The Italian In England

That second time they hunted me     From hill to plain, from shore to sea,     And Austria, hounding far and wide     Her blood-hounds thro the country-side,     Breathed hot and instant on my trace,     I made six days a hiding-place     Of that dry green old aqueduct     Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked     The fire-flies from the roof above,     Bright creeping thro the moss they love:     How long it seems since Charles was lost!     Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed     The country in my very sight;     And when that peril ceased at night,     The sky broke out in red dismay     With signal fires; well, there I lay     Close covered oer in my recess,     Up to the neck in ferns and cress,     Thinking on Metternich our friend,     And Charless miserable end,     And much beside, two days; the third,     Hunger oercame me when I heard     The peasants from the village go     To work among the maize; you know,     With us in Lombardy, they bring     Provisions packed on mules, a string     With little bells that cheer their task,     And casks, and boughs on every cask     To keep the suns heat from the wine;     These I let pass in jingling line,     And, close on them, dear noisy crew,     The peasants from the village, too;     For at the very rear would troop     Their wives and sisters in a group     To help, I knew. When these had passed,     I threw my glove to strike the last,     Taking the chance: she did not start,     Much less cry out, but stooped apart,     One instant rapidly glanced round,     And saw me beckon from the ground:     A wild bush grows and hides my crypt;     She picked my glove up while she stripped     A branch off, then rejoined the rest     With that; my glove lay in her breast:     Then I drew breath: they disappeared:     It was for Italy I feared.     An hour, and she returned alone     Exactly where my glove was thrown.     Meanwhile came many thoughts: on me     Rested the hopes of Italy;     I had devised a certain tale     Which, when twas told her, could not fail     Persuade a peasant of its truth;     I meant to call a freak of youth     This hiding, and give hopes of pay,     And no temptation to betray.     But when I saw that womans face,     Its calm simplicity of grace,     Our Italys own attitude     In which she walked thus far, and stood,     Planting each naked foot so firm,     To crush the snake and spare the worm     At first sight of her eyes, I said,     I am that man upon whose head     They fix the price, because I hate     The Austrians over us: the State     Will give you gold, oh, gold so much!     If you betray me to their clutch,     And be your death, for aught I know,     If once they find you saved their foe.     Now, you must bring me food and drink,     And also paper, pen and ink,     And carry safe what I shall write     To Padua, which youll reach at night     Before the Duomo shuts; go in,     And wait till Tenebr begin;     Walk to the third confessional,     Between the pillar and the wall,     And kneeling whisper, whence comes peace?     Say it a second time, then cease;     And if the voice inside returns,     From Christ and Freedom; what concerns     The cause of Peace? for answer, slip     My letter where you placed your lip;     Then come back happy we have done     Our mother service, I, the son,     As you the daughter of our land!     Three mornings more, she took her stand     In the same place, with the same eyes:     I was no surer of sun-rise     That of her coming. We conferred     Of her own prospects, and I heard     She had a lover, stout and tall,     She said, then let her eyelids fall,     He could do much as if some doubt     Entered her heart, then, passing out,     She could not speak for others, who     Had other thoughts; herself she knew:     And so she brought me drink and food.     After four days, the scouts pursued     Another path; at last arrived     The help my Paduan friends contrived     To furnish me: she brought the news.     For the first time I could not choose     But kiss her hand, and lay my own     Upon her head, This faith was shown     To Italy, our mother; she     Uses my hand and blesses thee.     She followed down to the sea-shore;     I left and never saw her more.     How very long since I have thought     Concerning, much less wished for, aught     Beside the good of Italy,     For which I live and mean to die!     I never was in love; and since     Charles proved false, what shall now convince.     My inmost heart I have a friend?     However, if I pleased to spend     Real wishes on myself, say, Three,     I know at least what one should be.     I would grasp Metternich until     I felt his red wet throat distil     In blood thro these two hands: and next,     Nor much for that am I perplexed     Charles, perjured traitor, for his part,     Should die slow of a broken heart     Under his new employer: last     Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast     Do I grow old and out of strength.     If I resolved to seek at length     My fathers house again, how scared     They all would look, and unprepared!     My brothers live in Austrias pay     Disowned me long ago, men say;     And all my early mates who used     To praise me so, perhaps induced     More than one early step of mine,     Are turning wise: while some opine     Freedom grows License, some suspect     Haste breeds Delay, and recollect     They always said, such premature     Beginnings never could endure!     So, with a sullen Alls for best,     The land seems settling to its rest.     I think then, I should wish to stand     This evening in that dear, lost land,     Over the sea the thousand miles,     And know if yet that woman smiles     With the calm smile; some little farm     She lives in there, no doubt: what harm     If I sat on the door-side bench,     And, while her spindle made a trench     Fantastically in the dust,     Inquired of all her fortunes, just     Her childrens ages and their names,     And what may be the husbands aims     For each of them, Id talk this out,     And sit there, for an hour about,     Then kiss her hand once more, and lay     Mine on her head, and go my way.     So much for idle wishing, how     It steals the time! To business now.