To crown the issue with a last reward!

165 A good time, was it not, my kingly days? And had you not grown restless

know

but I

'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my instinct said; Too live the life grew, golden and not gray,

And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 170 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world.

How could it end in any other way?

You called me, and I came home to your heart.
The triumph was, to have ended there; then, if
I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost?

175 Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold,

You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine!
"Rafael did this, Andrea painted that;
The Roman's is the better when you pray,
But still the other's Virgin was his wife”.
180 Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge
Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows
My better fortune, I resolve to think.

For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives,
Said one day Agnolo, his very self,

Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see,

Too lifted up in heart because of it)

"Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub 190 Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, Who, were he set to plan and execute

As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings, Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!" To Rafael's!-And indeed the arm is wrong. 195 I hardly dare . . yet, only you to see,

Give the chalk here quick, thus the line should

go!

Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, (What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? 200 Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance, so lost,— Is, whether you're not grateful-but

pleased.

Well, let me think so.

This hour has been an hour!

more

And you smile indeed! Another smile? 205 If you would sit thus by me every night I should work better, do you comprehend? I mean that I should earn more, give you more. See, it is settled dusk now; there's a star;

Morello's gone, the watch-lights show the wall, 210 The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. Come from the window, Love, come in, at last, Inside the melancholy little house

We built to be so gay with. God is just. King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights 215 When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, The walls become illumined, brick by brick Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold, That gold of his I did cement them with! Let us but love each other. Must you go? 220 That Cousin here again? he waits outside? Must see you-you, and not with me? Those loans?

More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart 225 Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth? I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit

The gray remainder of the evening out,

Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly

How I could paint, were I but back in France,

230 One picture, just one more—the Virgin's face,
Not yours this time! I want you at my side
To hear them—that is, Michel Agnolo-
Judge all I do and tell you of its worth.
Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend.
235 I take the subjects for his corridor,

Finish the portrait out of hand—there, there,
And throw him in another thing or two
If he demurs; the whole should prove enough
To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside,
240 What's better and what's all I care about,

Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff!

Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does

he,

The Cousin! what does he to please you more?

I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. 245 I regret little, I would change still less. Since there my past life lies, why alter it? The very wrong to Francis!—it is true

I took his coin, was tempted and complied, And built this house and sinned, and all is said. 250 My father and my mother died of want. Well, had I riches of my own? you see

How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died:

And I have labored somewhat in my time

255 And not been paid profusely. Some good son Paint my two hundred pictures-let him try! No doubt, there's something strikes a balance.

Yes,

You love me quite enough, it seems to-night.
This must suffice me here. What would one

have?

260 In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance

Four great walls in the New Jerusalem
Meted on each side by the angel's reed,
For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me

To cover the three first without a wife,
265 While I have mine! So-still they overcome
Because there's still Lucrezia,-as I choose.

Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.

PROSPICE

(From Dramatis Persona, 1864)

Fear death?-to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,

5 The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe;

10

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
Yet the strong man must go;

For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall,

Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be
gained,

The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so-one fight more,

The best and the last!

15 I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore,

20

And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my

peers,

The heroes of old,

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears
Of pain, darkness and cold.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
The black minute's at end,

And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,

25 Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,

Then a light, then thy breast,

O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest!

RABBI BEN EZRA

(From the same)

I.

Grow old along with me!

The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand

5 Who saith, "A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"

II.

Not that, amassing flowers,

Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours,
Which lily leave and then as best recall?”

10 Not that, admiring stars,

It yearned, "Nor Jove, nor Mars;

Mine be some figured flame which blends, transscends them all!"

III.

Not for such hopes and fears

Annulling youth's brief years,