The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 06, April, 1858. Various

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        Hang this thinking, at last! what good is it? oh, and what evil!

        Oh, what mischief and pain! like a clock in a sick man's chamber,

        Ticking and ticking, and still through each covert of slumber

             pursuing.

          What shall I do to thee, O thou Preserver of Men? Have compassion!

        Be favorable, and hear! Take from me this regal knowledge!

        Let me, contented and mute, with the beasts of the field, my brothers,

        Tranquilly, happily lie,—and eat grass, like Nebuchadnezzar!

        Tibur is beautiful, too, and the orchard slopes, and the Anio

        Falling, falling yet, to the ancient lyrical cadence;

        Tibur and Anio's tide; and cool from Lucretilis ever,

        With the Digentian stream, and with the Bandusian fountain,

        Folded in Sabine recesses, the valley and villa of Horace:—

        So not seeing I sung; so seeing and listening say I,

        Here as I sit by the stream, as I gaze at the cell of the Sibyl,

        Here with Albunea's home and the grove of Tiburnus beside me.2

        Tivoli beautiful is, and musical, O Teverone,

        Dashing from mountain to plain, thy parted impetuous waters!

        Tivoli's waters and rocks; and fair under Monte Gennaro,

        (Haunt even yet, I must think, as I wonder and gaze, of the shadows,

        Faded and pale, yet immortal, of Faunus, the Nymphs, and the Graces,)

        Fair in itself, and yet fairer with human completing creations,

        Folded in Sabine recesses the valley and villa of Horace:—

        So not seeing I sung; so now,—nor seeing, nor hearing,

        Neither by waterfall lulled, nor folded in sylvan embraces,

        Neither by cell of the Sibyl, nor stepping the Monte Gennaro,

        Seated on Anio's bank, nor sipping Bandusian waters,

        But on Montorio's height, looking down on the tile-clad streets, the

        Cupolas, crosses, and domes, the bushes and kitchen-gardens,

        Which, by the grace of the Tiber, proclaim themselves Rome of the

             Romans,—

        But on Montorio's height, looking forth to the vapory mountains,

        Cheating the prisoner Hope with illusions of vision and fancy,—

        But on Montorio's height, with these weary soldiers by me,

        Waiting till Oudinot enter, to reinstate Pope and Tourist.

        Dear Miss Roper,—It seems, George Vernon, before we left Rome, said

        Something to Mr. Claude about what they call his attentions.

        Susan, two nights ago, for the first time, heard this from Georgina.

        It is so disagreeable, and so annoying, to think of!

        If it could only be known, though we never may meet him again, that

        It was all George's doing and we were entirely unconscious,

        It would extremely relieve—Your ever affectionate Mary.

        P.S. (1).

          Here is your letter arrived this moment, just as I wanted.

        So you have seen him,—indeed,—and guessed,—how dreadfully clever!

        What did he really say? and what was your answer exactly?

        Charming!—but wait for a moment, I have not read through the letter.

        P.S. (2).

          Ah, my dearest Miss Roper, do just as you fancy about it.

        If you think it sincerer to tell him I know of it, do so.

        Though I should most extremely dislike it, I know I could manage.

        It is the simplest thing, but surely wholly uncalled for.

        Do as you please; you know I trust implicitly to you.

        Say whatever is right and needful for ending the matter.

        Only don't tell Mr. Claude, what I will tell you as a secret,

        That I should like very well to show him myself I forget it.

        P.S. (3).

          I am to say that the wedding is finally settled for Tuesday.

        Ah, my dear Miss Roper, you surely, surely can manage

        Not to let it appear that I know of that odious matter.

        It would be pleasanter far for myself to treat it exactly

        As if it had not occurred; and I do not think he would like it.

        I must remember to add, that as soon as the wedding is over

        We shall be off, I believe, in a hurry, and travel to Milan,

        There to meet friends of Papa's, I am told, at the Croce di Malta;

        Then I cannot say whither, but not at present to England.

        Yes, on Montorio's height for a last farewell of the city,—

        So it appears; though then I was quite uncertain about it.

        So, however, it was. And now to explain the proceeding.

          I was to go, as I told you, I think, with the people to Florence.

        Only the day before, the foolish family Vernon

        Made some uneasy remarks, as we walked to our lodging together,

        As to intentions, forsooth, and so forth. I was astounded,

        Horrified quite; and obtaining just then, as it chanced, an offer

        (No common favor) of seeing the great Ludovisi collection,

        Why, I made this a pretence, and wrote that they must excuse me.

        How could I go? Great Heaven! to conduct a permitted flirtation

        Under those vulgar eyes, the observed of such observers!

        Well, but I now, by a series of fine diplomatic inquiries,

        Find from a sort of relation, a good and sensible woman,

        Who is remaining at Rome with a brother too ill for removal,