t lies:
Italy, utter one word, and the olive and vine will allure not,--
Wilderness, forest, and snow will not the passage impede;
Italy, unto thy cities receding, the clue to recover,
Hither, recovered the clue, shall not the traveller haste?
V.
There is a city, upbuilt on the quays of the turbulent Arno,
Under Fiesole's heights,--thither are we to return?
There is a city that fringes the curve of the inflowing waters,
Under the perilous hill fringes the beautiful bay,--
Parthenope do they call thee?--the Siren, Neapolis, seated
Under Vesevus's hill,--thither are we to proceed?--
Sicily, Greece, will invite, and the Orient;--or are we to turn to
England, which may after all be for its children the best?
I.--MARY TREVELLYN, _at Lucerne_, TO MISS ROPER, _at Florence_.
So you are really free, and living in quiet at Florence;
That is delightful news;--you travelled slowly and safely;
Mr. Claude got you out; took rooms at Florence before you;
Wrote from Milan to say so; had left directly for Milan,
Hoping to find us soon;--_if he could, he would, you are
certain._--
Dear Miss Roper, your letter has made me exceedingly happy.
You are quite sure, you say, he asked you about our intentions;
You had not heard of Lucerne as yet, but told him of Como.--
Well, perhaps he will come;--however, I will not expect it.
Though you say you are sure,--if he can, he will, _you are
certain._
O my dear, many thanks from your ever affectionate Mary.
II.--CLAUDE TO EUSTACE.
Florence.
_Action will furnish belief,_--but will that belief be the true
one?
This is the point, you know. However, it doesn't much matter
What one wants, I suppose, is to predetermine the action,
So as to make it entail, not a chance-belief, but the true one.
_Out of the question,_ you say, _if a thing isn't wrong, we
may do it._
Ah! but this wrong, you see;--but I do not know that it matters.
Eustace, the Ropers are gone, and no one can tell me about them.
Pisa.
Pisa, they say they think; and so I follow to Pisa,
Hither and thither inquiring. I weary of making inquiries;
I am ashamed, I declare, of asking people about it.--
Who are your friends? You said you had friends who would certainly
know them.
Florence.
But it is idle, moping, and thinking, and trying to fix her
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