Following the lights and shadows of the clouds,
That now illumed, now half eclipsed, the sails
Suspended in the offing: far beneath

Thou didst point out upon the waveless blue
The dotted circle of the fisher's net,

Hauled in upon the shore by slow degrees:
And at thy very feet the violet

With its perfume, the lizard with its hues,

Wooed thy attention.

Then my heart was glad:

For I had gazed on lake, and sea, and shore,
Harbour, volcano, promontory, isle,

Where not the funeral wing of time alone
Had swept the region; but full many a change
Wrought by the earthquake, and the lava stream,
And to be wrought in the still smouldering soil,
Was traceable: and though the scene was rife
With natural beauties, yet to me it shewed
Like ruin upon ruin and I fed

The while, with bosom cold, yet incomposed,

On thoughts engendered by the thoughts of others; Till understanding had almost usurped

By imperceptible degrees the throne

Of genuine feeling. Then I turned to thee,
My dear companion, and I thanked thee, yes,

I blessed thee for the equipoise of soul,

Sweet compensation, which thy gesture, look, And voice, brought to me, from the sunny side Of our existence, making knowledge stand

Abashed and silenced!

At some future day

Haply the thronging wonders of these shores
Thou wilt revisit-I shall not be with thee;
Yet let my prayer be this; albeit in years
And intellect matured, mayst thou return
With all the freshness of thy childish days,
Adorning truth and love proportionate
To the expanded blossom of thy powers;
And with some dear companion at thy side.

Naples, March, 1844.

E

FROM MISS

EPISTLE

TO MISS

LONDON. DATED NAPLES, APRIL, 1844.

IN "

EREat Naples we are for this sweetest of winters;

HE

But I think, for the sake of my journal, 'tis pity We have travelled so far with scarce any adventures; Nor have even been rifled by whiskered banditti. But Naples, I find, is a paradise sunny,

And a place for the picturesque famous, and for all The most delicate cameos and bracelets of coral, To help us to kill time, and squander our money. And daily I've walked, though the weather was squally, And rumpled me sadly, in the Villa Reale;

And I booked in three days, would you think it, my dear? More bows, smirks, and smiles, than at home in a year. So to drawbacks and bores I at first bade defiance: But, alas! I am sadly knocked up by the lions.

Our parties of pleasure, or so said to be, Consist of Papa, Tom, the Colonel, and me, And that odious Miss Skim-milk: between me and Though Papa likes her much, she's a terrible blue.

you,

She and I are best friends, but I'm shrewdly suspecting She would fish in the water my heart's-ease was wrecked

in;

But she soon shall find out who must go to the wall, If she casts her sheep's eyes at the Colonel-that's all!

T'other day, though Miss S. said the weather was "pluvious,"

On a bright sunny morning we went to Vesuvius.
And when we got there, she declared 'twould demean her
To be carried by men in a vile portandina.

But for my part, I was not so squeamish or nice;
And up on their shoulders I jumped in a trice.
But I own I was frightened when on the steep lava,
They quarrelled, and swore, in their foreign palaver!
And whilst I to rights was my petticoats putting,
They kept looking up, without minding their footing.
At the top every way they desired me to look;
But I vow I was blinded with vapours and smoke;
And coughed, sneezed, and retched, all the while I was
picking

The wing of a very consumptive young chicken.
But I left, in descending, Miss S. in the distance;

And flew down with such slips, glissadings, and dashes,

That although I secured the dear Colonel's assistance,

I was up to I can't tell you where in the ashes. Miss Skim-milk declared the jaunt cost her a sonnet: But I know what it cost me-shoes, jupon, and bonnet.

Next we went to Pompeii, the city, you know,

That was buried for ages in lava and cinders;

But they've dug out the streets, and each house is a show,

Though you find neither furniture, roofs, doors, nor windows.

Here Miss S. who was quite in her element, said,
As she threw up her eyelids, and twisted her head,
"O yes! 'twas a city, indeed, of the dead!"
But I wish you had seen how she looked at me bitterly,
When I said, "La! my dear, that's in Rogers's Italy!"

The next day we went to the Grotto del Cane:

Though the Colonel and Tom said its fame was all blarney.

'Tis a small dark recess that all others surpasses
For detestable vapours, and poisonous gases.
And a keeper attends, with an atmosphere vile
Himself all environed of garlic and oil.
This thorough Italian, in consideration
Of certain carlini, for the edification
Of folks who for marvellous spectacles itch,