where magnanimity demonstrating

Adequate to his birth and breed,— poor boy!—
He made the people the accustomed speech,
Exhorted them to true faith, honest works,
And special good behavior as regards
A parent of no matter what the sex,
Bidding each son take warning from himself.
Truly it was considered in the boy
Stark staring lunacy, no less, to snap
So plain a bait, be hooked and hauled ashore
By such an angler as the Cardinal!
Why make confession of his privity

To Paolo's enterprise? Mere sealing lips

Or, better, saying, “When I counseled him

'To do as might beseem a cavalier,'

What could I mean but, Hide our parent's shame As Christian ought, by aid of Holy Church!

Bury it in a convent—ay, beneath

Enough dotation to prevent its ghost

From troubling earth!'" Mere saying thus,-'tis plain,

Not only were his life the recompense,

But he had manifestly proved himself

True Christian, and in lieu of punishment

Been praised of all men !-So the populace.

Anyhow, when the Pope made promise good (That of Aldobrandini, near and dear) And gave Taverna, who had toiled so much, A cardinal's equipment, some such word As this from mouth to ear went saucily: “Taverna's cap is dyed in what he drew From Santa Croce's veins!" So joked the world.

I add: Onofrio left one child behind,
A daughter named Valeria, dowered with grace
Abundantly of soul and body, doomed

To life the shorter for her father's fate.
By death of her, the Marquisate returned

To that Orsini House from whence it came :
Oriolo having passed as donative

To Santa Croce from their ancestors.

And no word more? By all means! Would you know

The authoritative answer, when folks urged

“What made Aldobrandini, hound-like stanch,

Hunt out of life a harmless simpleton ?"

The answer was-" Hatred implacable,
By reason they were rivals in their love."
The Cardinal's desire was to a dame

Whose favor was Onofrio's. Pricked with pride,
The simpleton must ostentatiously

Display a ring, the Cardinal's love-gift,

Given to Onofrio as the lady's gage;

Which ring on finger, as he put forth hand

To draw a tapestry, the Cardinal

Saw and knew, gift and owner, old and young;
Whereon a fury entered him-the fire

He quenched with what could quench fire only--blood.
Nay, more: there want not who affirm to boot,

The unwise boy, a certain festal eve,

Feigned ignorance of who the wight might be
That pressed too closely on him with a crowd.
He struck the Cardinal a blow and then,

To put a face upon the incident,

Dared next day, smug as ever, go pay court

I' the Cardinal's antechamber. Mark and mend,
Ye youth, by this example how may greed
Vainglorious operate in worldly souls!"

So ends the chronicler, beginning with
"God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance,
Rests never till it reach delinquency."

Ay, or how otherwise had come to pass
That Victor rules, this present year, in Rome?

PORPHYRIA'S LOVER.

I.

THE rain set early in to-night,

The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,

And did its worst to vex the lake, I listened with heart fit to break.

II.

When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled, and made the cheerless
grate

Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form

III.

Withdrew the dripping cloak and
shawl,

And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me.
When no voice re-

plied,

IV.

She put my arm about her waist,

And made her smooth white shoulder

bare,

And all her yellow hair displaced,

And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread o'er all her yellow hair,

V.

Murmuring how she loved me-she

Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,

To set its struggling passion free

From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.

VI.

But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain

A sudden thought of one so pale

For love of her, and all in vain :
So she was come through wind and rain.

VII.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes

Happy and proud: at last I knew Porphyria worshiped me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do,

VIII.

That moment she was mine, mine fair,
Perfectly pure and good: 1 found
A thing to do, and all her hair

In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,

IX.

And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,

I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

X.

And I untightened next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before.
Only, this time my shoulder bore

XI.

Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!

XII.

Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now.

And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

FILIPPO BALDINUCCI ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL.

A Reminiscence of A.D. 1676.

I.

No, boy, we must not (so began

My Uncle-he's with God long since-
A-petting me, the good old man!)

We must not (and he seemed to wince,
And lose that laugh whereto had grown
His chuckle at my piece of news,
How cleverly I aimed my stone)
I fear we must not pelt the Jews!

II.

When I was young indeed,-ah, faith
Was young and strong in Florence too!
We Christians never dreamed of scathe
Because we cursed or kicked the crew.
But now--well, well! The olive-crops
Weighed double then, and Arno's pranks
Would always spare religious shops
Whenever he o'erflowed his banks!

III.

I'll tell you (and his eye regained
Its twinkle) tell you something choice!
Something may help you keep unstained
Your honest zeal to stop the voice
Of unbelief with stone-throw-spite
Of laws, which modern fools enact,
That we must suffer Jews in sight
Go wholly unmolested! Fact!

IV.

There was, then, in my youth, and yet
Is, by San Frediano, just
Below the Blessed Olivet,

A wayside ground wherein they thrust
Their dead, these Jews,-the more our shame!
Except that, so they will but die,

We may perchance incur no blame
In giving hogs a hoist to stye.

V.

There, anyhow, Jews stow away

Their dead; and,—such their insolence,

Slink at odd times to sing and pray

As Christians do-all make-pretense!

Which wickedness they perpetrate

Because they think no Christians see.

They reckoned here, at any rate,
Without their host: ha, ha, he, he!

VI.

For, what should join their plot of ground
But a good Farmer's Christian field?
The Jews had hedged their corner round
With bramble-bush to keep concealed
Their doings for the public road

Ran betwixt this their ground and that