Hold friend—the good for which men yearn Makes ill to them provoking; And zeal it is, on fire to burn, That fills its air with smoking. If this be so, some day, your soul A worth world-wide may sunder From those who have—their self-control, But nothing to keep under. OUR DAY AT PISA. We took the train at Florence,[1] we,— The day was warm and pleasant. The town of Pisa would we see. No time was like the present. Anon we climb’d the Leaning Tower,[2] Dropt something down, and sat an hour; And then the grand Baptistry[2] door They swung for us; and, o’er and o’er, We made its domed rotunda roar, To echo back our joking. We set our pockets jingling, we, To make our guide a crony, Saw the cathedral, paid a fee, And ate some macaroni, Then feasted on an outside view Of all three buildings,[2] yet so new; Then bought, in alabaster[3] wrought, Some models of them; then we sought The Campo Santo,[4] where we thought About the dead, while smoking. We took the train at sunset, we, And while we left the station, Extoll’d the land, “How much to see! How grand this Roman nation! Our own, how mean!—no works of art!” We strove to sigh, but check’d a start And cried, “How home-like!” o’er and o’er.— What thrill’d us thus?—alas, it bore No hint from art; we heard once more A frog, near by us, croaking. FOOTNOTES [1] The poem is supposed to be written by an American “doing” Italy. [2] The Leaning Tower, the Baptistry (under the dome of which may be heard, by those who care for it, an echo, repeating itself many times), and the Cathedral are all found in one square. [3] Alabaster worked into articles suitable for gifts is one of the chief commodities of Pisa. Great quantities of it are purchased for presents. [4] Campo Santo or cemetery, the most famous in Italy. THE HIGHEST CLAIMS. I woke and found my dream withdrawn, And, with it, each weird guest, Whose urgency, from eve to dawn, Had robb’d me of my rest. One call’d me ruler of the land; One chief of hosts enroll’d; One brought me wealth; one bade my hand A pen immortal hold; But none spake aught of aims I thought More blest than theirs could be; And, leading on to all I sought, Still claim’d the most from me. “To hold a sceptre in the state, Like Moses o’er the sea, Controlling thus a rival’s fate, Who overwhelm’d will be; To wield a sword in dangerous times, Till foes yield up each aim, While hope with firmer footstep climbs The crumbling ledge of fame,— All this I know were well, but though Each foe should bend the knee, An homage grander still, I trow, Would claim the most from me.