Among the poems which mark most strongly this fundamental difference and this elusive similarity between Wordsworth and Pascoli is that published in the _Marzocco_ of August 19th, and entitled _Inno del Mendico_. The simplicity of the diction, the spaciousness of the atmosphere, the patient resignation of the beggar-man, his harmony with the upland and the lake which form a setting for him, at once suggest Wordsworth; but the details of the poem are so totally different from any conception of Wordsworth’s that a second reading shows the likeness to be superficial. Pascoli is too thoroughly modern in his scientific attitude, notwithstanding his Latin affinities (or perhaps if the matter be well thought out partly in consequence of them), to have many points of contact with any of the early Victorian English poets. As for the _Myricæ_, the poems are so varied that it is difficult to characterise or to illustrate them. Some of the most individual and attractive—“_Dialogue_” (between sparrows and swallows), “_Hoof-beats_,” and others—are very delicate word-imitations of movements, of sounds, of mental states even: and the verbal imitation is quite inseparable from the conception. The poet himself groups his little “swallow-flights of song” under a number of heads; but is nevertheless constrained to leave many standing alone. Thus we have a set of ten headed “_From Dawn to Sunset_,” in which occurs the “_Hoof-beats_” already mentioned; another group entitled “_Remembrances_” in which is the little poem above quoted on the anniversary of his mother’s death; another headed “_Thoughts_”—short but pregnant reflections of a philosophical character; “_Young Things_”—five tiny pieces which reveal a tender sympathy with young illusions, springing from a deep sense of the contrast between the world of the children and the reality into which they have been born. We may perhaps quote a couple as they emphasize the feeling for contrasts visible in other parts of Pascoli’s work. FIDES. When evening was glowing all ruddy, and the cypresses seemed made of fine gold, the mother spoke to her boy-child:— “a whole garden’s up there, made like that.” The baby sleeps and dreams of golden boughs, of golden trees, of forests of pure gold: meanwhile the cypress in the murky night weeps in the rainstorm, fights against the wind. ORPHAN. Slowly the snow falls, flake on flake: listen, a cradle rocks so gently. A baby cries, with tiny thumb in mouth; an old dame sings with chin in hand. The old dame sings:—“Around thy little bed roses and lilies grow, a lovely garden.” The baby in the cradle falls asleep: the snow falls slowly, flake on flake. It will be perceived that it is not only the child in age whose illusions are touched on. The wider symbolism is at once apparent. From the sixteen poems included in “_The Last Walk_,” we may perhaps quote one that illustrates Pascoli’s tendency to parable. THE DOG.