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Boot, saddle, to horse and away! Rescue my castle before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silvery gray. CHORUS.-Boot, saddle, to horse and away!

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By just his horse's mane, a boy :
You hardly could suspect-
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace

We 've got you Ratisbon !

The Marshal's in the market-place,
And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed;
his plans

Soared up again like fire.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes; "You 're wounded!" Nay," the soldier's pride


Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,

Smiling the boy fell dead..




THAT'S my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said "Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so, not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 't was not Her husband's presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps

Over my lady's wrist too much," or Paint


Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart-how shall I say?-too soon made glad.

Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, 't was all one! My favor at her breast,

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace--all and each Would draw from her alike the approv ing speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men,good! but thanked Somehow I know not how-as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old


With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech-(which I have not)-to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark"-and if she
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made


-E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands ['ll meet As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We

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She speaks

Say after me, and try to say
My very words, as if each word
Came from you of your own accord,
In your own voice, in your own way:
"This woman's heart and soul and brain
Are mine as much as this gold chain
She bids me wear; which" (say again)
"I choose to make by cherishing
A precious thing, or choose to fling
Over the boat-side, ring by ring."
And yet once more say... no word

Since words are only words. Give o'er!

Unless you call me, all the same,
Familiarly by my pet name,
Which if the Three should hear you call,
And me reply to, would proclaim
At once our secret to them all.

Ask of me, too, command me, blame,-
Do, break down the partition-wall
Twixt us, the daylight world beholds
Curtained in dusk and splendid folds !
What's left but-all of me to take?
I am the Three's: prevent them, slake
Your thirst! 'T is said, the Arab sage,
In practising with gems, can loose
Their subtle spirit in his cruce
And leave but ashes: so, sweet mage,

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Go find the bottom! Would you stay me? There! [grass Now pluck a great blade of that ribbonTo plait in where the foolish jewel was, I flung away: since you have praised my hair,

'T is proper to be choice in what I wear.

He speaks

Row home? must we row home? Too surely

Know I where its front 's demurely
Over the Giudecca piled;
Window just with window mating,
Door on door exactly waiting,
All's the set face of a child:
But behind it, where 's a trace
Of the staidness and reserve,
And formal lines without a curve,
In the same child's playing-face?
No two windows look one way
O'er the small sea-water thread
Below them. Ah, the autumn day
I, passing, saw you overhead!
First, out a cloud of curtain blew,
Then a sweet cry, and last came you
To catch your lory that must needs
Escape just then, of all times then,
To peck a tall plant's fleecy seeds,
And make me happiest of men.

I scarce could breathe to see you reach So far back o'er the balcony

To catch him ere he climbed too high
Above you in the Smyrna peach,
That quick the round smooth cord of

This coiled hair on your head, unrolled,
Fell down you like a gorgeous snake
The Roman girls were wont, of old,
When Rome there was, for coolness' sake
To let lie curling o'er their bosoms.
Dear lory, may his beak retain
Ever its delicate rose stain
As if the wounded lotus-blossoms
Had marked their thief to know again!

Stay longer yet, for others' sake Than mine! What should your cham. ber do?

-With all its rarities that ache
In silence while day lasts, but wake
At night-time and their life renew,
Suspended just to pleasure you
Who brought against their will together
These objects, and, while day lasts,


Around them such a magic tether
That dumb they look: your harp, be


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