e, or drives me from the place:
I look thee in the face.

I love thee! it is understood,
Confest: I do not shrink or start:
No blushes: all my body's blood
Has gone to greaten this poor heart,
That, loving, we may part.

Our Italy invokes the youth
To die if need be. Still there's room,
Though earth is strained with dead, in truth.
Since twice the lilies were in bloom
They had not grudged a tomb.

And many a plighted maid and wife
And mother, who can say since then
"My country," cannot say through life
"My son," "my spouse," "my flower of men,"
And not weep dumb again.

Heroic males the country bears,
But daughters give up more than sons.
Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares
You flash your souls out with the guns,
And take your heaven at once!

But we,--we empty heart and home
Of life's life, love! we bear to think
You're gone,... to feel you may not come,...
To hear the door-latch stir and clink
Yet no more you,... nor sink.

Dear God! when Italy is one
And perfected from bound to bound,...
Suppose (for my share) earth's undone
By one grave in't! as one small wound
May kill a man, 'tis found!

What then? If love's delight must end,
At least we'll clear its truth from flaws.
I love thee, love thee, sweetest friend!
Now take my sweetest without pause,
To help the nation's cause.

And thus of noble Italy
We'll both be worthy. Let her show
The future how we made her free,
Not sparing life, nor Giulio,
Nor this ... this heart-break. Go!

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

* * * * *

AMERICA

O mother of a mighty race,
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace!
The elder dames, thy haughty peers,
Admire and hate thy blooming years;
With words of shame
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread
That tints thy morning hills with red;
Thy step,--the wild deer's rustling feet
Within thy woods are not more fleet;
Thy hopeful eye
Is bright as thine own sunny sky.

Ay, let them rail, those haughty ones,
While safe thou dwellest with thy sons.
They do not know how loved thou art,
How many a fond and fearless heart
Would rise to throw
Its life between thee and the foe.

They know not, in their hate and pride,
What virtues with thy children bi