Modern Italian Poets. William Dean Howells

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       And now the ardent friends to greet each other

       Impatient fly, and pressing breast to breast

       They tenderly embrace, and with alternate kisses

       Their cheeks resound; then, clasping hands, they drop

       Plummet-like down upon the sofa, both

       Together. Seated thus, one flings a phrase,

       Subtle and pointed, at the other's heart,

       Hinting of certain things that rumor tells,

       And in her turn the other with a sting

       Assails. The lovely face of one is flushed

       With beauteous anger, and the other bites

       Her pretty lips a little; evermore

       At every instant waxes violent

       The anxious agitation of the fans.

       So, in the age of Turpin, if two knights

       Illustrious and well cased in mail encountered

       Upon the way, each cavalier aspired

       To prove the valor of the other in arms,

       And, after greetings courteous and fair,

       They lowered their lances and their chargers dashed

       Ferociously together; then they flung

       The splintered fragments of their spears aside,

       And, fired with generous fury, drew their huge,

       Two-handed swords and rushed upon each other!

       But in the distance through a savage wood

       The clamor of a messenger is heard,

       Who comes full gallop to recall the one

       Unto King Charles, and th' other to the camp

       Of the young Agramante. Dare thou, too,

       Dare thou, invincible youth, to expose the curls

       And the toupet, so exquisitely dressed

       This very morning, to the deadly shock

       Of the infuriate fans; to new emprises

       Thy fair invite, and thus the extreme effects

       Of their periculous enmity suspend.

      Is not this most charmingly done? It seems to me that the warlike interpretation of the scene is delightful; and those embattled fans—their perfumed breath comes down a hundred years in the verse!

      The cavalier and his lady now betake them to the promenade, where all the fair world of Milan is walking or driving, with a punctual regularity which still distinguishes Italians in their walks and drives. The place is full of their common acquaintance, and the carriages are at rest for the exchange of greetings and gossip, in which the hero must take his part. All this is described in the same note of ironical seriousness as the rest of the poem, and The Afternoon closes with a strain of stately and grave poetry which admirably heightens the desired effect:

       Behold the servants

       Ready for thy descent; and now skip down

       And smooth the creases from thy coat, and order

       The laces on thy breast; a little stoop,

       And on thy snowy stockings bend a glance,

       And then erect thyself and strut away

       Either to pace the promenade alone,—

       'T is thine, if 't please thee walk; or else to draw

       Anigh the carriages of other dames.

       Thou clamberest up, and thrustest in thy head

       And arms and shoulders, half thyself within

       The carriage door. There let thy laughter rise

       So loud that from afar thy lady hear,

       And rage to hear, and interrupt the wit

       Of other heroes who had swiftly run

       Amid the dusk to keep her company

       While thou wast absent. O ye powers supreme,

       Suspend the night, and let the noble deeds

       Of my young hero shine upon the world

       In the clear day! Nay, night must follow still

       Her own inviolable laws, and droop

       With silent shades over one half the globe;

       And slowly moving on her dewy feet,

       She blends the varied colors infinite,

       And with the border of her mighty garments

       Blots everything; the sister she of Death

       Leaves but one aspect indistinct, one guise

       To fields and trees, to flowers, to birds and beasts,

       And to the great and to the lowly born,

       Confounding with the painted cheek of beauty

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