W.BR1ERLEY.
 
 THE DISCIPLES
 
 FIFTEENTH EDITION.
 
 THE DISCIPLES 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON KING 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' ASPROMONTE, AND OTHER POEMS ' 
 ' A BOOK OF DREAMS ' ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 KEG AN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD. 
 
 MDCCCXCIV
 
 The rights of translation and of reproduction 
 are reserved.
 
 PR 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 FAGE 
 
 OVERTURE i 
 
 JACOPO RUFFINI , 16 
 
 UGO BASSI . . : 29 
 
 AGESILAO MILANO 269 
 
 BARON GIOVANNI NICOTERA 275 
 
 NOTES 285
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 OVERTURE. 
 1872. 
 
 I WRITE of the Disciples, because He 
 Who was their Master, having left on earth 
 The memory of a face that none could paint, 
 The echo of a voice that none could reach, 
 Hath left his own immortal words and works 
 To be a witness for him. Who should dare 
 To add one line or lesson unto these ? 
 And in this year of loss, this first blank year 
 For us whom he held near and dear to him, 
 The heart is far too full to speak of thee, 
 Except through speaking of thy faithful ones, 
 JOSEPH MAZZINI, Master, first of those 
 The Sons of Men who are the Sons of God ! 
 
 O Book of mine, which he commanded 1 long 
 Waited and worked for, and achieved too late ! 
 Whose first leaves flying over-seas, like flights 
 Of white doves loosened sweeping straight to home,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Were carried unto Pisa, and found there 
 Mourning, and at the dead feet were laid low, 
 Instead of in the master's living hand ; 
 One day too late, and so came short for all, 
 And missed the confirmation of his eyes ; 
 Missed for this world the comfort of his voice ; 
 But have not therefore been unknown to him. 
 I do but write as he inspired it me ; 
 There is no passage but he knew it first ; 
 I know there is no line but must have passed 
 Some time or other through his brain to mine ; 
 Though not by utterance, by the finer threads, 
 Which we, who live by vision more than speech, 
 Are conscious of, but cannot frame again. 
 
 For he was gone that day without farewell, 
 
 Suddenly parted from the martyrdom 
 
 Of lifelong sorrow to immortal peace ; 
 
 And in the momentary shock of loss, 
 
 That made this world henceforth another world, 
 
 Something we knew of what he first had felt, 
 
 Who walked alone with God, and had no Higher 
 
 Of humankind to be a help to him. 
 
 The sweetness of his praise shall not be mine ; 
 
 Instead, the more pathetic sacred sense 
 
 Of something wanting, and for ever here ; 
 
 Of something striven for, not without God's grace, 
 
 And stamped with His denial ; therefore ranked 
 
 With other loss in life unmerited,
 
 OVERTURE. 
 
 Remembered ever with some faint far hope 
 Of its repayment on another day. 
 
 Now no man fears thee : so the slanderer's voice, 
 More busy with the living than the dead, 
 Is turned from thee ; and men begin to praise, 
 Seeing thy work was wrought without their aid ; 
 And eyes are lifted to behold the true 
 Life-proven figure of the man who long 
 Went in and out amongst them undiscerned. 
 And though the generation is not born 
 Yet, that shall look upon thee in the light, 
 When the things prophesied have come to pass, 
 Yet the world's heart is softening unto thee 
 Whom the world hated, following with hate, 
 And wrong, and falsehood, through a holy life. 
 
 But I loved thee ; I knew thee the first time 
 My eyes fell on some words of thine by chance. 
 I was a child then : and when I am old, 
 And my eyes fail from following in their flights 
 The autumn birds into the far-off heavens, 
 Still mid the youth of that day I shall stand 
 Prouder than any in their pride of life, 
 Having beheld what they shall never see, 
 Having heard words that they can never hear, 
 Having a face to make the darkness dawn, 
 Ever within my memory for a friend ; 
 Remembering through the twilight of those days
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 This solace of the sunrise, this delight, 
 
 Bought by such pain as then shall nigh be past. 
 
 For grace he gave me that outweighs all pain, 
 
 And light of heart I follow, dark or clear j 
 
 Because I hold a prouder laurel-leaf 
 
 Than any singer of imperial courts : 
 
 For he, the Seer, the Master, and the Saint, 
 
 Named me his poet, crowned me laureate 
 
 Of his Republic : therefore are these words. 
 
 I hold this charge for ever on my soul ; 
 
 He loved me, he looked on me with such eyes 
 
 As sent forth many a young heroic life 
 
 To die rejoicing on a lonely quest ; 
 
 Saying to me, ' Do not die, but live, and speak 
 
 The words that God speaks to thee. Do not shrink 
 
 For youth or for subjection : I endorse 
 
 Thy speech beforehand, for I see thy soul. 
 
 Hath not God written somewhat on thy face 
 
 To fade and flicker, for a few to see ? 
 
 Write it out large in words that will not fade, 
 
 And that can travel farther than thine eyes, 
 
 And will not die when thou art laid in dust. 
 
 I lay it on thee that thou keep not back 
 
 That fire of life that burns thy brows so clear. 
 
 What springs from a pure heart and a true mind, 
 
 And a will bound to the Eternal Will, 
 
 With eyes that look beyond the world to God, 
 
 Is worth the hearing. Do not doubt, but speak. '
 
 OVERTURE. 
 
 For nine long years I held my peace, while God, 
 By tender tokens irresistible, 
 Laid silence on me ; or by manifold 
 Pressure of claims and voices from without ; 
 Or overmastering constancy of pain ; 
 (The cares and troubles of the outer courts, 
 Not of the inner, where the angels sing 
 Ever, through clouds, through winds, through fires, 
 through calm). 
 
 And once he chided me because the songs 
 Were slow in coming : now I think he knows 
 (Or would know, were it not too small a thing) 
 The truth he took in trust upon my word. 
 For I made answer, ' If I must be dumb, 
 If breath but lasts for labour, not for speech, 
 It is not that I falter in my faith, 
 It is not that I alter in my will, 
 It is not that I fail from idleness : 
 It is that God hath set such bounds for me, 
 I cannot pass them ; I can say no more. 
 But grant me this assurance once for all 
 By that obedience which is life to me, 
 Binding me one with higher law of life 
 That thou wilt trust me. I am true to thee. 
 Dost thou believe it ? And if, all the years, 
 My lips are loosed not, and no word of mine 
 Bear witness for me that my faith is firm, 
 And still I follow in the speechless trance,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Wilt thou believe it ? ' And he looked at me 
 
 With searching eyes, then answered grave and clear, 
 
 ' I will believe it.' And we spake no more. 
 
 And now I speak, not with the bird's free voice, 
 Who wakens the first mornings of the year 
 With low sweet pipings, dropped among the dew ; 
 Then stops and ceases, saying, ' All the spring 
 And summer lies before me ; I will sleep ; 
 And sing a little louder, while the green 
 Builds up the scattered spaces of the boughs ; 
 And faster, while the grasses grow to flower 
 Beneath my music ; let the full song grow 
 With the full year, till the heart too is filled.' 
 
 But as the Swan (who has pass'd through the spring, 
 And found it snow still in the white North land, 
 And over perilous wilds of Northern seas, 
 White wings above the white and wintry waves, 
 Has won, through night and battle of the blasts, 
 Breathless, alone, without one note or cry) 
 Sinks into summer by a land at last ; 
 And knows his wings are broken, and the floods 
 Will bear him with them whither God shall will ; 
 And knows he has one hour between the tides ; 
 And sees the salt and silent marshes spread 
 Before him outward to the shining sea, 
 Whereon was never any music heard. 
 
 I am not proud for anything of mine,
 
 OVERTURE. 
 
 Done, dreamed, or suffered, but for this alone : 
 
 That the great orb of that great human soul 
 
 Did once deflect and draw this orb of mine, 
 
 (In the shadow of it, not the sunward side, ) 
 
 Until it touched and trembled on the line 
 
 By which my orbit crossed the plane of his ; 
 
 And heard the music of that glorious sphere 
 
 Resound a moment ; and so passed again, 
 
 Vibrating with it, out on its own way ; 
 
 Where, intertwined with others, it may yet 
 
 Spin through its manifold mazes of ellipse, 
 
 Amid the clangour of a myriad more, 
 
 Revolving, and the dimness of the depths 
 
 Remotest, through the shadows without shape, 
 
 Arcs of aphelion, silences of snow : 
 
 But henceforth doth no more go spiritless, 
 
 But knows its own pole through the whirling ways, 
 
 And hath beheld the Angel of the Sun, 
 
 And yearns to it, and follows thereunto ; 
 
 And feels the conscious thrill that doth transmute 
 
 Inertia to obedience, underneath 
 
 The ordered sway of balanced counter-force, 
 
 That speedeth all life onward through all space ; 
 
 And hears the key-note of all various worlds, 
 
 Caught and combined in one vast harmony, 
 
 And floated down the perfect Heavens of God. 
 
 But when ? but when ? O, Master, thou didst say 
 
 The time was coming. Is it come ? Alas, 
 
 It seems not so ! The days are dark with storm ;
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The coming revolutions have no face 
 
 Of peace and music, but of blood and fire ; 
 
 The strife of Races scarce consolidate, 
 
 Succeeded by the far more bitter strife 
 
 Of Classes that which eighteen hundred years 
 
 Since Christ spake have not yet availed to close, 
 
 But rather brought to issue only now, 
 
 When first the Peoples international 
 
 Know their own strength, and know the world is theirs, 
 
 Which has been kept from them by force so long ; 
 
 By force, not right ; for no man spake them fair, 
 
 To keep them patient through their helplessness ; 
 
 It was enough that they were chained and dumb. 
 
 Will they be spoken fair to now ? who knew 
 
 No Saviour through the serfdom's centuries, 
 
 Who will not know Him now their turn has come. 
 
 Will not their day of reckoning be a day 
 
 Of judgment, and of cursing all divine 
 
 And human laws, to whom the world was made 
 
 So hopeless and so cruel that all names 
 
 Holy and dear are mockery unto them, 
 
 The fatherless, who pay with violence 
 
 The violence suffered, and in the recoil, 
 
 Hating the world, hate God for its sake too ? 
 
 For Might instead of Right is hell on earth, 
 Battle of darkness still against God's side. 
 Whether it be soft -handed tyrannies 
 Of those who at kings' tables daintily
 
 OVERTURE. 
 
 Feast in the bloom of eyes and bloom of wine ; 
 Or of the swarming millions from the mire, 
 With masks of swine for images of God, 
 More blind, more brutal, and more terrible ; 
 Yet not so blasphemous : for these will come, 
 Having not known God, and denying Him ; 
 But those did know, and took His name in vain, 
 And wrought the works of Cain by words of His. 
 
 We of the royal lineage, of the line 
 Unbroken of all kingdoms of the North, 
 Up to the dim names of mythologies 
 If once the people whom our fathers spoiled, 
 And drove as sheep, and shut their ears against, 
 Should rise against us, and despoil us too, 
 Seizing the fruits of their own ignorant hands 
 (Which power and mind transmute to luxury) ; 
 And take our children to be under them, 
 And grind for them, until in face and form 
 They too degenerate shall we dare complain ? 
 Our limbs are beautiful through drudgeries 
 Of theirs, which left them rest and space to grow 
 Through generations to the perfect curves ; 
 Our hair has got the gold because the dust 
 Of the world's highways never soiled the feet 
 Of our forefathers ; and the blue-veined hands 
 Were moulded to their tenderness of touch 
 By centuries of service rude and hard. 
 It is God's judgment if He smite us so ;
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Let us endure it, saying, He is just ; 
 
 But yet pray on as we were taught to pray, 
 
 In an immortal hope, Thy kingdom come ! 
 
 For when thou first didst find the Prophet's robe 
 
 Thrust upon thee with utterance of lament, 
 
 There was between the rulers of the earth 
 
 What they in blasphemy did dare to call 
 
 Holy Alliance : and the peoples slept. 
 
 Thank God thy word has cleared the world of such 
 
 As kings were in those days, not long ago ! 
 
 But thou didst reach the root of things even then 
 
 With thy prophetic eyes, and God did set 
 
 A witness for Himself in words of thine 
 
 Which still the world may read ; but no man stood 
 
 Up in the place of power, and gave the hand 
 
 To thee, and took the helm to the Untried. 
 
 Is the world Christ's yet ? Wherefore then wast thou 
 
 Outlaw in every kingdom of the world, 
 
 Except in England ? England, thank thou God 
 
 For that cold shelter that thou gavest him, 
 
 For which he blessed thee, giving thee back love 
 
 For the long years of scornful disregard 1 
 
 Was he not branded with all calumny 
 
 Because he dared to teach the naked truth, 
 
 Christ's words were not a book for Sabbath days, 
 
 But law of life, and judgment of the land ; 
 
 Not to be chosen, and pieced, and dogmatised, 
 
 But lived up to the whole and not a part,
 
 OVERTURE. 
 
 Alive not dead, one spirit in new forms ; 
 
 And lived as Christ lived, poor, despised, alone, 
 
 Apart with God, and working miracles, 
 
 Not on the waves and winds, but on the wills 
 
 Of men, upon the hearts of multitudes, 
 
 The hidden germs of fresh humanities, 
 
 Of live confederations yet unborn, 
 
 The hidden founts of gathering river-floods, 
 
 To bear one day the music of his name 
 
 Through lands of harvest to the boundless sea. 
 
 The rulers would not hear thee in their day : 
 And now perchance the tide is on the turn, 
 And the next flood will bring the fierce waves in 
 The long-pent surges of the deeper depths 
 To swallow up the landmarks of the Old. 
 And thou wilt meet them, as thou heretofore 
 Hast met the men who built the walls and towers 
 To hold them safe against the shocks of doom 
 Thou, living yet in words that cannot die, 
 Saying, 'Come no farther; not upon this road, 
 But on that other whither Christ has gone ! 
 Have for your watchword not the Rights of Man, 
 But this more sacred, more invincible, 
 Duties of Man, and Law of Life in God ! ' 
 And will those deep eyes turn them in their wrath 
 More than they did those others ? We shall see. 
 It may be so ; for he held Hope with Faith, 
 And set his hope upon the people's heart.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 I write of days that will not come again ; 
 
 Not in our time : the dream of Italy 
 
 Is now a dream no longer ; and the night 
 
 Is over, with its beacons in the dark. 
 
 Look you, who follow to the heritage 
 
 Of a fair day, that you be worthy those 
 
 Who conquered it for you against the world. 
 
 Let God's idea grow in you, and the faith 
 
 Of Italy burn holier : but no more 
 
 Will blood be shed for it ; that page is turned. 
 
 Now mayst thou shine or fade ; the star that shone 
 
 Far on the lonely dreamer through the depths, 
 
 (When all men mocked, and said, ' It is the light 
 
 Of the marsh-phantoms luring wanderers on 
 
 Who once have floundered but of the broad road '), 
 
 Is now set clear in sight of all men's eyes, 
 
 And ranked among the glittering Pleiades. 
 
 Italia has to-day the name and place, 
 
 And the fair body of freedom ; but the soul ? 
 
 Of all he left behind, there is not one 
 
 Found worthy even to follow him to a grave ! 
 
 O Star, be worthy of that starry soul 
 
 That rose and set, that loved and worshipped thee ! 
 
 Italia ! when thy name was but a name, 
 When to desire thee was a vain desire, 
 When to achieve thee was impossible, 
 When to love thee was madness, when to live 
 For thee was the extravagance of fools,
 
 OVERTURE. 
 
 When to die for thee was to fling away 
 
 Life for a shadow, in those darkest days 
 
 Were some who never swerved, who lived and strove, 
 
 And suffered for thee, and attained their end. 
 
 And most of these have died that thou mayst live, 
 
 And he is dead now who was First of them. 
 
 And they are dead ; and I half scorn myself 
 
 That I sit here to sing the songs of them, 
 
 Of which no word did echo in their ears 
 
 When they were dying. Nay, it was to them 
 
 Not words, but music ; music went with them 
 
 Along the Sacred Way Capitoline ; 
 
 And inarticulate the trumpets rang 
 
 About the dying ears of those that fell ; 
 
 And symphonies of some orchestral strain 
 
 Floated, and fell, and joined its notes again, 
 
 All day, all night, in one vibrating stream, 
 
 Across the darkness of the prison walls ; 
 
 And sweeter than the sounds that from the harp 
 
 Of him who vanquished sirens in their song, 
 
 Thrilled out of Argo o'er Italian seas, 
 
 Some far-off bells did echo through the lands 
 
 Of exile, to the weary wayfarers, 
 
 Pierced them with pain, and struck them with desire, 
 
 And timed their bleeding steps upon the march 
 
 With some great watchword still reverberate. 
 
 Yet, even so, I could not speak the same,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 If it had cost me nothing, heart or health ; 
 
 For some may follow Truth from dawn to dark, 
 
 As a child follows by his mother's hand, 
 
 Knowing no fear, rejoicing all the way ; 
 
 And unto some her face is as a Star 
 
 Set through an avenue of thorns and fires, 
 
 And waving branches black without a leaf ; 
 
 And still It draws them, though the feet must bleed, 
 
 Though garments must be rent, and eyes be scorched 
 
 And if the valley of the shadow of death 
 
 Be passed, and to the level road they come, 
 
 Still with their faces to the polar star, 
 
 It is not with the same looks, the same limbs ; 
 
 But halt and maimed, and of infirmity. 
 
 And for the rest of the way they have to go, 
 
 It is not day but night, and oftentimes 
 
 A night of clouds wherein the stars are lost. 
 
 And such are some of those who speak, and live, 
 
 And wait, and work, though blunted of desire, 
 
 And know that their true life is hid with God. 
 
 The way is smoother, not so glorious. 
 These days are darker, for we yet may die 
 In some great battle for the cause of God, 
 (Call no man happy till he so has died) ; 
 But not as these died, with the morning lights 
 Upon their faces, standing rapture-pale 
 Before the guns, or under sword and scourge 
 Of those whom they had hated as we hate
 
 OVERTURE 
 
 Untruth and malice and disdain of God ; 
 
 But by the hand and under heel of those 
 
 Whom we have loved against their hate for us, 
 
 Trusted in spite of wrongs for heritage, 
 
 And die at last by ; some of us who may 
 
 Have given up youth and hope of happy life 
 
 While one remained to suffer for and save, 
 
 And come without their calling, and stepped down 
 
 Out of the guarded fold and pastures green, 
 
 Into the ranks of those for sacrifice ; 
 
 And have not stirred thence, though the iron be hard, 
 
 And flesh be faint, and death be slow to come 
 
 All these long years, for whose sake grant us, God, 
 
 Grace to endure yet faithful to the end.
 
 JACOPO RUFFINI. 1 
 GENOA, 1833. 
 
 WE are betrayed and lost ; and I am bound 
 In the tower of Genoa, this hour that should 
 
 sound 
 
 The tocsin of our call, ' Awake ! arise, 
 Young Italy ! Thy time is come I The skies 
 Shine towards the dawn ! ' Our dream was vain, was 
 
 vain ; 
 
 Darkness hath settled on the land again ; 
 The shadow of the midnight gathereth 
 Once more, and all is sleeping. It is death 
 To speak the very name of Italy 
 To this Italian people ; therefore we 
 Die. That is little : we have more to save : 
 To us, the young, the desolate, God gave, 
 Through him whom first of all He did inspire, 
 A charge to keep through blood, through death, through 
 
 fire; 
 Though flesh should faint, though hearts should break 
 
 and bleed, 
 
 1 See note A.
 
 JACOPO RUFF INI. 
 
 To bear unhurt and whole the sacred seed, 
 Young Italy, the unborn child of God, 
 Through perilous ways of wilderness untrod, 
 Until the day of her deliverance. 
 
 So help me God, as I inviolate 
 Have borne it still through good and evil chance. 
 
 And yet another life, more fair, more great 
 In issues, and in grace of God, than mine, 
 
 friend, who madest my life sweet with thine, 
 
 1 have in hold to save or to betray, 
 Now in this last extremity at bay. 
 
 I hold it still, the secret yet is mine : 
 
 How long? Each slow hour helps to undermine 
 
 The ivory tower, the fortress of the brain. 
 
 O Italy ! thou canst not rise again 
 
 If now thy firstlings fail thee ! And I fail. 
 
 Help me, O God, or now they will prevail I 
 
 Because the deadly drops of atropine 
 
 Are mixed into the water and the wine, 
 
 So subtly that the treacherous poison draught 
 
 Loosens the bonds of will, and being quaffed, 
 
 Works through the nerve and brain, so that the sense 
 
 To outward pressure grows the more intense, 
 
 While the higher energy, the nobler pain, 
 
 Is dulled and weakened, and the slackened strain 
 
 Of human struggle leaves us but the prey 
 
 Of passing ease, and instincts of the day.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 I have to die to-day, lest I should live 
 To see my friend look on me, and forgive 
 Me for betraying him. No, let me meet 
 God's own face rather, at His judgment seat, 
 And say : ' When faith no more was left alive 
 In all the world, I and my friend did strive 
 Against the world for Thy faith's sake, O Lord, 
 And raised Thy banner ; and for this the sword 
 Of kings strikes down among us, and the curse 
 Of priests cleaves to us in our daily ways, 
 And fate of exile falls on us, or worse 
 Fate of the prison in the flower of days : 
 Out of their judgment, Lord, I come to Thine 
 
 Out of their tyranny to Thine award. 
 All joy, all hope of earth did we resign 
 
 Long since to follow Thee ; but now more hard 
 Must be the sacrifice, mine for my friend, 
 
 Denial of that one last trust in Thee, 
 That we might both endure unto the end 
 
 Grant it to him e'en yet, if not to me ! ' 
 
 Can I do nothing more for thee, my friend, 
 Whom I have loved so ? Can I only end 
 By not betraying thee ? Take what I give, 
 And hold it sacred as a token sent 
 Of our two spirits' deathless sacrament, 
 This dying for thee when I could not live. 
 I do not fear thy scorn, but I do fear 
 Thy sorrow. O, my brother, take this cheer
 
 JACOPO RUFF INI. 
 
 With thee upon the glorious way thou goest, 
 The dark and lonely way for thee who showest 
 The lamp for those that follow ; but for thee, 
 What light but of the stars ? This doom for me 
 Is not so bitter, rather sweetness grows, 
 Thinking of thee, out of this early close ; 
 And peace is with me ; and without regret 
 My face unto the sunset skies is set. 
 I could not give thee more, I cannot less, 
 Than my whole life, even in fruitlessness. 
 
 Giuseppe, this shall be my flower, 
 
 That I died first for thee ! No other soul 
 Shall come before me to that unlit goal, 
 Or take pre-eminence of me of this hour ! 
 And this shall be my crown through all the days 
 Hereafter, when men speak of thee thy due, 
 And speak thy name, they will speak my name too, 
 And say, ' Mazzini loved him ; ' nay, their praise 
 Shall yet reach higher, saying all the truth, 
 ' Better than all the world besides, in youth, 
 Mazzini loved him.' That remembrance holds 
 My name in lustre of thy name, and folds 
 My spirit in a happy mist of sleep ; 
 
 And not for ever lonely I lie down ; 
 For me too in their hearts shall all men keep 
 For thy sake, so shall I have love for crown. 
 
 1 know not if God loveth me at all,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 For He hath sent no answer to my call 
 
 When I have prayed, ' Let me but see Thy face 
 
 And suffer ! ' but I suffered without grace 
 
 Of such revealing ; and I prayed again, 
 
 ' Let me but keep pure, without sear or stain 
 
 Of conscience ! ' and my prayer so far availed 
 
 That not for lust of youth or life I failed. 
 
 But having won so far, there comes an hour 
 
 When a pure will avails not, and the power 
 
 Is given to them who would not only kill 
 
 The body shamefully, but bend the will 
 
 By hellish arts to baseness, and would say, 
 
 1 Denied for ever pass upon thy way, 
 
 Soul that God could not save ! ' Thou dost not save 
 
 Me, God, nor care to keep the heart I gave 
 
 To Thee, and which is Thine for evermore ; 
 
 All doors are shut to Thee, except one door 
 
 Of death, and if through that I flee to Thee, 
 
 Thou knowest not from any fear of man, 
 From any furnace of his cruelty, 
 
 Where still Thy angels' holy wings might fan, 
 I come, but from the clasping hands of sin, 
 
 That on the vesture of the flesh have wrought 
 
 Through poison, till the very blood is brought 
 To be a traitor to the heart within. 
 
 ' If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out ; 
 And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off;' 
 And if thy life offend thee, do not doubt
 
 JACOPO RUFFINI. 
 
 That God requires that also. Loose and doff 
 The spotted garment from thee whatsoe'er 
 Come after : I have not quite known despair 
 While I have life to give for sacrifice : 
 Accept it, Lord ; give me his life for price. 
 This life we every one of us receive 
 Out of Thy hands for trust, we may not leave 
 Without Thy summons, nor should any plea 
 Of force or danger be excuse to Thee. 
 To violence, to torture, and to death, 
 
 To smiling eyes and pressure of soft hands, 
 Man's spirit still unconquered answereth, 
 
 With faith for shield, while still his reason stands. 
 And if for these I should forsake my post, 
 Then spare me not Thy judgments uttermost. 
 But this new, subtle stealing of the brain, 
 
 What answer have I to it but to take 
 
 Presumptuously Thy angel's sword, and make 
 Mine own hand sin against myself : and when 
 
 No choice is left but this dark choice to-day, 
 
 ' Thine own self or thy brother thou must slay 
 And sin against,' then I can only choose 
 Myself to perish ; and though never prayer 
 
 Of mine before might pierce Thy heavens of steel, 
 My love and my despair be my excuse 
 
 With Thee, O God, to Whom I make appeal, 
 Now that myself to Thee my cause I bear. 
 
 Is it the poison working in my brain,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 That I as in a vision see things plain 
 
 Before me ? all the centuries afar, 
 
 With thy face, Giuseppe, for their star, 
 
 Grow radiant ; and the life now bought with mine, 
 
 Hereafter for the Light of Nations shine, 
 
 For the world's wonder, for its tears and praise, 
 
 For the world's Angel in its later days. 
 
 And Italy, thy Mother, with the crown 
 
 Glorious upon her, at thy feet bows down, 
 
 And bathes them with her tears, the Queen that thou 
 
 Knewest in vision, and that knows thee now ; 
 
 ' O Loved too late, look on me reconciled ! 
 
 I am no more thy Mother, but thy Child. ' 
 
 And with the resurrection in her eyes, 
 
 The Rome of the Republic shall arise 
 
 As thou hast dreamed her, and stretch forth her hand 
 
 As to a Bridegroom, and her stature stand 
 
 Above the world for worship, and no more 
 
 Shall darkness cover her true name, Amor. 
 
 And Genoa, the place where I was born, 
 
 Shall lift her head out of a dream at morn, 
 
 And proudest of all cities wake and stir, 
 
 Because another, too, was born in her. 
 
 And all bright faces of heroic men 
 
 Beholding thy face, not the young face then, 
 
 Burn brighter in their gazing towards it, thus 
 
 Signing in silence : ' Thou art first of us.' 
 
 And queenly women, golden-haired and tall, 
 
 Bend towards thee, and the brows imperial
 
 JACOPO RUFFINr. 23 
 
 Of poets wait upon thee, and rejoice 
 To listen for the echo of thy voice. . . . 
 
 But then midst all the lovely hands and eyes 
 
 Held forth to thine, and seeking thy replies, 
 
 Amongst them, Giuseppe, keep a place 
 
 Within thy -heart, the holy, for my face; 
 
 My face that now for thee grows white with death, 
 
 And through the dark thy face remembereth. 
 
 They will not love thee more than I do now, 
 
 Though many follow where I went before. 
 When all the world has changed to thee, and thou 
 Art known of men, remember then that I 
 In my first youth was first for thee to die, 
 
 And love me, Giuseppe, evermore. 
 
 O, Giuseppe, let now thy heart rise 
 
 To its own sorrow's height ! This sacrifice 
 
 Make it thy own, my brother ! Rise and bring 
 
 The first fruits of thy soul, an offering 
 
 Upon the altar of thine Italy. 
 
 Do this first violence to thy heart for me, 
 
 To live without me. Thou hast many a woe 
 
 To suffer, and a longer way to go, 
 
 And harder work than mine ; but through thy life, 
 
 Through all its anguish, all its storms of strife, 
 
 Through bitter travail in the slow sore birth 
 
 Of a new-linked Humanity on earth , 
 
 Through exile and through prison ; and the pain
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of hope again defeated and again ; 
 
 Through the steep wilderness, up whose long heat 
 
 Unsheltered, still will pass the bleeding feet 
 
 Unswerving ; through the visions crowned too late 
 
 Of the unrecognised Apostolate ; 
 
 Through lonely days and nights, and evil fame ; 
 
 Through that dread fire awaiting thee to see 
 
 Thy best and dearest pass to death for thee, 
 And with thy own hand, in the altar-flame 
 To lay thy lambs, O shepherd, and to be 
 
 Of thy beloved forsaken and betrayed 
 At the pale pass of thy extremity ; 
 
 Through all thy brethren's sins upon thee laid ; 
 And through that darkest and most awful hour 
 When doubt of God springs on thee, to deflower 
 The soul it cannot vanquish, and thy prayer 
 Hangs on the verge of bottomless despair : 
 Then, when thou sinkest, mayst thou know at last 
 An arm invisible about thee cast, 
 Another voice in a serener air 
 Unfaltering hold the pauses of thy prayer, 
 And on thy fainting forehead like the breath 
 Of rainy winds to prisoners parched to death, 
 The sudden rapture of an angel's kiss j 
 And thy faith be renewed to thee by this, 
 Invincible, undying ; and thy heart 
 
 Will tell thee, Giuseppe, it is I ; 
 And not in vain shall I so soon depart, 
 
 If God but grant me ministry so high
 
 JACOPO RUFF INI. 
 
 To be thy angel in the future years, 
 
 And reach a hand to thee from other spheres. 
 
 I will wait for thee I will fill the days 
 
 Until thy coming with the love that stays 
 
 Last of all earthly things by me, and takes 
 
 My hand through these dark waterfloods, and makes 
 
 Death lovely for thy sake the love that showed 
 
 First the true stars of heaven to light the road, 
 
 And make it straight unto eternity, 
 
 With aim of all Progressive Life to Thee, 
 
 O Father, O Divine, Whem, darkened so 
 
 By priests and tyrannies, we could not know 
 
 Until that pure hand woke us, with the stroke 
 
 Of Thy great message, and the morning broke 
 
 Upon the mouldering slumber of the world 
 
 That had forgotten Thee, and the keen rays hurled 
 
 Terror and clamour down the ways of hell, 
 
 Where men lay lost and dreaming all was well ; 
 
 And the old Word again spake trumpet-clear, 
 
 ' Lo, I am with you always, even here 
 
 To the world's end ;' until the creeds of Christ, 
 
 That have been like their Master sacrificed, 
 
 In simple splendour light the land of dawn, 
 
 And the day cometh ! 
 
 But to me, withdrawn, 
 By this hour's agony, from ways of men, 
 It will not come on earth. Yet even then
 
 26 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 I while thou prayest will join prayer with thee 
 To Him Who first to thee the vision sent, 
 That He may hasten the accomplishment 
 Of the prefigured Life of Italy. 
 
 But if it is so early if the gleam 
 
 Be starlight and not sunlight ; if the dream 
 
 Be for another cycle ; if long years 
 
 Of darkness, and of sorrow, and of tears, 
 
 Must yet pass over her before the ways 
 
 Of God be shown to her in later days ; 
 
 Then for the love's sake we must ever bear 
 
 Unto each other, I will urge my prayer 
 
 The higher, my brother, for thy bitter need, 
 
 That thou unstained mayst keep thy soul indeed, 
 
 That for no bitterness of hope betrayed, 
 
 For no impatience of the furnace made 
 
 Sevenfold the hotter for the perfect proof 
 
 Whereby thy spirit to its height is wrought, 
 Thou shouldst let go thy faith, or stand aloof 
 
 From witnessing to that eternal thought 
 God in all Life, and all Humanity 
 
 Interpreter progressive of His Law : 
 
 That so once more that glory that we saw 
 May clasp us both to immortality. 
 
 Ah, Mother of mine, so beautiful ! Thy son 
 Should have been worthier of thee, and have done
 
 JACOPO RUFFINI. 
 
 Somewhat to make thy name a star to men, 
 And given thee back some perfect hour again. 
 
 first, O last, with whom I could not part ! 
 And shall not now, because I know thou art 
 Not far off from the gates of Paradise : 
 
 1 have known heaven through thee, not otherwise : 
 For when, a child, first of the saints I heard, 
 
 I understood of them from sense of thee, 
 And each one had thy face and hands, and stirred 
 
 My heart to worship through thy purity ; 
 But none so tender. This at least is thine, 
 
 Thy child hast thou kept all these painful years, 
 Nursed in the patience of a love divine, 
 
 Pure by thy kisses, faithful by thy tears. 
 O sweet, O sorrowful, who didst not spare 
 
 Thy loving life in ministry to such 
 
 As have but paid thee with pain overmuch ; 
 Who lying in God's arms hast learned to bear 
 
 The slow sad hours with smiles, and set thy face 
 
 Still as an angel's to the bitter grace 
 Of the sharp strokes wherewith He chasteneth 
 His best-beloved ; Love is strong as death ; 
 And no farewell we need to take, for thou 
 And I shall not be parted long : but now, 
 
 Giuseppe, would that thou wert near ! 
 
 1 am speaking to thee, and thou dost not hear ! 
 And out of heaven God sends no help to me. 
 
 O friend, friend ! of this our agony
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Will any in the days hereafter say ? 
 1 He passed alone the untrodden awful way ; 
 He understood not, but we understand 
 GOD hid His face, but held him by the hand. '
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 1849. 
 
 FRA UGO BASSI, Servant of our Lord, 
 One of the Order of Saint Barnabas, 
 The Sons of Consolation, late of Rome ; 
 Born in Bologna, and brought back of God 
 There for His sake to die when all was done. 
 Of how I came to know him, and the rest, 
 I will relate in full before I die : 
 Who loved him, and will love him evermore. 
 
 I. 
 
 1847. 
 
 Among the mountains, on the farther side 
 Of far Abruzzo, lies Cialdole, 
 The highest hamlet xipon all those hills. 
 There was I born, and there lived all the years, 
 (And all were happy), while I was a boy. 
 I think the sun was always shining then, 
 Upon the hillsides where I kept the goats, 
 That were my father's ; but when I was born 
 He set apart a pair to be my own ;
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And these increased, until a little flock 
 
 Was ready for me, to be led away 
 
 To the new home upon the mountain-ledge, 
 
 Which I had now begun to build in hope ; 
 
 The spot where grew the sward most smooth and fine, 
 
 A little lower than my father's house ; 
 
 While in another house sat my betrothed, 
 
 And spun the flax, and when I looked on her, 
 
 And said ' Next year shall bring our wedding-day,' 
 
 Lifted her great black eyes and smiled on me. 
 
 But in a certain year fell many plagues 
 
 Upon the country. First, the frost and snow 
 
 On the high hills ; and then, when summer came, 
 
 The rain and blight ; far down upon the plains 
 
 The mulberries and the maize were smitten sore ; 
 
 And on the mountain slopes the vintage failed, 
 
 And the flax withered ; and in all the land 
 
 All harvest came to nought ; and to our ears 
 
 The rumours came of famine, and at last 
 
 The thing itself came towards us, creeping on 
 
 Like a storm-shadow ; and the want was felt. 
 
 For when our own land failed us, what had we, 
 
 Who lived on our own land, and had no stores, 
 
 Nor gold, nor markets? Also, then, the beasts 
 
 Began to die and sicken ; day by day 
 
 The goats dropped down, and we beheld them die, 
 
 And could not help them. Now our corn and wine, 
 
 Our oil and milk, and all our stock, was gone, 
 
 And nothing in our need was left to us
 
 UGO BASSl. 3 
 
 To live on through the winter. Most of us 
 
 Had not to live through it. With autumn broke 
 
 A pestilence of fever loose on us : 
 
 ' The famine-fever ' the wan people said. 
 
 Now had God smitten every living thing, 
 
 Beast, and green herb, and man. Within a month 
 
 Had half our hamlet perished ; and of those 
 
 Who still remained, the half were stricken down, 
 
 And the rest went about like daylight ghosts, 
 
 Waiting their turn. There was no man to help. 
 
 Then spake our priest, who, like ourselves, was poor 
 
 And ruined : ' Children, what are we to do ? 
 
 There is no help at all in all this land. 
 
 The mountains and the valleys are stripped bare, 
 
 Will God then let us perish utterly ? 
 
 Now will I take my staff in hand, and go 
 
 Unto the Holy City, unto Rome, 
 
 Unto the Holy Father, to beseech 
 
 His succour : for if any aid can come, 
 
 It is from thence.' And he took leave of us 
 
 Dejectedly, saying, ' God and all the saints 
 
 Have pity on you ! ' and departed so. 
 
 But whether he reached Rome I cannot tell, 
 Nor whether by the way he fell, for he 
 Came no more back, nor did we ever hear 
 Tidings of him ; and still we died, and died. 
 We had no hope ; we only wondered now 
 Who should die last, for then there would be none
 
 32 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 To bury him. I think the time had come 
 For Christmas : and my father had been laid 
 Beside my mother, and my sister too 
 Was dead, and my betrothed ; and I now lay 
 The last of all the house, sick unto death. 
 I was not sad to die, for there was now 
 Nothing left in the world ; but in a dream 
 I suffered ; there was none to come to me, 
 And whether there was water by my side 
 I know not ; but I heard the fountain fall, 
 Outside the doorway, from the little trough, 
 Falling and ever falling, sweetest sound 
 Of water, and I thirsted more and more, 
 Burning and craving ; for methought a cup 
 Of water stood beside me, and in thirst 
 I raised myself, and stretched my hand and felt, 
 And took the cup, and held it tremblingly 
 Until it touched my lips ; and all at once 
 I lay there helpless, and no cup at all ; 
 I had not stirred and yet again I tried, 
 And reached the water, and it touched my lips 
 Again, and yet again it was a dream ; 
 Again, again through all the long dark hours, 
 Always the thirst, the striving, and no drop 
 Once tasted. Was it hours, or days, or weeks ? 
 And once I came unto myself, and all 
 Was agony, past thinking and past speech. 
 But in my heart, in my extremity 
 I prayed, ' O holy Mother, pity me I '
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 And pity did not come. And yet again 
 Of my own saint, Antonio, I implored, 
 ' O Saint Antonio, help me ! ' And no help 
 Came. And still, fainting, unto all the saints 
 I cried, but no one heard me. And at last 
 Sinking into the darkness, one last cry, 
 ' O Jesus, save me ! ' and methought I died. 
 
 But I woke up again, and it was light, 
 And in the light a face was close to me, 
 And lo ! it was the face of Jesus Christ ; 
 Not as He hangs upon the crucifix, 
 But as I saw Him once upon a wall 
 In the priest's house, and now beheld again, 
 Healing the sick, and working miracles, 
 With a smile such as called the dead to life, 
 And a face glad for its own mercy's sake : 
 And straightway all my heart was in one peace. 
 So my eyes closed again, at rest, but tired : 
 And when once more they opened the same face 
 Was still above them, and that face alone ; 
 And I confusedly did recollect 
 That this was Heaven, and I was with our Lord, 
 And, much abashed, I sought to kneel to Him, 
 But could not ; but I struggled to find breath 
 And say, Lord, pardon me ! at which a voice 
 Sweet as the face, made answer unto me : 
 1 Lie still, and be not troubled ; I am come 
 To be thy servant ; ' and it was so sweet, 
 D
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 I heard and felt no more. But when again 
 My eyes unclosed themselves, I saw the face 
 Still bending over me ; but now my sense 
 Was clearer, and I could perceive that I 
 Was in my own home, laid on my own bed 
 Of goatskins, and the rafters overhead. 
 And still the vision stayed before my sight, 
 Nor did the comfort of it pass from me. 
 And by degrees I came to know that he, 
 Whose arms I felt around me, had the form 
 And habit of a monk, and wore a cross 
 Upon his breast. But I could neither speak, 
 Nor understand ; and so, for many days, 
 I lay half-conscious betwixt life and death. 
 But whensoever I was full aware, 
 I knew that that same friend was at my side, 
 Holding my spirit by his powerful eyes 
 From sinking, and my body by his arms. 
 And as the floods of fever ebbed away, 
 The dream and the reality grew one ; 
 And I knew only one thing in the world, 
 Sleeping or waking, present still to me ; 
 The face, the voice, the hand that tended me, 
 And ministered unto me night and day. 
 And by the time I was so far myself 
 As to know right that he was neither saint 
 Nor angel, but a mortal man like me, 
 I had grown too to know that God had sent 
 To save His lowest, him who was His highest,
 
 UCO BASSI. 35 
 
 The flower and miracle of all mankind, 
 
 The like of whom was not on all the earth. 
 
 I was no longer anything but his, 
 
 Heart, soul, and spirit, who had brought me back 
 
 From death. And this was Ugo Bassi's self. 
 
 And still I marvel how so great a grace 
 Was sent to one unworthy, that even he 
 In my extremity to me was brought. 
 But in God's providence it came to pass 
 That news of our distress had reached to Rome, 
 Where he and others of Saint Barnabas 
 Dwelt in Community, bound under rule, 
 To succour of the sick and perishing. 
 And twelve among the brotherhood were sent 
 My master being one ; and they arrived 
 To our relief, at our extremest need, 
 When none remained of us, except a few 
 Dying and starving. Nor can I relate 
 With what an overflowing power and love 
 They wrought among us ; comforting the sick, 
 Until the dying hands were laid in theirs, 
 Peacefully, or the first reviving smiles 
 Of eyes awoke from death looked up to them. 
 And those who died they buried full of hope ; 
 But few died after, for when they appeared, 
 The fever stayed : and now the year had turned, 
 And the new spring began to shine on earth. 
 Also they wearied not, but strengthened still
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The hands of those surviving, taking charge 
 Of all our scattered lives, replenishing 
 Our stores, collecting on the waste hill-sides 
 The remnants of our flocks, and sowing fresh 
 Our empty fields. Moreover, by their words, 
 Preaching and praying, they did so prevail 
 Upon our hearts, that melted as we heard, 
 That we through our affliction seemed more near 
 To God, and somehow, following after them, 
 Felt that a Father held us by the hand. 
 
 And now that hope with the new year had come 
 Back to Cialdole, and Easter Day 
 Drew near, they got them ready to depart 
 For Rome again. But I, when first I heard 
 That they were going, felt my heart stand still, 
 And all was cold within me like a stone. 
 It did not seem that I could live and see 
 Fra Ugo Bassi never any more : 
 I had not suffered such sharp pain before, 
 And now I wished that I had died as well. 
 And as I sat, and wept, Fra Ugo came, 
 And said to me, ' Why weepest thou ? ' and I 
 Answered him, ' Sir, thou goest : ' and he took 
 My hand in his, and looked into my face, 
 And smiled as if no care had ever crossed 
 The lovely lips, and leant, and spake to me, 
 And said, ' Come with me ! ' and I answered him, 
 ' Yea, sir, to death,' and then my heart revived,
 
 UGO BASS!. 
 
 And all the comfort wrapped me round again. 
 And he said to me, ' Wherefore need we part ? 
 For verily I love thee ; and thyself 
 Hast need of me, and thou hast none besides. 
 But wilt thou leave thy father's house, and all 
 The old familiar country of thy youth, 
 The freedom of the open hills, to dwell 
 In a dark house, enclosed by city streets ; 
 To serve among the sick and miserable, 
 In labour and subjection, day by day, 
 Under a strict rule ? ' ' Sir,' I answered him, 
 ' If I may sometimes see your face, I will ; 
 And I will bless you for your charity 
 In taking me, whatever comes of it, 
 So I but be with you ; and I will serve 
 With all my strength, and will rejoice to serve. 
 For truly, if you left me, I should feel 
 That God had left me too.' And so he spake 
 To the chief brother, that I should return 
 To Rome with them, as a lay-servitor 
 Within their hospital. So all of us 
 Set off together, walking from the hills ; 
 And when we reached the valley underneath, 
 We took our places in a bullock-wain, 
 To carry us along the road to Rome. 
 
 Slowly we journeyed all that day ; the form 
 Of the hill-side was ever in our sight, 
 Though shifting as we moved. But as I gazed
 
 33 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And gazed upon the lovely, changing hills, 
 The distance grew between us, and I felt 
 A yearning, sinking pain about my heart, 
 As though I saw again my dearest ones 
 Dying before my eyes. I had not guessed 
 What this new pain would be. And suddenly 
 The mountain-face whereon I had my home 
 At a sharp winding of the road stood out 
 All full and clear upon us, golden-blue 
 Amid the sunset, calling, clasping me, 
 There was my mother ! and as suddenly 
 Vanished for ever, as another turn 
 Took us between the foldings of the hills. 
 And in that moment I had said farewell 
 For ever to my youth and liberty, 
 And to the country of my youth. Farewell, 
 Cialdole ! the hill that nearest heaven 
 Lies ever, under the blue sky, or cloud ; 
 Where the larks sing, and the wild goats rejoice, 
 And locusts whirr in the hot summer day, 
 And all life goeth joyously, farewell ! 
 For some whom I have loved and lost on earth, 
 I shall yet find again, I think, in heaven, 
 But never, in heaven or earth, Cialdole ! 
 
 And all that night I wept. But the next day 
 All things were new, and the spring sunshine streamed 
 On the luxuriant loveliness of earth. 
 And as we went along our way, my heart
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Grew lighter, and I much rejoiced to be 
 In such good company, and in the thought 
 Of the great things I was about to see. 
 The brethren too were glad upon the way, 
 As for a respite from laborious days ; 
 And as we passed in shadow of the groves, 
 Now ringing with ten thousand nightingales, 
 Or over shadowless slopes of sheeted gold, 
 Glittering with waters, fresh and blue in Lent, 
 They held much pleasant converse, manifold ; 
 Things good to hear, but for my ignorance 
 Too hard to understand ; and none of them 
 Spake with such blithe and such melodious voice 
 As did Fra Ugo, but he spake the least, 
 And mostly silent sat, with happy eyes 
 Gazing upon the lovely lands of spring. 
 
 And as we journeyed downwards from the hills 
 Unto the valleys, coming to a place 
 Where sloping sward lay smooth a long way on, 
 \Ve walked for pleasure, in the morning air, 
 And sunshine of the morning all around ; 
 The wild bees humming, and the blue and brown 
 And white moths flitting ever on before, 
 And calls from unseen birds, and answering 
 Calls, with a note of music, short and clear. 
 And little yellow wayside flowers like stars 
 Were all among the short hill-grasses, mixt 
 With white cups in a tiny running stream
 
 40 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 That one might step across, that fleeted down, 
 But faster and more lightly, as we went, 
 With a sweet sound ; and all the ground beside 
 Was mossy-soft and springing, and the turf 
 Flew underfoot for miles along the way. 
 And from me all the dark and winter time, 
 And the old days, and the dead loves of youth 
 Melted away in sunshine, and my heart 
 Was born again as blithe as birds and bees ; 
 And I rejoiced and said, ' O sir, the way 
 I come with you is brighter and more glad 
 Than any that I knew before ! How clear 
 The country lies before us ; and the spring 
 Is over heaven and earth, and I can feel 
 God loves us, and will guide us to the end.' 
 He answered, with a face of happy peace, 
 Fair as the sunshine, ' Yes, the hour is sweet, 
 And the way pleasant ; let us give God thanks 
 For these good days, and all His gifts of joy, 
 The lovely shadows of His Paradise, 
 And let us keep their light within our hearts ; 
 But think not all the way will be like this. 
 If thou elect to cast thy lot with ours, 
 Going where God shall send thee, day by day, 
 Be ready sometimes for the rougher road. 
 And we shall be wayfarers all our life, 
 Or I, at least, having purposed not to build 
 A home on earth, and none of us may know 
 Whither our path may lead, except the end.
 
 UGO BA.SSI. 41 
 
 For there are desert-places, fever-swamps, 
 
 And paths where every step is on the verge 
 
 Of death, where is no water and no moon, 
 
 Where savage beasts go prowling through the night, 
 
 Or men more savage, thirsting for their prey. 
 
 God is our Father, even there as here, 
 
 And sometimes closest in the wilderness. 
 
 But eveiy day as we passed farther on, 
 
 More beautiful the way grew, through the woods 
 
 Of chestnut, and the forests of live oak, 
 
 Down to the plains, beside the wandering streams, 
 
 Or through the heavy-scented shining maze 
 
 Of flowering laurel ; and I wished no more 
 
 Than so to journey ever. And one day, 
 
 About midday, we halted by a lake, 
 
 A small lake in the hollow of the hills, 
 
 Amidst the blue and yellow water-flags, 
 
 Where many herons were wading. And we lay 
 
 And rested in the shadow of the pines 
 
 Upon the sandy shore ; while overhead, 
 
 In the clear blue, a long grey flight of cranes 
 
 Went sailing to the West ; and one looked up 
 
 And said, ' They go towards Rome ; ' and fearing not 
 
 To give offence, I spake out of my joy 
 
 Loud to Fra Ugo, 'And we too, and I, 
 
 Are going to Rome ! Is it, indeed, no dream ? 
 
 I, plain Antonio Lotti ? I shall see 
 
 The Holy Father and the Cardinals, 
 
 And kiss saints' bones, and see the jewelled dress
 
 THE DISCIPLES, 
 
 Our Lady wears on feast-days, and find grace 
 
 Of pilgrimage ; they say that one may do 
 
 More for one's soul by one day's walk in Rome 
 
 Than by a hundred years of penances. 
 
 'Tis next to going to Heaven to go to Rome ! ' 
 
 But Ugo did not answer me : for he 
 
 Was gazing upwards, and his eyes were fixed 
 
 Where now amidst the blazing, quivering light 
 
 One golden eagle hovered all alone 
 
 Above the lake. But when I ceased to speak, 
 
 He spoke in a low voice, as to himself, 
 
 Lost in a vision : ' Yea, to Rome, to Rome 
 
 The Great, the Holy City,' and he sighed ; 
 
 And such a sadness and a musing fell 
 
 Upon his face, that I spake not again. 
 
 And as we went, I sometimes wondered much 
 On what should be the manner of our life 
 In Rome ; and, with a ready cheerfulness, 
 Fra Ugo answered me, and said : ' Our lot 
 Is blessed ; without cares or hindrances 
 To serve our Lord even as He served us, 
 And left this saying for us, " Inasmuch 
 As ye have done it to the least of these, 
 My brethren, ye have done it unto Me." 
 Thus in His sick and sorrowful do we 
 Behold and love our Master, Christ, and we 
 Also behold and love His face in prayer. 
 And such a sweetness is there, near to Him,
 
 UGO BASSl. 43 
 
 In this communion and this ministry, 
 
 That all the pleasures of the world seem poor. 
 
 And like Saint Francis, girded for the race, 
 
 We have no other bride but Poverty ; 
 
 And though her face be somewhat grave, yet she 
 
 Is fairer than all lust or pride of life 
 
 To whomso hath her fast in the embrace ; 
 
 And he who once hath held her hand in his 
 
 For Christ's sake, and His Church's, doth not think 
 
 To loose it, for a king's inheritance. 
 
 But of one thing do I forewarn thee now : 
 
 That, entering on this service, thou must come 
 
 Prepared to all obedience, to deny 
 
 Thyself, and daily to take up thy cross, 
 
 And willingly to give up thy own will 
 
 To theirs, the brethren who rule over thee. 
 
 For no hard rule is ours, and we obey 
 
 Loving, not fearing ; yet by straitened bonds 
 
 Of our necessity, the hourly press 
 
 Of work without us, we must needs require 
 
 All hannony within, and waste no strength 
 
 Upon disputings and perversity. 
 
 Our battle is with this world's suffering, 
 
 Not with its sin, that is the higher war, 
 
 The office of the Prophet and the Judge ; 
 
 We but console and heal ; and we receive 
 
 Among us none who make a life of peace 
 
 Impossible, who need not fellowship 
 
 And guidance merely, but severe restraint,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And mind and manners ruled afresh ; for such 
 The world is wide enough, but in our walls 
 Only the helpful and the humble stay.' 
 
 I answered : ' Sir, if I may only stay, 
 And this be exercise of helpfulness, 
 That I should drag your burdens like a mule, 
 Or grind your corn, like Samson in the dark, 
 Or turn a bucket-windlass all day long, 
 I will be helpful : and for humbleness, 
 If you and all the holy brotherhood 
 Be pleased to walk upon me for a mat, 
 And when your meals are done give me the bones 
 And scraps upon your trenchers for my share, 
 And if I ask for wages give me blows, 
 I will be humble ; yes, and thankful too ! ' 
 And Ugo laughed, and said, ' You shall be tried. ' 
 
 Through the fair weather, thus we journeyed on ; 
 All the land laughed with flowers, and sang with birds 
 My heart was light, and seemed a part of them ; 
 Yet seemed I ever in a holy place ; 
 Because Fra Ugo's face was in my sight 
 Ever, and looking on it, it became 
 My saint's face to me ; but I spake not this, 
 Knowing not how, and fearing to offend. 
 Perhaps the fever in my head had left 
 Strange fancies ; for at night I dreamed that all 
 The lands, and all their riches and delight, 
 Were mine, and I was lord, and music pealed
 
 UGO BASSr. 
 
 Around us feasting, and a dazzling shine, 
 And roses crowding through the whole bright air ; 
 But still I shivered with some ache of heart, 
 And sense of something wanting in the midst ; 
 And yearning to this unknown need, behold 
 The face of Ugo Bassi ! and I sprang 
 With tears of joy to it, and clasped his hand. 
 But all the face was changed and full of pain, 
 And he was pale and bleeding, and the light 
 Dwindled to moonbeams, and I saw in it 
 That heavy chains were on his hands and feet, 
 And that he lay in prison and the dark. 
 And fear came on me, and I said to him, 
 ' My Master ! ' and I kissed his hands, and he 
 Said, ' Go thy ways ; and God be with thee still : 
 For I am taken from thee : ' and I said, 
 'Nay, Master, but let me stay here with thee.' 
 And he smiled on me, saying, ' Wilt thou then 
 Stay with me ? Behold here is neither food, 
 Nor light, nor any sleep. Canst thou then watch 
 With me this hour ? ' And, weeping, I awoke ; 
 For with me stayed the pity of his face, 
 So pallid was it, as with pangs of death ; 
 And the smile pierced me, for it was as one 
 Smiles, who forgives his murderers ; and I wept 
 Till daybreak. And next morning, half-afraid 
 I felt, to look upon Fra Ugo's face. 
 But when I met him, he was still the same ; 
 The quiet happy face that lighted up
 
 46 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 As from a sunshine in the heart within, 
 Rejoicing whomsoever looked on it, 
 But far more whomsoever it looked on. 
 And so my foolish visions proved in vain. 
 
 And once, when we had journeyed all day through 
 A country, where no houses and no trees 
 Appeared, but only broken walls of stone, 
 And ancient arches tufted with young green, 
 We passed by rolling ridges, hill and dale, 
 All like one flowering meadow long in grass, 
 Where poppies grew, and every flower of field ; 
 And taller than the rest, the moonlight spires 
 Of asphodel rose out of glossy tufts 
 In straight white armies ; and our wheels crushed out 
 Sweet odours from the herbage as we went ; 
 And myriads of the great-eyed butterflies 
 Hovered above the white and yellow blooms, 
 And fluttered through the grasses silver-flowered, 
 Filled with the noise of grasshoppers and flies. 
 
 Now it was nearing sunset, and beside 
 A little rivulet the oxen stood 
 To drink, and rested. All around their heads 
 The gathering cloud of the mosquitoes hummed, 
 Golden amid the level light that streamed 
 To left of us, and lighted up one side 
 Of each black garment, and of each man's face. 
 There was great silence, and we plainly heard
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 The oxen chewing hard in the wet grass. 
 
 I was aware that all one way were set 
 
 The faces of the company, and all 
 
 Gazed onward straight ; and I too gazed that way. 
 
 And in the farthest light the eye could reach, 
 
 Low down on the horizon, I beheld 
 
 Against an orange sky a purple cloud ; 
 
 A cloud that did not change, nor melt, nor move. 
 
 And still there were faint shadows in the cloud, 
 
 A mystery of towers, and walls, and hills, 
 
 And the shadow of a great dome in the midst, 
 
 All purple and I knew that it was ROME.
 
 48 THE DISCIPLES, 
 
 II. 
 
 ' " ROMA AMOR, the mystic letters run, 
 
 Spelled backwards by the Sibyl ages since, 
 
 And written so in sight of all men's eyes, 
 
 But never read till now ; and even now 
 
 The vision is but for the Prophet's eye, 
 
 And to the world the riddle still remains j " 
 
 So speaks our Greatest.' These were Ugo's words, 
 
 But then, as now, I understood them not. 
 
 I only knew of Rome, that I was there : 
 A great, strange city, lovelier in its lights 
 Than all the golden greenness of the hills ; 
 And in its shadows, glorious far beyond 
 The purple dropping skirts of thunder-cloud. 
 A city of all colours, and fair shapes, 
 And gleams of falling water, day and night ; 
 Resonant with bells, and voices musical ; 
 Lit up with rainbow fountains in the day, 
 Lit up with rain of coloured stars by night ; 
 Where one might wander each day and be lost, 
 And every day find some new wilderness ; 
 And full of some invisible, strange charm
 
 UGO BASSI. 49 
 
 Of presence what, I know not ; but it seemed 
 As if the air was breath of many souls 
 Sighing together in a speechless hymn, 
 In a long sadness, that was yet not pain. 
 I never once could feel alone in Rome ; 
 The sense of some one greater than myself 
 Was with me in all places, making life 
 Solemn at all times. In Abruzzo were 
 The sunsets full of golden peace ; but here 
 Splendours vermilion streamed across the West, 
 As one vast cloud of angels and of saints. 
 
 Now life woke in me with new consciousness, 
 Awful and sweet ; for heretofore had I 
 Lived as the goats lived, and the summer streams, 
 With gladness flowing from the morning sun, 
 The happy Pagan life among the hills ; 
 And felt no more : but in me now was born 
 A human soul and human fellowship, 
 And with the sense of man, the need of God. 
 A service and a purpose came to me 
 In every day, and every day was linked 
 On to another, onwards into days 
 Beyond this life. Now, too, I prayed to God, 
 Because without it life became too hard : 
 But I forgot the old prayers I had made, 
 Unthinking, to the Saints ; and in my heart, 
 An image then began to dwell of One 
 Who among men was Man ; yet perfectly 
 E
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Did manifest the Word of God ; and left 
 
 These words to us, ' Lo, I remain with you, 
 
 Always, to the world's end : ' and I began 
 
 To feel Him with us, and to live and move 
 
 As in His sight, and to be glad of it, 
 
 Though ignorantly. But this sense I caught 
 
 From Ugo, from my Master, for himself 
 
 So shadowed forth in every look and act 
 
 Our Lord, without Whose Name he seldom spoke, 
 
 One could not live beside him, and forget. 
 
 But, Ugo Bassi, I keep talking on 
 Of him, and have not told his history; 
 And truly, little of it do I know, 
 For seldom spake he of himself, and none 
 Among us spent much time in idle talk. 
 This have I heard : his mother was a Greek, 
 His father Felsinean ; and they had 
 No other son ; and his baptismal name 
 Was Joseph, like the great Italian Chiefs. 
 But when he joined the Confraternity 
 Of the Apostle Barnabas, he took 
 The name of Ugo, as in memory 
 Of a great poet surnamed Foscolo, 
 Who had loved Italy, and for her sake 
 Had suffered loss of all things, and of life, 
 And had been buried in a foreign land. 
 And Ugo was in many foreign tongues 
 Learned above his brethren ; and all arts
 
 UGO SASSI. 
 
 Were easy to him, and in every one 
 
 No scholar's, but a master's hand appeared. 
 
 The Music of his Masses still is heard 
 
 At Naples, and the songs that first he sang, 
 
 Are sung in mournful memory to-day 
 
 By many a convent-wall and fountain side ; 
 
 And pictures from his hand are guarded close 
 
 In many a reverent chamber, shedding light 
 
 And bloom of beauty through a gloomy place. 
 
 And, beautiful in outward grace, a charm 
 
 Dwelt on him, the beloved of all eyes. 
 
 But all things he forsook, to give himself 
 
 To ministry among the poor and sad ; 
 
 And now, still young, for many years his life 
 
 Had been amongst them, wheresoever need 
 
 Was bitterest, and the heart was pierced the most ; 
 
 And mighty gifts of healing, and great power 
 
 For soul and body's aid and comforting 
 
 Went with him in the toilsome way he trod. 
 
 Wherever called him the most hopeless cry, 
 
 W 7 herever want most sad, and pain most sore, 
 
 Through the dark hours his steadfast watchings wore, 
 
 The touches of his tenderness were spent ; 
 
 Till from the saved, the succoured, the consoled, 
 
 One voice of blessing clung around his name. 
 
 And early did his fame of eloquence 
 In preaching spread abroad ; for when he spoke 
 He seemed inspired, and all who heard and saw
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Were drawn into a height beyond themselves. 
 Hither and thither was he sent to preach, 
 And minister meanwhile to the distrest, 
 By his Superiors ; and he wrought his tasks 
 As he was bidden ; but a living fire, 
 Swift as the cloven tongues of Pentecost, 
 Began to show itself, beyond the rules. 
 
 But chiefly in the city of his youth, 
 Bologna, did his heart unfold itself, 
 Moving all hearts that heard in unison. 
 And not without offence ; for once in Lent, 
 When fame of him began to get abroad, 
 He was appointed preacher in the Church 
 Of San Petronio, which was duly held 
 A high distinction for so young a priest ; 
 And all the dignitaries of the Church 
 Were there to hear the youthful orator, 
 Besides a throng of people of all ranks. 
 And in the midst, full in the altar lights, 
 Sat the archbishop, splendid in his robes, 
 Cardinal Oppizzoni, lending grace 
 Of his most venerable countenance 
 To the occasion. And the clear voice rose, 
 And silence fell on all the multitudes, 
 Till he and they alike were rapt away, 
 Forgetting all things, save that God was near. 
 
 But, speaking of repentance, and its works,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Not its words only, he with his heart full 
 Of what he had seen and heard and dwelt amom 
 At Rome, spake out, with bitter vehemence, 
 Of the unchecked corruptions of the priests ; 
 Adjuring them in fierce, bold words, ' Beware ! 
 Ye wolves that feed upon the flock of Christ, 
 And call yourselves the shepherds !' and at this, 
 The face of the Archbishop suddenly 
 Changed as if palsy-stricken, and grew pale 
 And grey, above the purple and the gold : 
 And all the people gazed and saw him change 
 And tremble, and a sudden shiver ran 
 Across them, and they felt as if a bomb 
 Had fallen, and some trouble were at hand. 
 
 And the next day a council was convoked, 
 The Cardinal-Legate, Ugo Spinola, 
 Presiding, and a messenger was sent 
 To Rome, to ask suspension and rebuke 
 For the presumptuous preacher ; and himself, 
 Summoned before them, met them all arrayed 
 In frowns against him, and in menaces. 
 
 But Mauro Cappellari, who was styled 
 Gregory the Sixteenth, at that time Pope, 
 Aforetime at Bologna in the schools 
 Had marked the rare gifts and the noble brow 
 Of Giuseppe Bassi, and had said, 
 ' If the Church win him, he will be to her
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 An ornament ; ' and had disposed things so, 
 That he was led to dedicate himself. 
 And afterwards, when he had found the monks 
 Not as he dreamed, and they had forced his mind 
 To disillusion, he still fresh in youth, 
 Still ardent, still of boundless faith in men, 
 Would fain have parted from them, and returned 
 Back to his home : but Cappellari then, 
 Astute and sympathetic, wrought on him, 
 As his confessor, and so comforted, 
 Urged, and encouraged him, that he remained. 
 And now, the Pope, knowing his inmost heart, 
 And tender of the young remembered face, 
 Befriended him ; and would not pass on him 
 Any hard sentence ; only, bade them watch 
 His words henceforward, and to send him back 
 To Rome at Easter. 
 
 And in May he sent 
 
 For him to audience ; and admonished him 
 Mildly, and bade him be more circumspect. 
 And Ugo, being young, took the reproof 
 Submissively ; and set himself awhile 
 To silence and retirement, and no more 
 Spake openly, but studied much alone. 
 But the Archbishop was not satisfied ; 
 For the offence was serious, and he said, 
 ' He is a young man, I an old ; but wait ! 
 I bide my time we Cardinals live long. 
 The end is not yet come.' But Ugo stayed
 
 UGO BASSf. 
 
 At Rome : and, of his books the one he loved 
 The most, and lived the most with, I have heard, 
 Was this, in Greek, the Gospel of our Lord ; 
 And next he communed with the works of him 
 Whom all the scholars think so great a man, 
 Dante ; and with some English poets too, 
 Two famous men whose names I have forgot, 
 But one wrote plays, and the other died in Greece. 
 In stillness he abode ; and as the dew 
 Feeds the white lilies in a lonely wood, 
 And the earth's strength is drawn into the corn, 
 And in dark caves the sapphires crystallise, 
 So were the spirits of the elements 
 Of Nature, and of other noble minds, 
 Into his spirit wrought in solitude 
 By one diviner Spirit quickening all, 
 Until the starry flower of his own soul 
 Blossomed into its own clear shape and light ; 
 Not cut and stamped according to the lines 
 Of his high priests: and when he spake again, 
 He did not please them better than before. 
 
 And one Lent service, he officiating 
 By order, at Palermo, in the Church 
 Dell' Olivella, day by day the hearts 
 Of all the city, drawn to penitence, 
 Melted before him, listening to the voice, 
 And gazing on the young angelic face, 
 That pierced them with the message of the Lord,
 
 56 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And then uplifted them, saying, ' Look on Christ ! 
 Behold the Cross whereon your sins and mine 
 Have bound Him ! Listen to the lips that said, 
 " Forgive them !" Listen to them, saying still, 
 " Come unto Me, and I will give you rest." 
 O broken hearts, O sorrowful and poor, 
 Come unto Him Who came to bring you life ! 
 Hold fast by His good tidings of great joy, 
 Have no more fear, for God is here with man, 
 Yea, light and love, the Cross of Jesus Christ ! ' 
 And the face grew transfigured in their sight, 
 And the eyes grew like the glory that they saw, 
 And something of the light and of the peace 
 Passed from his soul into the souls of them. 
 And all the people loved, and clung to him ; 
 And many sinful souls were brought to Christ, 
 That April, in Palermo, by his word. 
 But when the day came that he must depart, 
 Multitudes followed with him to the shore, 
 And kissed his hands, and wept to part with him. 
 But he embarked in a slow-sailing ship, 
 And came to Naples. And as he arrived, 
 The rumour met him, blown by swifter wings, 
 ' The new Black Pestilence, the Cholera, 
 Is at Palermo, suddenly burst out, 
 And the black flag is flying over her. 
 And all have fled who can, but those who stay 
 No more may pass the barriers, land or sea. 
 They die by hundreds in the streets by day,
 
 UGO BASS!. 
 
 They bury them by hundreds in the night.' 
 And he was sad ; but those who greeted him 
 Said, ' We give thanks to God thou hast escaped : 
 A little later would have been too late.' 
 But still he mused and saddened ; and at last 
 He spake, ' I must go back, and be with them ! 
 They love me, and I love them, and their need 
 Is come I cannot rest away from them.' 
 And all dissuaded him, but he : ' My vow 
 And office gives me access unto them. 
 Deny me not ! ' And the Archbishop said, 
 ' Go, if God calls thee : yet I shall not see 
 Thy face again, it fears me ; easily 
 May one go in, but hardly may return, 
 But yet I may not keep thee, if thy will 
 Be set to go. ' So he took ship again 
 Back to Palermo : and, with yearning eyes, 
 Stood on the deck, and watched, as he drew near 
 The glittering marble City of the South ; 
 And saw the palm-trees in her gardens stand, 
 Approaching ; and a breeze came from the land, 
 And odours of pomegranate and of balm 
 Came wafted, with the sound of funeral bells. 
 
 And steadily they clave the water-lines, 
 Opal and sapphire shifting on the floor 
 Of glassy sea, that melted on a shore 
 White with shell-pearl, and pink with coralline. 
 And there he landed, past the harbour-bars
 
 58 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of quarantine ; but all the quays were filled 
 
 Already with pale people of the town, 
 
 Who knew that he was coming, though no word 
 
 Had been sent on to give them news of it. 
 
 (Did no one ever need a face so much, 
 
 They could but lie and wait, and send for it 
 
 The strong magnetic call across the earth 
 
 Of spirit unto spirit, knowing not 
 
 Where they might find it, how it might be reached 
 
 Until one moment unawares the door 
 
 Was opened, and that face was over them ?) 
 
 And all in passionate tears they broke, and kissed 
 
 His garments, and embraced his hands and feet ; 
 
 And through the stricken city passed a thrill 
 
 Electric, and the hearts of all revived. 
 
 Some who were dying answered those who told, 
 
 ' It is enough : we have lived to see once more 
 
 The face of Ugo Bassi ! ' and some said, 
 
 ' Welcome the cholera, if it brings him back. 
 
 Now know we God is with us in the fire ; 
 
 For He hath sent His messenger to walk 
 
 The strait way with us ; as the souls that sang 
 
 " Glory to God," amid the whitening flame 
 
 Along the highest wall of Purgatory, 
 
 So let us suffer, and be purified, 
 
 Rejoicing in this solemn fellowship. 1 
 
 But he on foot passed upwards from the port, 
 Followed by many friends : and whosoe'er
 
 UGO BASST. 
 
 Had looked upon the glory of that day 
 
 In Sicily beneath the summer sun, 
 
 Would not have dreamed that Death was reigning there 
 
 In shape so terrible ; for all the road 
 
 Was like an avenue of Paradise, 
 
 Life, and full flame of loveliness of life. 
 
 The red geraniums blazed in banks breast-high, 
 
 And from the open doors in the white walls 
 
 Scents of magnolia and of heliotrope 
 
 Came to the street ; filmy aurora-flowers 
 
 Opened and died in the hour, and fell away 
 
 In many-coloured showers upon the ground ; 
 
 Nebulous masses of the pale- blue stars 
 
 Made light upon the darkness of the green, 
 
 Through openings in the thickets overarched ; 
 
 Where roses, white and yellow and full-rose, 
 
 Weighed down their branches, till the ground was swept 
 
 By roses, and strewn with them, as the air 
 
 Shook the thick clusters, and the Indian reeds 
 
 Bowed to its passing with their feathery heads ; 
 
 And trumpet-blossoms pushed out great white horns 
 
 From the green sheath, till all the green was hid 
 
 By the white spread of giant-blowing wings. 
 
 In the cool shadow heaps of tuberose 
 
 Lay by the fountains in the market-place, 
 
 Among the purple fruit. The jalousies 
 
 Of the tall houses shut against the sun 
 
 Were wreathed with trails of velvet-glossy bells ; 
 
 And here and there one had not been unclosed
 
 6o THE DISCIPLES, 
 
 Yesterday, and the vivid shoots had run 
 
 Over it in a night, and sealed it fast 
 
 With tendril, and bright leaf, and drops of flower. 
 
 And in and out the balconies thin stems 
 
 Went twisting, and the chains of passion-flowers, 
 
 Bud, blossom, and phantasmal orb of fruit 
 
 Alternate, swung, and lengthened every hour. 
 
 And fine-leaved greenery crept from bower to bower 
 
 With thick white star-flakes scattered ; and the bloom 
 
 Of orient lilies, and the rainbow-blue 
 
 Of iris shot up stately from the grass ; 
 
 And through the wavering shadows crimson sparks 
 
 Poised upon brittle stalks, glanced up and down ; 
 
 And shining darkness of the cypress closed 
 
 The deep withdrawing glades of evergreen, 
 
 Lit up far off" with oleander pyres. 
 
 Out of the rocky dust of the wayside 
 The lamps of the aloes burned themselves aloft, 
 Immortal ; and the prickly cactus-knots 
 In the hot sunshine overleant the walls, 
 The lizards darting in and out of them ; 
 But in the shadier side the maidenhair 
 Sprung thick from every crevice. Passing these, 
 He issued on to the Piazza, where 
 The wonder of the world, the Fountain streams 
 From height to height of marble, dashing down 
 White waves for ever over whitest limbs, 
 That shine in multitudes amid the spray 
 And sound of silver waters without end,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Rolling and rising and showering suddenly. 
 There standing where the fig-trees made a shade 
 Close in the angle, he beheld the streets 
 Stretch fourways to the beautiful great gates ; 
 With all their burnished domes and carven stones 
 In wavering coloured lines of light and shade. 
 And downwards, from the greatest of the gates, 
 Porta Felice, swept the orange-groves ; 
 And avenues of coral-trees led down 
 In all their hanging splendours to the shore ; 
 And out beyond them, sleeping in the light, 
 The islands, and the azure of the sea. 
 And upwards, through a labyrinth of spires, 
 And turrets, and steep alabaster walls, 
 The city rose, and broke itself away 
 Amidst the forests of the hills, and reached 
 The heights of Monreale, crowned with all 
 Its pinnacles and all its jewelled fronts 
 Shining to seaward ; but the tolling bells 
 Out of the gilded minarets smote the ear : 
 Until at last, through miles of shadowy air, 
 The blue and violet mountains shut the sky. 
 All this he looked upon, and so the earth 
 Smiled upon him farewell as it might be. 
 And then he turned aside, and entered in 
 The hospital of San Dominico. 
 But it was a long time, and all the year 
 Had changed, before he crossed the door again.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 God did not stay His hand for many days : 
 Though lamps were lit at all the shrines, and prayers 
 Were made unceasing, also many vows. 
 And the fair statue of the virgin saint, 
 That smiles in sleep, was carried through the town, 
 Wreathed with her Roses ; but it was in vain. 
 And little was it any art could do 
 Among the sick ; some lived and others died ; 
 All suffered. And a blind and groundless mass 
 Of terror, in this new and unforeseen 
 And unappeasable calamity, 
 Made it the heavier. Panic-stricken, most 
 Remained because a strong arm barred them in ; 
 And selfish fear, nurtured of ignorance, 
 Had hold of them alike within, without ; 
 And none whose hearts were not as strong as death 
 Through love or courage or despair of life, 
 But held aloof from contact with the sick. 
 The hospitals were crowded down the floors 
 With those who lived through agony, or died, 
 Without a hand to help them in their need ; 
 And many a life flickered away for want 
 Of aid sufficient ; while yet more poured in, 
 Heaped one on other, till the doors were choked. 
 And all one chaos of heart-rending pain, 
 Helpless dismay, confusion, and despair : 
 And many people died from fear alone. 
 
 But Ugo entered in, and all was changed.
 
 UGO BASSI. 63 
 
 Not only the unwearied foot and hand 
 Skilled in all service, and the eyes that seemed 
 To strike straight through in every part at once ; 
 But also the commanding ease of sway 
 That stilled the tumult of the stricken throng, 
 And carried calm and order through the ranks 
 Of those that served, and was a stay to all. 
 
 The strong sweet voice that made pain possible 
 Without its sorrow, the illumined eyes 
 That bent above the dying with the light 
 Of victory, the unshrinking tender hand, 
 Were as the soul of all the suffering days. 
 And peace and patience came, and courage too, 
 Living or dying ; and the gates of heaven 
 Were terrible, but glorious ; for this side, 
 Also, the angels stood, and held the posts. 
 Long hours of darkness thrilled from eve to dawn, 
 With one vibration of the voice that passed 
 With four low words ; the dying waited on 
 Through heavy, fainting hours for one more look, 
 One more of his, the last, and when it came, 
 Found that the tide had turned within their veins. 
 And kneeling on the floor (for other bed 
 Was not, for some), he held within his arms 
 One between life and death ; who, falling off 
 In languid stupor either sleep or death, 
 Still lay there heavily, the powerless head 
 On Ugo's breast, and neither stirred at all ;
 
 64 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And the light faded, and still Ugo knelt 
 Cramped, motionless ; and many hours went by ; 
 Until the sick man woke alive and saved ; 
 But Ugo sickened nor that time alone. 
 For he, in course of that long troublous time, 
 Three times was stricken by the cholera, 
 Three times passed through an agony like death, 
 And three times slowly battled back to life. 
 
 And when at last the pestilence had ceased, 
 He left Palermo ; and came back again 
 To his own country, and returned to all 
 Obedience under an embittered rule. 
 
 And in all places where one mother-tongue 
 Made men Italians, fame of him was found, 
 As of the greatest preacher of the time. 
 And many noble cities sent for him 
 To hold the office of the Forty Days 
 In their cathedrals ; and in those spring days 
 The multitudes were gathered year by year 
 To hear him : and the vast Basilicas 
 (Lighted but by the thousands of the eyes 
 Fixed on his face, and by the one pale face 
 That rose above them fronting, paler yet 
 From passion of the prayer than from the fast) 
 Thrilled through their shadows as the low tones fell 
 First on the ears that waited ; gathering power 
 As soul enkindled soul, and silence grew 
 Deeper to pain, beneath the ringing voice,
 
 UGO BASSI. 65 
 
 That filled the air at last and overbore 
 And overwhelmed in one resistless flow 
 Of penitence, of pardon, and of peace ; 
 Till the strained silence broke with sound of sobs, 
 Where hearts were breaking at the feet of Christ. 
 And from the doors the people passed, but were 
 No more the same ; an angel's hand had held 
 Theirs, and the pulse had quickened under it 
 To life-blood heat of holiness ; old feuds 
 Of families were buried with the past ; 
 And orphan children at the stranger's hearth 
 Found tenderness mixed with their daily- bread j 
 And usurers sought out the homes of those 
 Stripped by their gains, and brought them back their own ; 
 And women took the mock-rose from their cheeks, 
 And, wan with weeping, walked with purer eyes. 
 And souls set free from sin, and hearts absolved, 
 Clung with a grateful passion round the man 
 Whose voice had made God manifest to them. 
 And by the natural gifts that in him dwelt 
 Unconsciously, and looked out from his eyes, 
 And by the mighty deeds that he had wrought, 
 Such chains were fashioned between them and him, 
 Forged fast in such a glowing fire of faith, 
 As all the world could neither break nor bend. 
 The multitudes thronged round him, though he prayed 
 For quiet, they heaped flowers before his feet, 
 Until Bologna's streets were ankle-deep ; 
 (Ah, fond and foolish ! yet another day, 
 F
 
 66 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And you shall see him passing through your streets 
 When all the flowers are faded). As he passed, 
 The nobles threw their mantles in his path, 
 And stood bareheaded ; all the night was loud 
 With songs, to do him honour ; and when he 
 Preached in the great church metropolitan, 
 Saint Peter's, they had need to keep the gates 
 With guards ; and all the way along the nave, 
 From the chief doors beside of which the rude 
 Great lions of the red Verona stone 
 Keep always at their posts, up to the arch 
 That crowns the altar with its blazonry, 
 (The last work of Caracci overhead, 
 Where the Annunciating Angel bows 
 Before the Virgin), stood a double line 
 Of soldiers, forcing back the multitude 
 To make a passage for him ; for indeed, 
 There was such pressure to catch sight of him, 
 Or touch his hand, that there was danger feared, 
 And felt. 
 
 But all this ha'd not come to pass, 
 Without much envy, clamour, and alarm 
 Among the priests. They did not dare to stem 
 The flood of popular passion at full tide 
 Now in Bologna ; they took counsel long 
 Together, they prepared their snares for him, 
 And waited opportunity to fall 
 Upon him ; and they trembled as he spoke,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 For hatred : but they feared the people most, 
 And of all people, most the Bolognese. 
 
 But when he left Bologna, and retired 
 For quiet to Perugia, they perceived 
 Their time was come : and they let loose on him 
 Their charges, of sedition, heresy, 
 Presumption, and whatever else would serve ; 
 Besides some more, of pure malevolence 
 Invented, to defame his spotless life : 
 (Though Padre Venturing Spisni too, 
 The Father-General of the Barnabites, 
 And all the heads of the Order stood by him 
 And testified his blamelessness of all). 
 But mostly they of the Dominicans, 
 And of the Company of Jesus, were 
 Against him ; and it was resolved at Rome 
 To crush the preaching and the preacher too, 
 As privately as might be possible. 
 
 Cardinal Lambruschini, Genoese, 
 (Himself a friar of the Barnabites, 
 And General of the Order formerly), 
 Secretary, and known throughout the States 
 For his severity and vigilance, 
 And double-dealing, wrote in the meantime 
 To the Superior of the monastery 
 Situate at San Severino, thus :
 
 63 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 ' Most Reverend and Well-Beloved in God : 
 We hereby, in the Holy Father's name, 
 Consign to your authority and charge, 
 Subject to utmost rigour of your rule, 
 A friar of the Barnabites, by name 
 Ugo, and surnamed Bassi ; him of whom 
 Doubtless reports have reached you much of late. 
 You understand the reason he is sent 
 To you, and what a special confidence 
 The Holy Father here vouchsafes to you. 
 This man, although himself he is not given 
 To disputation or to argument, 
 And is himself contented with his Church, 
 And works on men's hearts rather than their minds, 
 Yet ever dwelling on the name of Christ, 
 And putting those things last which should be first, 
 He sows broadcast the seeds of heresy, 
 Besides suspicion of a darker sort, 
 Connection with the new political 
 Secret societies ; a charge, which I, 
 Having investigated, do not hold 
 True, but yet choose to act as if it were : 
 Do you the same the man is dangerous. 
 
 ' If God were pleased to call him quickly hence, 
 It would be a great mercy to the Church ; 
 But that is where we cannot interfere. 
 You cannot touch his heart ; look to his mind. 
 Though an enthusiast he is not a fool ;
 
 UGO BASST. 69 
 
 But might be made so, for the finer brain 
 Is the more delicate, and may be dealt 
 More subtly with ; and there are many ways. 
 Look that he come not out as he goes in. 
 You have the means, you have full liberty 
 To use them all, and the result will count 
 In your advancement. Do not seek at all 
 To move his bent of spirit ; take no heed 
 Of anything he says or does or thinks, 
 Except to mark where most the points will hit : 
 Nor nurse a self-complacent stubbornness 
 By a direct severity ; let that 
 Be used unsparingly and ceasing not, 
 But never for the cause where it is due. 
 Pass over that ; and dwell continually 
 Upon the charges that you know are false, 
 And let them be the ground of everything. 
 
 He is as innocent as is a child ; 
 If he were not, he could do little harm ; 
 And you can hurt him more by the very name 
 Of evil which his soul abhors, than all 
 Your penitential offices can do 
 To the more hardened sinners sent to you 
 For scandalous offences. Mix him up 
 With these, and let them take their share with you 
 In humbling him ; give him for intercourse 
 These gross companions, and reprove them all 
 Together ; take occasion to point out 
 That he is worst of them ; and add besides,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 That he to all his other sins has joined 
 Hypocrisy, and used a saintly mien 
 For cloak of vice, while they, the lesser sort, 
 Have but erred frankly ; set them on to take 
 The lesson up and carry out themselves ; 
 And let them mitigate their own deserts 
 By such vexations as they can inflict, 
 The coarser on the finer. It will be 
 Easy to find a pretext in his face, 
 (Which people say is like a pictured saint's), 
 For taunts and bitter speeches, and such stings 
 As strike the sharpest, being falsehood dipt 
 In truth ; this humble and pure-seeming priest 
 Looks not, as you will say, the thing he is, 
 A brawler and blasphemer and the rest. 
 And when you have him at the lowest point, 
 Body and soul, starved out and beaten down, 
 Then let him find a sympathising ear 
 At hand, once only, in some lonely hour, 
 And let him pour out all his heart to him, 
 Finding a gentle listener, and a kind 
 Half-helpful voice ; and let him brood on this 
 Unlooked-for secret solace, some pale days 
 Tinged with an aching hope ; and suddenly 
 Confront him with the sympathising friend 
 Turned enemy, and bringing all his words 
 Against him, adding here and missing there 
 Whatever may convert them to offence, 
 And evil-hatching import undesigned.
 
 uco BASS:. 
 
 Bring him to see the one face he has found 
 Tender, with long-laid malice mocking him 
 In his betrayal ; and when so his heart 
 Sinks stricken from its last faint trust in man, 
 And the broken spirit craves some resting-place, 
 Some hour of respite from the torturing hands, 
 Then take your time ; then find in this the ground 
 For fresh severities ; and heap on him 
 All that humiliation, pain, and want 
 Can pour on one already broken down. 
 And let him read his shame in every eye, 
 And let suspicion follow every least 
 Motion or act of his. 
 
 You will not have 
 
 Much trouble with him ; his obedience lies 
 Deeper than pride, or self, or any wrong ; 
 His meekness is a fault, and yet his fault 
 Is overboldness ; you will know the man ; 
 One of those ardent minds who suffer pain, 
 And call it pleasure, so it be but borne 
 For one they love, and above all, for God : 
 Who, if they can but fancy they are right, 
 Are sure to beat you with a smile at last, 
 Just when you have them safest under heel. 
 Take from him all pretence of pride in this ; 
 Give him no choice ; and always much insist 
 Upon the mildness of his punishment, 
 And gratefulness for the indulgence shown.
 
 72 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 ' Confuse him every way ; admonish him 
 Wide of the mark ; and never answer him 
 According to his reasons ; let him chafe 
 Ever beneath a wrong', and still the more 
 He tries to make a clear straightforward case, 
 Twist it the more to some unlooked-for sense 
 Of ill-intention ; till himself begin 
 To doubt himself and his own sense at all, 
 And to regard his own high-flying views 
 As mere conceits and fancies of the brain. 
 
 ' But in whatever state he comes from you, 
 (For he must not die with you,) I expect 
 At least, that there shall be no more of that 
 Exuberant fervour and self-confidence, 
 Which holds the multitude enthralled by him ; 
 Nor of that vigorous courage in the blood, 
 Which sees a doom, and marches up to it ; 
 Nor of that springing fountain in the heart 
 Of inward sunshine, so that people say, 
 (Profanely, people of the lower sort), 
 They look on him, and straightway it appears 
 As if a hundred candles at a saint's 
 Shrine had been lighted up all suddenly, 
 And in the midst of them the saint himself : 
 I trust to you to see he smiles no more. 
 
 ' His Holiness, (who if he only could 
 Be fallible, would err in this alone,
 
 UGO BASSI, 
 
 Over-indulgence), has been much inclined 
 To favour and forgiveness ; but at last, 
 Persuaded that his duty to the Church 
 Demands a sterner treatment, after much 
 Consideration, and advice from me, 
 Sanctions whatever measures you may deem 
 Advisable : and many other things 
 I leave to your discretion. I convey 
 The blessing of His Holiness to you ; 
 With protestations of profound esteem 
 From your most humble and devoted Friend 
 And Servant, Lambruschini, Cardinal.' 
 
 And the same time a missive came to him, 
 Ugo, likewise, from Rome ; and in this sense : 
 ' Whereas the Holy Father, with great grief, 
 Has heard of grave disorders in the Church, 
 Caused by thy preaching, and of scandals raised 
 Among the populace, in which thy name 
 Is mixed ; and that thou art accused thyself, 
 By the Archbishop of thy diocese, 
 Of rashness, violence, want of modesty, 
 And private judgment of the Word of God, 
 With licence to the verge of blasphemy ; 
 Besides suspicion, not disproved, of some 
 Conduct disorderly in daily life ; 
 Thou art hereby commanded and required 
 To relegate thyself for penitence 
 Into the house of the Dominicans,
 
 74 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Within San Severino ; and there wait 
 
 The sentence of the Church upon the charge. 
 
 And, furthermore, if there be any grace 
 
 Of dutiful obedience left in thee, 
 
 Or of fidelity unto thy vows, 
 
 It is required of thee to prove the same 
 
 By going freely and alone, without 
 
 Appearance of compulsion ; and to leave 
 
 Such message as will soothe the minds of those 
 
 Who call themselves thy friends, and flatter thee, 
 
 Upholding thee in thy rebellious pride ; 
 
 And that thou break off converse with them all ; 
 
 Unless it be thy purpose to inflame 
 
 Still more the minds of men against thy Church, 
 
 And all its lawful heads and ministers.' 
 
 And on the hour he rose, and did depart 
 Secretly, taking no farewell of those 
 Who loved him, on the way that he was told. 
 But in Perugia, when they found him gone, 
 Great clamour rose ; and, robbed of him, they went, 
 Demanding him, and threatening, to the priests ; 
 But he sent back a note in his own hand 
 To those he left behind him, which was read 
 To reassure them, and the storm was quelled : 
 ' I go of my free will : let no man seek 
 To follow, or to find me.' So he passed 
 Into a desert place ; and truly there 
 He found the devils waiting for his soul.
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 Castello di San Severino stands 
 Above Potenza, with the straggling town, 
 Borgo San Severino, underneath. 
 A desolate and solitary place j 
 In the most bleak and mountainous recess 
 Of Umbria, with the highest Apennines, 
 Where the snow lies in summer, rising up 
 Behind it ; and an insalubrious air 
 Making whoever long abides there gaunt 
 And melancholy. Thither came one night 
 The friar Ugo Bassi all alone ; 
 Footsore and faint and famished, from a long 
 Day's journey over solitary hills ; 
 And pulled the rusty bell beside the gates, 
 And asked for harbour in the name of Christ. 
 His place was ready : Lambruschini's word 
 Was paramount in all the Roman States, 
 And in San Severino. Ugo found 
 His portion carved for him : and he, resolved 
 To endure all things for the love of God, 
 To forgive all things for the love of man, 
 Found his task hard, and harder, and at length 
 Sank under it. Of what he suffered there 
 No record now is left, but these few lines 
 In his own writing ; fragments, which a friend 
 Gathered, and stored away when he was gone. 
 
 ' Let me receive this cross as at Thy Hand, 
 O Lord, in meekness and humility !
 
 7 G THE DISCIPLES, 
 
 Lord, Thou dost know me innocent of what 
 They bring against me ; they lay to my charge 
 Things that I know not ; yet this soul of mine, 
 Sinful and sorrowful stands in Thy sight, 
 
 Holy One, and needs this bitter cup 
 
 To purge it : give me grace to drink thereof, 
 
 And patience still to glorify Thy Name, 
 
 And thank Thee for Thy chastening, when Thy hand 
 
 Is heavy on me, nor complain at all, 
 
 Knowing that I have well deserved Thy wrath ! 
 
 O Saviour, Who didst give Thyself to die 
 For us, who loved Thee not, Who didst forgive 
 The cruel hearts that did not pity Thee, 
 Have mercy on me, help me to forgive ! 
 Let not the wrong prevailing conquer me, 
 Nor hold my heart in bitterness of wrath. 
 Let me forgive them ; and forgive them Thou ; 
 And bring us soon together in Thy love ! 
 
 O Christ, the cross is heavy ! Strengthen me, 
 As Thou wast strengthened ! Hold me by the hand. 
 For I am falling, I can bear no more. 
 My heart is all on fire, and curses them : 
 
 1 cannot pardon ! Everything is dark : 
 There is no pity in the world for me. 
 God, too, is cruel. Is there any God ? 
 There is a crowd of devils round my path, 
 Mocking me, holding to me, filling me
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 With voices of their hissing, night and day : 
 
 cast them from me ! I have striven in vain ; 
 
 1 have no more strength, they have hold of me. 
 Christ, by Thy Cross I do adjure Thee now, 
 Only to give me grace to cling to it ! 
 
 O lay me in the lowest at Thy feet, 
 
 And with Thine own hands smite and do not spare, 
 
 But only leave me not ! Thou art not here. 
 
 There is no answer : I am all alone. 
 
 O why am I forsaken of Thee thus ? 
 
 O Jesus Christ, if Thou wouldst only turn 
 Thy face on me, I could endure it all J 
 
 O God, O God, be pitiful to me ! 
 And to my enemies ! ' and there the words 
 Broke off : but he was changing visibly : 
 The wan face sharpened into haggardness ; 
 The weak knees tottered to their daily tasks ; 
 And never once the sunken eyes were raised ; 
 And those that watched him said, relenting not, 
 'A little longer, and he will be dead.' 
 
 But the Archbishop of his native place, 
 Cardinal Oppizzoni, a mild man, 
 Wrote : ' There will be great scandal if he dies 
 Under our hands : we must get rid of him 
 By more judicious methods : and meanwhile 
 Let it suffice, to keep him safe away
 
 78 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 From Rome and from Bologna.' Thereupon 
 It was agreed to banish him from thence, 
 (With prohibition henceforth ever more 
 To preach in the Legations or in Rome), 
 And send him into the Archbishopric 
 Of Naples : where he dwelt awhile in peace ; 
 Under protection of the Cardinal-Prince 
 Caracciolo, who had loved him long. 
 
 But when he died, a new Archbishop came 
 To Naples, one already infamous, 
 As Michael Savarese, and he joined 
 This to his wrongs, that he drave Ugo forth. 
 Who, finding not one safe place for his foot 
 In Italy, nor one prevailing friend, 
 Took refuge in Palermo ; which indeed, 
 The city he had done so much to save, 
 Received him destitute, forlorn, and nigh 
 To starving. For, set down within the port, 
 Barefooted, and without the means to buy 
 Another meal, he had not strength to reach 
 The Convent of his Order, but sat down 
 And waited in the market-place, until 
 Some pious persons passing, he of them 
 Requested : ' Give me, in the Name of Christ, 
 An alms, for bread to-day,' which being given, 
 He gathered up his strength, and passed along 
 The well-remembered ways, until he came 
 Up to the Convent. There he dwelt awhile,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Ministering without pause, to body and soul 
 Of all who needed ; and beloved of all ; 
 Nor beloved only, but by natural power 
 And majesty, invested with a charm 
 That swayed men to his bidding and regard. 
 
 But when the new Pope, Pius, was proclaimed, 
 And amnesty was granted, and old bonds 
 Were all relaxed, he went back unopposed 
 To his own country, and revisited 
 Bologna ; and in many other towns 
 Sojourned a little ; but at last abode 
 In Rome, a little while before our days 
 Of trouble, trouble that turned good for me. 
 
 And now, still youthful-seeming in his prime, 
 Dwelt with the Brethren of his Order there ; 
 Tranquil at last ; a small Community, 
 Most of them Romans ; but Fra Ugo was 
 No Roman, rather of the Lombard type ; 
 He being tall in stature and grey-eyed ; 
 Gold-threaded hair that rayed from lips and brow, 
 A face not pale, but fair and colourless, 
 Perfect in feature, and that sometimes smiled 
 Like the first burst of sunshine after rain. 
 But O My Master, is it not all in vain ! 
 I write of a face that whoso once hath seen 
 Remembereth, and whoso hath not seen 
 Hath seen no other like it, and no words
 
 So THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of mine can show it him. 
 
 And this it was 
 
 That made the centre of my world at Rome ; 
 A new world and a holy one to me. 
 The brethren dwelt in an old spacious house 
 Along a dark street in Trastevere, 
 Near by the bridge of Saint Bartholomew ; 
 Few windows were there looking to the street, 
 And the door opened on a vaulted way ; 
 But many corridors and windows looked 
 To its enclosure on the other side, 
 Where sunshine travelled o'er the walls all day 
 In quiet ; and one large acacia tree 
 Grew in the courtyard, blossoming in showers. 
 
 A small part only of the old house served 
 The brethren's needs ; but all the larger rooms, 
 Lofty and bare, they made their hospital, 
 In which by night and day they ministered 
 Unto their sick ; and these were always full. 
 And all of them had diligently learnt 
 The art of healing, and among them were 
 Some surgeons and physicians much expert. 
 But mostly those, whom they received within, 
 Were stricken by diseases, tedious more 
 Than mortal, needing tenderness and care ; 
 Or else incurable, and needing but 
 A refuge for the last sad days of life ; 
 Or else which poverty and care had bred,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Needing the oil and wine of charity. 
 And all, as brethren, they compassionately 
 Waited upon, and tended. Also they 
 Went out abroad to seek the sick who lay 
 Helpless in their own homes ; and visited 
 Those who were bound in prison, or drew near 
 To dying, whom they succoured, undeterred 
 By any depth of pain or of despair. 
 Also it was their duty to bring help 
 Unto the widow and the fatherless, 
 And counsel to the weak and ignorant, 
 And consolation in the name of Christ 
 To all afflicted persons whomsoe'er. 
 
 A house of holy service and of peace 
 Was this they dwelt in ; living in one bond 
 Of purity, and brotherhood of love ; 
 Speaking but little, praying, praising God 
 With joyful service of the hearts and hands. 
 All hardly worked and hardly fared alike : 
 But unto me, the lowest in the house, 
 Most dull and ignorant, there fell by right 
 The lowest tasks ; and I most truly found 
 The life a hard one, strictly ruled and lined, 
 And having little change or pleasantness. 
 To fetch and carry, and to sweep and scour, 
 To hew wood, and draw water, but in heaven ! 
 For now I grew to look on heaven itself 
 As of a kingdom round about ourselves ; 
 G
 
 Sz THE DISCIPLES 
 
 And felt the very sadness and restraint 
 Part of the higher and more heavenly life. 
 
 I hungered, and I wearied, and I pined 
 Often, and sometimes with vague weakness diooped, 
 Which Ugo noted ; and would often bring, 
 At supper, his own portion to my side 
 Of meat and wine, saying to me, ' I am strong ; 
 But thou art weak, for still the fever leaves 
 Some traces on thee, and our Roman air 
 Is languid unto thee the mountain-born. 
 Eat, and thou shalt be strong as well.' And I 
 Could never disobey him, though the tears 
 Came to my eyes. But in my saddest time 
 I would not once have changed back to the life 
 Of the old times, the free and child-like joy ; 
 So far more dear and sacred had the new 
 Become to me. I sometimes felt a pang 
 Shoot through me, as the summer still went on, 
 And every day more sultry grew the air ; 
 When rising in the morning I passed forth 
 Out of my narrow chamber, and I pushed 
 Open the door, with wandering thoughts, and lo ! 
 My hand was, as it seemed, upon the door 
 Of my own father's house, that opened out 
 Right on the hill- side ; and before me all 
 The glittering slopes rolled down, wreathed here and 
 
 there 
 With the pale wood-smoke from the new-lit hearths ;
 
 UGO BASSf. 83 
 
 And all the air full of the silver threads 
 
 Of gossamer, hung thickly on the wet 
 
 Wild, myrtle bushes ; and the golden wall 
 
 Of broom against the rock-face, stirred at times 
 
 With twitter of the little mountain-birds ; 
 
 And overhead, gathered against the sky, 
 
 My goats were standing, waiting at the edge 
 
 Until my first call sounded ; leaping then 
 
 From rock to rock so lightly, that they shook 
 
 Only the cistus blossom down ; the dawn 
 
 Of yet another long unclouded day. 
 
 When swiftly in the opening of a door, 
 
 All things were changed, and all was dark and bare 
 
 In the long gloomy corridor, where through 
 
 The open doors the sick and suffering lay ; 
 
 And in my ears the call to matin prayers 
 
 Before the heavy and monotonous toil 
 
 Of the long day. And yet I did but feel, 
 
 ' It is good for me to be here.' And had 
 
 There been no other cause, I could not now 
 
 Have borne to leave my master, as I loved 
 
 To call Fra Ugo, but rebuking me 
 
 He said, ' I am thy Fellow-servant ; call 
 
 Me Brother, in one Father and one Lord.' 
 
 Yet in my heart he was the master still j 
 
 Nor in mine only, but in every heart 
 
 Of those that knew him ; though he naught assumed, 
 
 But was the youngest of the brotherhood, 
 
 And had no rule among them, but obeyed,
 
 84 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And took his turn of office with the rest, 
 
 In hall, or chapel, or in hospital, 
 
 With glad and humble manners, like a child. 
 
 And yet, whenever one was dying, he 
 Prayed for Fra Ugo ; and in any house 
 Where there was mourning, the bereaved implored, 
 In their first anguish, to Fra Ugo, Come ; 
 And if within the hospital should one 
 Go under pain of knife or cautery, 
 He begged the hand of Ugo ; and at night 
 When any moaned and tossed, and could not sleep, 
 And it was said to him, ' Whom seekest thou ? ' 
 The answer was, ' Fra Ugo.' As he passed, 
 Involuntary gladness broke around ; 
 As when birds sing because they feel the sun 
 Is rising ; such grace had he in all eyes. 
 And ever with the same unwearied peace 
 From one to another down the weary walls, 
 He moved, unconscious seeming of himself ; 
 Beholding but the sad sick faces turned 
 To him for succour ; or that other face 
 To which he turned himself, (that you might see 
 Was shining on him, full and clear to him, 
 When the rapt eyes grew glorious in their gaze) 
 That comforted and helped him, and upheld 
 Him happy, though the tears were in his eyes 
 For pity. I remember in those days, 
 Luigi Ambrosoni, an old man,
 
 UGO BASS1. 85 
 
 Half-paralytic, who for many years 
 
 Had lain in a dull corner, just between 
 
 The window and the wall, and never more 
 
 Would move from it : he said to me, ' We both 
 
 Have a good place. God has been good to us 
 
 Sending Fra Ugo here. Before he came, 
 
 I often wearied much, and longed to go ; 
 
 But now I am glad that I have lived so long : 
 
 And am content to lie here for as long 
 
 As God sees fit, if He will only send 
 
 Fra Ugo's voice to greet me once a day ! ' 
 
 And all the brethren loved him well , as one 
 Beyond themselves, a glory to their house ; 
 And all the troubles of the days gone by 
 Were as they had not been ; and quietly 
 The heavenly life flowed on a little while. 
 God granted him this boon for love of him, 
 To dwell at peace among unenvious souls, 
 Who were content to love him, and to let 
 His light shine forth, nor vex him with themselves 
 And their low humours ; but beside him each 
 Himself seemed lifted to a sweeter calm. 
 
 And one day I remember as I passed, 
 The Prior, an old man, and much beloved, 
 Said to him : ' We all serve our Lord, my Son, 
 As the first Deacons ; but amongst us all, 
 Art thou, for our Saint Stephen, full of faith
 
 85 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And power, our youngest and our best-beloved, 
 
 But yet of higher honour than the rest.' 
 
 And Ugo flushed a little, and replied : 
 
 ' My father, you but love me over-well ; 
 
 Where are the stones ? For truly, through your love, 
 
 And through my brethren's, life is soft to me ; 
 
 And I go forth to meet no harder shower 
 
 Than of the almond-blossoms overhead.' 
 
 But earnestly the aged father gazed 
 
 On him, and evenso, his face grew grave, 
 
 Murmuring, ' The end is not yet come, my son, 
 
 Is not yet come.' And Ugo went his way ; 
 
 But when I met him in the corridor, 
 
 A minute later, walking swift and straight, 
 
 I started at him, for it was as though 
 
 A sunset streamed upon his face, and all 
 
 His hair were backwards blown and golden, by 
 
 A wind from the sea ; and he beheld me not ; 
 
 With set eyes gazing out, as though he saw 
 
 A vision of the Holy Sepulchre, 
 
 Most beautiful, most awful.
 
 UGO BASSr. 87 
 
 III. 
 
 1848. 
 
 Now I heard 
 
 Fra Ugo Bassi preach. For though in Rome 
 He held no public ministry this year, 
 On Sundays in the hospital he took 
 His turn in preaching, at the service held 
 Where five long chambers, lined with suffering folk, 
 Converged, and in the midst an altar stood, 
 By which on feast-days stood the priest, and spoke. 
 And I remember how, one day in March, 
 When all the air was thrilling with the spring, 
 And even the sick people in their beds 
 Felt, though they could not see it, he stood there ; 
 Looking down all the lines of weary life, 
 Still for a little under the sweet voice, 
 And spoke this sermon to them, tenderly, 
 As it was written down by one who heard : 
 
 ' " I am the True Vine," said our Lord, " and Ye, 
 "My Brethren, are the Branches ; " and that Vine, 
 Then first uplifted in its place, and hung 
 With its first purple grapes, since then has grown,
 
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Until its green leaves gladden half the world, 
 And from its countless clusters rivers flow 
 For healing of the nations, and its boughs 
 Innumerable stretch through all the earth, 
 Ever increasing, ever each entwined 
 With each, all living from the Central Heart. 
 And you and I, my brethren, live and grow, 
 Branches of that immortal human Stem. 
 
 Let us consider now this life of the Vine, 
 Whereof we are partakers : we shall see 
 Its way is not of pleasure nor of ease. 
 It groweth not like the wild trailing weeds 
 Whither it willeth, flowering here and there ; 
 Or lifting up proud blossoms to the sun, 
 Kissed by the butterflies, and glad for life, 
 And glorious in their beautiful array ; 
 Or running into lovely labyrinths 
 Of many forms and many fantasies, 
 Rejoicing in its own luxuriant life. 
 
 The Flower of the Vine is but a little thing, 
 The least part of its life ; you scarce could tell 
 It ever had a flower ; the fruit begins 
 Almost before the flower has had its day. 
 And as it grows, it is not free to heaven, 
 But tied to a stake ; and if its arms stretch out, 
 It is but crosswise, also forced and bound ;
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 And so it draws out of the hard hill-side, 
 
 Fixed in its own place, its own food of life ; 
 
 And quickens with it, breaking forth in bud, 
 
 Joyous and green, and exquisite of form, 
 
 Wreathed lightly into tendril, leaf, and bloom. 
 
 Yea, the grace of the green vine makes all the land 
 
 Lovely in spring-time ; and it still grows on 
 
 Faster, in lavishness of its own life ; 
 
 Till the fair shoots begin to wind and wave 
 
 In the blue air, and feel how sweet it is. 
 
 But so they leave it not ; the husbandman 
 
 Comes early, with the pruning-hooks and shears, 
 
 And strips it bare of all its innocent pride, 
 
 And wandering garlands, and cuts deep and sure, 
 
 Unsparing for its tenderness and joy. 
 
 And in its loss and pain it wasteth not ; 
 
 But yields itself with unabated life, 
 
 More perfect under the despoiling hand. 
 
 The bleeding limbs are hardened into wood ; 
 
 The thinned-out bunches ripen into fruit 
 
 More full and precious, to the purple prime. 
 
 And still, the more it grows, the straitlier bound 
 Are all its branches ; and as rounds the fruit, 
 And the heart's crimson comes to show in it, 
 And it advances to its hour, its leaves 
 Begin to droop and wither in the sun ; 
 But still the life-blood flows, and does not fail, 
 All into fruitfulness, all into form.
 
 90 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Then comes the vintage, for the days are ripe. 
 And surely now in its perfected bloom, 
 It may rejoice a little in its crown, 
 Though it bend low beneath the weight of it, 
 Wrought out of the long striving of its heart. 
 But ah ! the hands are ready to tear down 
 The treasures of the grapes ; the feet are there 
 To tread them in the winepress, gathered in ; 
 Until the blood-red rivers of the wine 
 Run over, and the land is full of joy. 
 But the vine standeth stripped and desolate, 
 Having given all ; and now its own dark time 
 Is come, and no man payeth back to it 
 The comfort and the glory of its gift ; 
 But rather, now most merciless, all pain 
 And loss are piled together, as its days 
 Decline, and the spring sap has ceased to flow. 
 Now is it cut back to the very stem ; 
 Despoiled, disfigured, left a leafless stock, 
 Alone through all the dark days that shall come. 
 And all the winter-time the wine gives joy 
 To those who else were dismal in the cold ; 
 But the vine standeth out amid the frost ; 
 And after all, hath only this grace left, 
 That it endures in long, lone stedfastness 
 The winter through : and next year blooms again ; 
 Not bitter for the torment undergone, 
 Not barren for the fulness yielded up ; 
 As fair and fruitful towards the sacrifice,
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 As if no touch had ever come to it, 
 
 But the soft airs of heaven and dews of earth ; 
 
 And so fulfils itself in love once more. 
 
 And now, what more shall I say ? Do I need here 
 To draw the lesson of this life ; or say 
 More than these few words, following up the text : 
 The Vine from every living limb bleeds wine ; 
 Is it the poorer for that spirit shed ? 
 The drunkard and the wanton drink thereof; 
 Are they the richer for that gift's excess ? 
 Measure thy life by loss instead of gain ; 
 Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth ; 
 For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice ; 
 And whoso suffers most hath most to give. 
 
 I speak to those who suffer : they will know, 
 Better than I, the whole deep truth of it. 
 I who stand here complete in all my flesh, 
 Strong in the morning, sleeping fast at night, 
 Taking the winds of heaven as they blow, 
 Without a special sense save joy in each, 
 Am not so much as worthy to stoop down 
 And kiss the sacred foot-prints of my Lord 
 Upon the feet of any such a one 
 As lieth patient here beneath His hand ; 
 Whom Christ has bound on His own cross, to lie 
 Beside Him, till Himself shall give release ; 
 And that shall not be, many a one knows well, 
 Until his place knows him no more on earth.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The Living Vine, Christ chose it for Himself : 
 God gave to man for use and sustenance 
 Corn, wine, and oil, and each of these is good 
 And Christ is Bread of Life, and Light of Life 
 But yet He did not choose the summer corn, 
 That shoots up straight and free in one quick growth, 
 And has its day, and is done, and springs no more : 
 Nor yet the olive, all whose boughs are spread 
 In the soft air, and never lose a leaf, 
 Flowering and fruitful in perpetual peace : 
 But only this for Him and His in one, 
 The everlasting, everquickening Vine, 
 That gives the heat and passion of the world, 
 Through its own life-blood, still renewed and shed. 
 
 God said to Man and Woman, "By thy sweat, 
 And by thy travail, thou shall conquer earth : " 
 Not, by thy ease or pleasure : and no good 
 Or glory of this life but comes by pain. 
 How poor were earth if all its martyrdoms, 
 If all its struggling sighs of sacrifice 
 Were swept away, and all were satiate-smooth ; 
 If this were such a heaven of soul and sense 
 As some have dreamed of; and we human still. 
 Nay, we were fashioned not for perfect peace 
 In this world, howsoever in the next : 
 And what we win and hold is through some strife. 
 
 Many are pains of life ; I need not stay
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 To count them ; there is no one but hath felt 
 
 Some of them, though unequally they fall. 
 
 But of all good gifts, ever hath been health 
 
 Counted the first, and loss of it to be 
 
 The hardest thing to bear : I do not speak 
 
 Of such imperfect passages of pain 
 
 As show us we are mortal, and should stir 
 
 Our hearts to greater diligence in life ; 
 
 But such long weakness, and such wearing pain 
 
 As has no end in view, that makes of life 
 
 One weary avenue of darkened days, 
 
 The bitter darkness growing darker still, 
 
 Which none can share or soothe, which sunders us 
 
 From all desire, or hope, or stir of change, 
 
 Or service of our Master in the world, 
 
 Or fellowship with all the faces round 
 
 Of passing pains and pleasures, while our pain 
 
 Passeth not, nor will pass ; and only this 
 
 Remains for us to look for, more of pain, 
 
 And doubt if we can bear it to the end. 
 
 And furthermore, from any other ill, 
 Except it be remorse, can men escape 
 By work, the healing of divinest balm 
 To whomso hath the courage to begin, 
 Not yielding to the bitterness of grief. 
 Or if that tyrannously be denied, 
 And the soul languishes in utter loss, 
 Still hope of an immortal, better life
 
 94 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Is left to every suffering innocence, 
 And love of every sweet and noble thing, 
 Though farther off than the far side of death ; 
 And faith to feed upon, and keep the heart 
 Alive, through all the winter of this time. 
 
 But sickness holds the sick man in a chain 
 No will can break or bend to earthly use ; 
 Not only holding him in bond of space, 
 Fixed in a rooted vegetable lot ; 
 But bond of time, so that the Present makes 
 All his possession, and he has no part 
 In any other being, all his nerves 
 Gathered and fixed in one intensest strain 
 Upon the Present ; and no future bliss, 
 Nor harmony of past remembrances, 
 Can draw him from the anguish of the hour, 
 Or pay him back his loss, if loss it be. 
 Is it indeed a loss, or is it gain ? 
 His Life is Pain, and he has naught besides : 
 Most miserable must he be indeed, 
 If this be wholly evil, as it seems. 
 
 But if this be the hardest ill of all 
 For mortal flesh and heart to bear in peace, 
 It is the one comes straightest from God's hand, 
 And makes us feel him nearest to ourselves. 
 God gives us light and love, and all good things 
 Richly for joy, and power, to use aright ; 
 But then we may forget Him in His gifts :
 
 UGO BASSr. 95 
 
 We cannot well forget the hand that holds, 
 And pierces us, and will not let us go, 
 However much we strive from under it. 
 
 If God speak to thee in the summer air, 
 The cool soft breath thou leanest forth to feel 
 Upon thy forehead ; dost thou feel it God ? 
 Nay, but the wind : and when heart speaks to heart, 
 And face to face, when friends meet happily, 
 And all is merry, God is also there ; 
 But thou perceivest but thy fellow's part : 
 And when out of the dewy garden green 
 Some liquid syllables of music strike 
 A sudden, speechless rapture through thy frame, 
 Is it God's voice that moves thee ? Nay, the bird's, 
 Who sings to God, and all the world and thee. 
 But when the sharp strokes flesh and heart run through, 
 For thee, and not another ; only known, 
 In all the universe, through sense of thine ; 
 Not caught by eye or ear, not felt by touch, 
 Nor apprehended by the spirit's sight, 
 But only by the hidden, tortured nerves, 
 In all their incommunicable pain, 
 God speaks Himself to us, as mothers speak 
 To their own babes, upon the tender flesh 
 With fond familiar touches close and dear ; 
 Because He cannot choose a softer way 
 To make us feel that He Himself is near, 
 And each apart His own Beloved and known.
 
 g6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Sweet it is when a babe opens its eyes, 
 Blue, smiling, to its mother's morning kiss. 
 But thou, when waking to the morning light, 
 With unrefreshed and aching limbs, mayst feel 
 The heavy pressure of a constant pain 
 Upon thy forehead, and the weary brows 
 Throbbing beneath an unabated load. 
 Is it not God's own very finger-tips 
 Laid on thee in a tender stedfastness ? 
 The light and careful touches which to thee 
 Seem heavy, because measured to thy strength, 
 With none to spare ; and yet He does not fail 
 For thy impatience, but stands by thee still, 
 Patient, unfaltering, till thou too shalt grow 
 Patient, and wouldst not miss the sharpness grown 
 To custom, which assures Him at thy side, 
 Hand to thy hand, and not far off in Heaven. 
 And when the night comes, and the weariness 
 Grows into fever, and thy anguish grows 
 Fiercer, and thou beseechest Him with tears, 
 " Depart from me, O Lord, and let me rest ! " 
 He will not leave thee, He will not depart, 
 Nor loose thee, nor forget thee ; but will clasp 
 Thee closer in the thrilling of His arms, 
 No prayer of ours shall ease before their time. 
 He gives His angels charge of those who sleep : 
 But He Himself watches with those who wake. 
 
 I know that some would here rebuke me, saying :
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 It is enough to live and move in God 
 
 With, all Humanity, not seeking self 
 
 In any such exclusive special bond, 
 
 Which is not common to the whole of life. 
 
 And others would take from us even that : 
 
 Who deny God at all outside of us ; 
 
 Saying, There is no evil and no good, 
 
 Nor anything at all, except ourselves, 
 
 And self-created modes of our own brain, 
 
 For all the living universe of God. 
 
 The old false teachers, who at first seemed hard 
 
 To nature, bidding, Crucify the flesh 
 
 To save the soul, were merciful to these ; 
 
 For these would crucify the soul itself, 
 
 And stifle back upon itself the cry, 
 
 And deepest craving of the human heart, 
 
 That which drew Moses to the Mount of Fire, 
 
 That which shook David on his couch of tears, 
 
 That which upheld Dante to Paradise, 
 
 That which saved Byron through the depths of sin, 
 
 The unutterable thirst of man for God, 
 
 The immortal part of us, if such there be. 
 
 For me, I do not hold so hard a creed ; 
 
 Nor would refuse the comfort Christ implored. 
 
 I, in the midst of those who suffer so, 
 Who needs must somewhat share the daily pain 
 Which each of ye, Beloved, must endure, 
 Must also seek some comfort, and some strength 
 H
 
 9 3 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of hope to live and suffer by ; and this 
 
 Hath God given me, Beloved, for your sakes, 
 
 To whom I fain would pass it. Bear with me, 
 
 While unto each I seem to speak, all ye 
 
 Who suffer ; and I see around me none 
 
 But suffers, but to whom, with reverence, 
 
 These words of mine, these hopes of mine, are due. 
 
 If suffering be indeed our Law of Life, 
 If this world through our fathers' sin and ours, 
 May not be perfect any more until 
 The slow development of centuries 
 Do bring to birth a higher race than we, 
 It is so much the more a fitting school 
 Of patience, for the time we must remain, 
 Of charity towards fellow- wayfarers 
 Beside us bearing each his human cross, 
 In secret or in sight, but each his own ; 
 And furthermore of hope, the unblamed hope 
 Of the new world wherein all things are new, 
 Where only their own works do follow them 
 Who rest from pain and labour, and by faith 
 And love have won a nearer step towards God. 
 Hope thitherward for this life's recompense ; 
 For here what one sows must another reap, 
 And children suffer for their fathers' sins 
 While they live here ; but in that other world 
 Shall each man reap his own inheritance : 
 Such heritage as he has left behind
 
 UGO BASSI. 99 
 
 For those who follow here, who are the worse 
 Or better for his sojourning with them. 
 
 But if it be the worse, if the foregone 
 Sin of thy parents or some other one's, 
 (For our lives here are mostly in the power 
 Of other lives, and each of us is bound 
 To be his brother's keeper), have made earth 
 Alien to thee, and poisoned at the fount 
 The natural springs of joy, and set within 
 The wheels of life a crook, that never more 
 Swiftly and smoothly they may turn, and bound 
 Weights on thy ankles, what is that to thee, 
 Who livest not for one time, but for all ? 
 God keeps account of that ; only take care 
 Those same pathetic haunting eyes of thine, 
 For which some soul doth suffer punishment, 
 Do meet thee not again in wife or child, 
 Or sick man at thy gates, or starving man 
 That wrought thy goodly raiment, or the brute 
 And ignorant fury of the brotherless, 
 Whose firebrand lights the roofs of palaces. 
 Look not on thine own loss, but look beyond, 
 And take the Cross for glory and for guide. 
 
 For one star differeth from another star 
 In glory and in use ; and all are stairs 
 Of the illimitable House of God j 
 And every one has its own name and place
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Distinguished, and some special word is given 
 
 For each to utter in the mystic song 
 
 Which is not found in speech of humankind, 
 
 Which is not understood by human heart, 
 
 Even though heard by those caught up to Heaven, 
 
 Who heard and saw, but could not tell the things 
 
 Which they had heard and seen, which neither men 
 
 Nor angels, nor the conscious suns of space, 
 
 Nor anything created, hears in whole ; 
 
 But that grows fuller, clearer, as we grow 
 
 Nearer to God, with Whom is neither part 
 
 Nor pause, Who gathers in one Infinite 
 
 All number, sound, and space, and light, and law, 
 
 Rejoicing utterly, eternally. 
 
 And when God formed in the hollow of His hand 
 This ball of Earth among His other balls, 
 And set it in His shining firmament, 
 Between the greater and the lesser lights, 
 He chose it for the Star of Suffering. 
 
 I think, when God looks down the ranks of Heaven, 
 And sees them, not as we see, points of fire, 
 But as the animate spirits of the spheres, 
 He doth behold the Angel of the Earth, 
 Stretched like Prometheus on the promontory, 
 (Upon the outermost verge of rocky seas 
 That sweep to shadow as they turn in Heaven, 
 Swept with the earth, but trembling towards the 
 moon),
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 Bound to a perpetuity of pain, 
 Willing and strong, and finding in his pain 
 God, and his one unbroken note of praise 
 In the full rush of cosmic harmony. 
 
 But we are men, not angels. We abide 
 Not on this earth ; but for a little space 
 We pass upon it : and while so we pass, 
 God through the dark hath set the Light of Life, 
 With witness for Himself, the Word of God, 
 To be among us Man, with human heart, 
 And human language, thus interpreting 
 The One great Will incomprehensible, 
 Only so far as we in human life 
 Are able to receive it ; men as men, 
 Can reach no higher than the Son of God, 
 The perfect Head and Pattern of mankind. 
 The time is short, and this sufficeth us 
 To live and die by ; and in Him again 
 We see the same first, starry attribute, 
 " Perfect through suffering," our salvation's seal 
 Set in the front of His Humanity. 
 For God has other Words for other worlds, 
 But for this world the Word of God is Christ. 
 And when we come to die we shall not find 
 The day has been too long for any of us 
 To have fulfilled the perfect law of Christ. 
 Who is there that can say, " My part is done 
 In this : now I am ready for a law
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 More wide, more perfect for the rest of life ? " 
 Is any living that has not come short ? 
 Has any died that was not short at last ? 
 
 The ultimate symbol of Divinity 
 How can we dream of? we have got no sense 
 Whereby to seize it : but in Him we touch 
 The ultimate symbol of Humanity, 
 Humanity that touches the Divine 
 By some fine link, intangible to us, 
 Upon that side of mortal consciousness 
 That looks towards Death ; and we must pass the gates 
 Of Death, linked with Him, holding by the hand 
 Our Brother gone before, before we come 
 To the perception how our life is joined 
 To God's ; for we are now the Sons of God, 
 And know we shall be like Him there, but what 
 We shall be doth not yet appear ; but when 
 We see Him we shall know Him as He is. 
 And who shall be our Angels in the worlds 
 That lie before us, or what Words of God, 
 Unknown, unuttered, and undreamt of yet, 
 May meet us there, how should we know or guess ? 
 
 And shall we then be restless in the search 
 For other proofs and witnesses of God, 
 Before our hearts have rested on the One 
 He gave us in our very flesh to know ? 
 Impatient for the noonday, shall we miss
 
 UGO BASSL 
 
 The sunrise we shall never see again? 
 And all the tender colours of the dawn, 
 The vision of the crimson clouds that hang 
 Above us, and the lovely Morning-Star 
 That will be vanished when the sun is high ? 
 
 As children might, impatient of the school, 
 Despise the letters, longing for the songs 
 And stories that they catch the echoes of. 
 The songs are written, but first, learn to spell ! 
 The books will keep, but if we will not learn, 
 We shall not read them when the right time comes, 
 Or read them wrongly and confusedly. 
 And each hour has its lesson, and each life ; 
 And if we miss one life, we shall not find 
 Its lesson in another ; rather, go 
 So much the less complete for evermore, 
 Still missing something that we cannot name. 
 Still with our senses so far unattuned 
 To what the Present brings to harmonise 
 With our soul's Past. For must we not believe 
 A soul, bred up in perfect rule of growth, 
 And of obedience to the Will Divine 
 Through all its stages, would be born in each 
 In physical and spiritual harmony 
 With that world's order as conceived by God ; 
 (However marred by time, and falling off, 
 By disobedience, into pain and sin, 
 Down to the actual order of the day) ?
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And therefore Christ, conceived and born on earth 
 
 So perfect, through foregone obedience, 
 
 Came, and abode, and lived harmoniously 
 
 With all the occult powers, the holy springs 
 
 Unfallen of the waters and the winds, 
 
 And the miracles of life within the blood, 
 
 That at His voice or touch, still easily 
 
 Obeyed, through laws of sense and soul at one ; 
 
 And lived with God in such untroubled love 
 
 And clear confiding, as a child on whom 
 
 The Father's face has never yet but smiled ; 
 
 And with men even, in such harmony 
 
 Of brotherhood, that whatsoever spark 
 
 Of pure and true in any human heart 
 
 Flickered and lived, it burned itself towards Him 
 
 In an electric current, through all bonds 
 
 Of intervening race and creed and time, 
 
 And flamed up to a heat of living faith, 
 
 And love, and love's communion, and the joy 
 
 And inspiration of self-sacrifice ; 
 
 And drew together in a central coil, 
 
 Magnetic, all the noblest of all hearts, 
 
 And made them one with Him, in a live flame 
 
 That is the purifying and the warmth 
 
 Of all the earth even to these latter days. 
 
 But found one kingdom not in harmony ; 
 The sin and sorrow in the world, the stream 
 Of evil, gathering on from age to age,
 
 UGO BASSl. 105 
 
 With all its rocks and all its wrecks of life ; 
 
 And men's hearts hardened, and the tender lips 
 
 Of women loud in laughter, and the sobs 
 
 Of children helpless, and the sighs of slaves, 
 
 And priests with dead lies for the living truth, 
 
 And kings whose rights were in their people's wrong. 
 
 And looking, the miraculous tender eyes, 
 
 Upon these perishing and gone astray, 
 
 Lifted the hands of help, alone, unarmed, 
 
 Struck singly out, and dashed upon the rocks. 
 
 And in that shock did meet His human doom 
 
 Of suffering, and took it for a crown ; 
 
 The loneliness, the weariness, the strife, 
 
 The base return, the Passion and the Cross, 
 
 And the withdrawal of His Father's face. 
 
 So that for ever since, in minds of men, 
 
 By some true instinct this life has survived 
 
 In a religious immemorial light, 
 
 Pre-eminent in one thing most of all ; 
 
 The Man of Sorrows ; and the Cross of Christ 
 
 Is more to us than all His miracles. 
 
 And that most closely we may follow Him 
 By suffering, have all hearts of men allowed. 
 Is suffering then more near and dear to God 
 For its own sake than joy is ? God forbid ! 
 We know not its beginning nor its end ; 
 Is it a sacrifice ? a test ? a school ? 
 The fruit of Evil ; yet what Evil means
 
 io6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 None knovveth, though he spent his life to know. 
 
 We suffer. Why we suffer, that is hid 
 
 With God's foreknowledge in the clouds of Heaven. 
 
 The first book written sends that human cry 
 
 Out of the clear Chaldean pasture-lands 
 
 Down forty centuries ; and no answer yet 
 
 Is found, nor will be found, while yet we live 
 
 In limitations of Humanity. 
 
 But yet one thought has often stayed by me 
 
 In the night-watches, which has brought at least 
 
 The patience for the hour, and made the pain 
 
 No more a burden which I groaned to leave, 
 
 But something precious which I feared to lose. 
 
 How shall I show it, but by parables ? 
 
 The sculptor, with his Psyche's wings half-hewn, 
 May close his eyes in weariness, and wake 
 To meet the white cold clay of his ideal 
 Flushed into beating life, and singing down 
 The ways of Paradise. The husbandman 
 May leave the golden fruitage of his groves 
 Ungarnered, and upon the Tree of Life 
 Will find a richer harvest waiting him. 
 The soldier dying thinks upon his bride, 
 And knows his arms shall never clasp her more, 
 Until he first the face of his unborn child 
 Behold in heaven : for each and all of life, 
 In every phase of action, love, and joy, 
 There is fulfilment only otherwhere.
 
 UGO BASSl. 
 
 But if, impatient, them let slip thy cross, 
 Thou wilt not find it in this world again, 
 Nor in another ; here, and here alone 
 Is given thee to suffer for God's sake. 
 In other worlds we shall more perfectly 
 Serve Him and love Him, praise Him, work for Him, 
 Grow near and nearer Him with all delight ; 
 But then we shall not any more be called 
 To suffer, which is our appointment here. 
 Canst thou not suffer then one hour, or two ? 
 If He should call thee from thy cross to-day, 
 Saying, It is finished ! that hard cross of thine 
 From which thou prayest for deliverance, 
 Thinkest thou not some passion of regret 
 Would overcome thee ? Thou wouldst say, " So soon ? 
 Let me go back, and suffer yet awhile 
 More patiently ; I have not yet praised God." 
 And He might answer to thee, " Never more. 
 All pain is done with. " Whensoe'er it comes, 
 That summons that we look for, it will seem 
 Soon, yea too soon. Let us take heed in time 
 That God may now be glorified in us ; 
 And while we suffer, let us set our souls 
 To suffer perfectly : since this alone, 
 The suffering, which is this world's special grace, 
 May here be perfected and left behind. 
 
 But in obedience and humility ; 
 Waiting on God's hand, not forestalling it.
 
 jo8 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Seek n&t to snatch presumptuously the palm 
 By self-election ; poison not thy wine 
 With bitter herbs if He has made it sweet ; 
 Nor rob God's treasuries because the key 
 Is easy to be turned by mortal hands. 
 The gifts of birth, death, genius, suffering, 
 Are all for His hand only to bestow. 
 Receive thy portion, and be satisfied. 
 Who crowns himself a king is not the more 
 Royal ; nor he who mars himself with stripes 
 The more partaker of the Cross of Christ. 
 
 But if Himself He come to thee, and stand 
 Beside thee, gazing down on thee with eyes 
 That smile, and suffer ; that will smite thy heart, 
 With their own pity, to a passionate peace ; 
 And reach to thee Himself the Holy Cup, 
 (With all its wreathen stems of passion-flowers 
 And quivering sparkles of the ruby stars), 
 Pallid and royal, saying " Drink with Me ;" 
 Wilt thou refuse ? Nay, not for Paradise ! 
 The pale brow will compel thee, the pure hands 
 Will minister unto thee ; thou shalt take 
 Of that communion through the solemn depths 
 Of he dark waters of thine agony, 
 With heart that praises Him, that yearns to Him 
 The closer through that hour. Hold fast His hand, 
 Though the nails pierce thine too ! take only care 
 Lest on? drop of the sacramental, wine
 
 UGO BASS!. 109 
 
 Be spilled, of that which ever shall unite 
 Thee, soul and body to thy living Lord ! 
 
 Therefore gird up thyself, and come, to stand 
 Unflinching under the unfaltering hand, 
 That waits to prove thee to the uttermost. 
 It were not hard to suffer by His hand, 
 If thou couldst see His face ; but in the dark ! 
 That is the one last trial : be it so. 
 Christ was forsaken, so must thou be too : 
 How couldst thou suffer but in seeming, else ? 
 Thou wilt not see the face nor feel the hand, 
 Only the cruel crushing of the feet, 
 When through the bitter night the Lord comes down 
 To tread the winepress. Not by sight, but faith, 
 Endure, endure, be faithful to the end ! 
 
 Is it then verily so hard to take 
 With willing heart, and utter faithfulness ? 
 What better wouldst thou have when all was done ? 
 If any now were bidden rise and come 
 To either, would he pause to choose between 
 The rose-warm kisses of a waiting bride 
 In a shut silken chamber, or the thrill 
 Of the bared limbs, bound fast for martyrdom ?' . . . 
 
 But suddenly the words upon his lips 
 Were broken, for a strange shock through the air 
 Came flashing, and a southern-streaming wind
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of violets, and strains of marching hymns, 
 
 And throbbing stroke of drums that still came on 
 
 Nearer, and tramp of thousands, and the songs 
 
 That none of us had ever heard before, 
 
 And a great cry out of the heart of Rome. 
 
 And all of us grew pale, and Ugo stood 
 
 Pale in the midst ; and one rushed in, and cried, 
 
 ' Italy ! Italy ! To arms ! To arms ! 
 
 Milan is up ! The Austrians are in flight. 
 
 The King is at the war. Our time is come. 
 
 Who is for God and Italy to-day ? ' 
 
 And all the dark eyes from the pallets round 
 
 Strained forward to the speaker ; and we all 
 
 Gazed on each other ; and the setting sun 
 
 Burst in one long ray down the walls of fire ; 
 
 And the old man, Luigi, who had lain 
 
 So long and moved not, raised himself half up, 
 
 With eyes that shone ; and no one spoke a word,- 
 
 But listened ; and the shouting in the street 
 
 Grew, and the songs ; and all the glorious gold 
 
 Of the sunset broadened : and we knew that we 
 
 Had wakened : and the new time had begun.
 
 UGO BASSl. 
 
 IV. 
 
 1848. 
 
 ' ITALIA UNA ! ' Now the war-cry rang 
 From Alp to Etna : and her dreams were done, 
 And she herself had wakened into life, 
 And stood full armed and free : and all her sons 
 Knew they were happy to have looked on her, 
 And felt it beautiful to die for her. 
 As at the unsheathing of the tulips, rose 
 Her youth in armies from her soil that spring. 
 Milan came first, then Venice, then the rest, 
 Padua, Treviso, backwards to the Alps ; 
 Osopo, Palmanova ; every day 
 Brought some fresh city to the muster-roll 
 Of those who cast the Austrian yoke away. 
 The Princes, too, had joined the Holy War ; 
 Savoy with passion, casting into it 
 Heart, hopes, and fortune, heritage, and life ; 
 The others, because Italy had called 
 Her children, and they could not keep them back. 
 So every day fresh bands from all her coasts 
 Were marching to her borders, and the sound 
 Of trumpets went before them all the day.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 But higher than the note of trumpet swelled 
 The heart of Italy ; and faster beat 
 The heart of Italy than all the bells 
 That pealed on one another through the air. 
 The stone of centuries in a day was rolled 
 Back from her sepulchre, and such a face, 
 And such a voice of resurrection, broke 
 At the unsealing, that her foes fell back 
 Astonished, and the day was all her own. 
 
 Who can recall those days ? We lived, we lived ! 
 The dawn was on the mountains, and our brows. 
 Men wept for joy who had grown grey with care ; 
 And women crowned with beauty gave their lips 
 Unto their lovers, saying, ' The last time, 
 Till thou comest back from the baptism of fire ! ' 
 And in the Holy Place the Pope stood up, 
 The Father of his country, and proclaimed, 
 ' Depart, my children, to the Holy War ! ' 
 And blessed their banners; and they gathered 
 
 round, 
 
 The flower of all the Roman youth, and knelt 
 Beneath his benediction ; and in sight 
 Of all the people parted from his hands 
 Towards Ferrara, in a brotherhood 
 Of solemn exultation and of faith. 
 The Cross surmounted the Italian flag ; 
 From highest to lowest there was but one heart 
 In those bright days, one cloudless hope in God,
 
 UGO BASST. 113 
 
 One trust in one another uttermost, 
 One sacrament supreme of life or death. 
 
 The stir of the Crusade was in our ears ; 
 The stir of the spring-tide was in our blood ; 
 The hours flew by us as if shining steeds 
 Were passing, panting, to a crimson dawn. 
 But all the peace was gone from Ugo's eyes, 
 And a strange fire was shining in their depths ; 
 And almost ere we knew it, he was gone ; 
 Passed to Ancona, and the house in Rome 
 Missed him through all its shadowy passages ; 
 And old Luigi not long after died. 
 
 But there was too much moving life and noise 
 Through Rome, for any to sit still and pine, 
 Dreaming instead of doing. And the Pope 
 Passed in and out among his people like 
 The living standard of the Hope of God, 
 Surrounded by their blessing and their love. 
 I was of those who helped to raze the walls 
 Of the Ghetto, in the Holy Week that year ; 
 For so the Pope commanded. And at night, 
 Ciceruacchio and his hundreds came 
 From Porto di Ripetta, calling all 
 Who would, to help ; and by the glorious moon 
 We wrought with axe and tool and willing hands, 
 Until the jealous walls were broken down, 
 In token that henceforward all dark feuds 
 I
 
 n 4 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Were passed away, and Italy was one. 
 But I as I passed homewards, and the owls 
 Were hooting from the arches overgrown 
 Still heard the voice of Ciceruacchio ring 
 Commanding, and the sound was pleasant still ; 
 The brave and bright and sympathetic soul 
 In it, that made of a poor man the power 
 To which all Rome paid homage gratefully. 
 The Tribune of the People, who could stay 
 A tumult by the lifting of his hand ; 
 And by the lifting of his voice could bring 
 An army round him ; and who, having naught 
 But his own heart and hands, had made of them 
 A kingdom, having for its own domain 
 The hearts and hands of all his citizens. 
 
 His name was Angelo Brunetti, but 
 None knew him by that name : for when a babe, 
 His mother, seeing him so wondrous white 
 And ruddy, and with limbs that waxed amain, 
 Half prophesying, in the Roman speech 
 Had called him Ciceruacchio, ' Fair and Strong ' 
 And still the name grew with him as he grew 
 To stature stateliest, and strongest arm, 
 And fairest face of all the city. Now 
 His full prime was fulfilled, and he had won 
 The crown and blessing of all people's praise, 
 And trust of men even as he trusted God : 
 But for himself had won no place or store,
 
 UGO ASSI. 115 
 
 A poor man first and last, and earning bread 
 By daily labour, having still to spare 
 The service of a stout hand and warm heart 
 For whomsoever was in wrong or need. 
 
 It was not given me, who was little worth, 
 To be with Ugo Bassi in those days, 
 And in the days that followed : so the tale 
 Of how it fared with him, and what he did, 
 Is incomplete for me. I can but give 
 Such passages as have through many mouths 
 Come to me j but they have not life to me 
 Like what I knew myself. When he had been 
 A few days at Ancona, thither sent 
 For preaching, there arrived the gathering stream 
 Of Volunteers, that still from every town 
 Flowed larger than it entered, and went on 
 Increasing, for it must be borne in mind 
 That this was not a war of kings with kings, 
 Or nations disciplined to their full strength, 
 But of a people, rising for their own, 
 Unarmed, untrained, unmarshalled, to the shock 
 Of armies marching as one man in miles ; 
 And fortresses that frowned across the plains 
 Against each other ; and the settled strength 
 And ancient order of the Empire which 
 Of all the world embodied most the law 
 Of Force, and Darkness, and Stability. 
 It was as if a flower should fling itself
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Against a pine, and think that it would fall : 
 Yet faith was in us, faith, which, some one said, 
 Could move the mountains, and we had no fear. 
 And those who gave their bodies often had 
 No more to give ; and those who had the gold 
 And arms to give, were often held at home ; 
 So each one paid his part throughout the land, 
 But all was voluntary, goods or life. 
 
 But with the Volunteers, their chaplain came, 
 Gavazzi, he a Barnabite as well ; 
 To whom spake Ugo, ' Let me come with you ! ' 
 And he with joy consented, being one 
 In heart with him, and always a good friend : 
 But Ugo was to him, himself hath said, 
 ' Angelo piii che amico. ' And soon 
 Was Ugo Bassi formally enrolled 
 As chaplain of the Roman Volunteers, 
 Second in order. So together they 
 Went forward on the march to Rimini ; 
 And thence proceeded by the Emilian Way 
 On to Bologna ; whither, drawn in haste, 
 Twelve thousand of the Volunteers from Rome 
 Had gathered, waiting for supplies and arms. 
 Here were the troops equipped and organised, 
 So far as time permitted ; and meanwhile, 
 A living voice, a living face of fire, 
 An inspiration, as of music blown 
 From clarion-calls far off behind the hills,
 
 UGO BASSf. nj 
 
 Where sank the sunset into light of dreams, 
 Was Ugo, once more passing in and out 
 Within his native city, he too bound 
 By the red cross, and the tri-coloured sign, 
 Into the ranks of death for her defence. 
 
 And they entreated him : ' Speak once to us, 
 Where all of us may hear thee. There is room 
 In none of the great churches for the throng 
 Of all who love thee ; and besides we know, 
 No friend is the Archbishop.' So they raised 
 A scaffolding amidst the public square, 
 Piazza Maggiore, stateliest 
 Save one, in Italy, Bologna's pride, 
 With all its palaces and porticoes 
 Looking upon the sunny space between, 
 Where the bronze giant of the fountain stands 
 Above the flowing of his own white waves. 
 In front of the innumerable stems 
 Of the stone forest, where a thousand hands 
 Of sculptors on the doorways left their life, 
 Upon the steps of San Petronio, stood 
 The tribune, and upon it Ugo stood, 
 The next day after Easter (which that year 
 Upon the twenty-fourth of April fell) : 
 And there, when he had spoken from his heart 
 Such solemn words as the hour brought to him 
 He called on whomsoever would, to bring 
 Their offerings to the treasury of war.
 
 ti8 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And all day long the people came and went 
 Unceasing, and the square was all alive 
 With voices and bright colours underneath, 
 And many feet repassing, and full hands : 
 And in a ceaseless sweeping overhead 
 Went to and fro the swallows, full of sound, 
 With twittering, in and out the gilded shrines, 
 And niches of the arches that support 
 The watch-tower of the prison of a king, 
 The windows of the Hall of Hercules, 
 And all the carven capitals around ; 
 They too in armies, building, making joy. 
 
 But as upon an altar, rose the pile 
 Heaped up round Ugo by the Bolognese : 
 Gold pieces, yea and silver, rich and poor 
 Alike outpouring, down to the last mite 
 Of who were poorest ; and the gifts besides 
 Of household treasure or of handicraft. 
 Some brought the humble wares of the day's work, 
 By which they should have earned the daily bread ; 
 And others priceless heirlooms of delight, 
 . Kept sacred for the state of holidays ; 
 Venetian crystal, glimmering chains of pearl, 
 Bosses of emerald on the beaten gold, 
 And changing stars of diamonds ; carven screens 
 Of ebony, and silver caskets wrought 
 With figures of the angels, ivory 
 Finer than frost-work, lustre-trailing robes,
 
 UGO BASS I. 119 
 
 Rich stuffs of Eastern colours, hoarded lace ; 
 With arms and horses, casks of meal and wine. 
 None came with empty hands ; and still the voice 
 And smile of Ugo answered every one. 
 Till in a moment's pause, his eyes were fixed, 
 Where a girl, poor, but lovelier than the rest, 
 Stept out barefooted from the swarthier throng, 
 With grey eyes starry under moonlight brows, 
 And hair too glorious for one flower or pearl 
 To break its glittering miracle of waves ; 
 Blood of the ocean or some northern hills 
 Marking the tenderer blue along her veins ; 
 She stood so formed, so coloured, from the rest, 
 A golden lily among marigolds ; 
 But still her hands were empty and her gown 
 Was but the blue of Venice, roughly wove. 
 The eyes of Ugo met her, and the tint 
 Of the wild rose flew up along her cheek, 
 And deepened there, and full in front she stood, 
 Gazing half-sadly, and then suddenly 
 Took from her neighbour's belt the hanging shears, 
 Lifted her white bare arms, and from her head 
 Sheaf after sheaf let fall the wondrous hair, 
 Swiftly, till all was gathered, round her neck ; 
 And sprang towards Ugo, and upon his arm 
 Laid heavily the cloud-like heaps of gold : 
 And for a moment all the air seemed still, 
 While those two fairest faces in the crowd 
 Were leaning to each other in the light
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 That flushed from each to each, and then drew back 
 
 With a deep breath, parting without a word, 
 
 And she was gone in the press. And ere the red 
 
 Had faded from his cheek, another stood 
 
 Before him, all the people making way 
 
 A venerable woman, bowed and grey, 
 
 And of the poorest, holding by the hand 
 
 A youth with shining eyes and growing limbs, 
 
 Almost a child and saying, ' Take my son ! 
 
 The last one left me.' So the day wore on. 
 
 Durando was the General-in-Chief; 
 Ferrari, General of the Volunteers. 
 These crossed the Po ; and by forced marches came 
 First through Rovigo, then through Padua ; then 
 Were halted at Treviso, the last post 
 To hold against the Austrian hosts, that now 
 Were streaming down the passes of Tyrol. 
 The line of the Piave was to hold ; 
 (The wide and desolate river which forbids 
 Venetia to the stranger, sweeping through 
 Two hundred miles of windings, wild and white, 
 Without a bridge or city, and which keeps 
 The music of the mountains to its close ;) 
 Since Nugent was already ravaging, 
 With fire and sword, Friuli ; and the roads 
 Between the other rivers had been seized. 
 Treviso is not only by its walls 
 And forts defended ; but upon one side
 
 UGO BASSI. i2i 
 
 Made unapproachable by the wide bed, 
 
 And muddy banks of Sile ; therefore here 
 
 Was a firm stronghold of retreat for us. 
 
 But further up, amongst the mountain-roots, 
 
 Half-way from Feltre to Belluno, had 
 
 The Austrians found a passage ; and our troops 
 
 Were moved to meet them. At Cornuda they 
 
 Came face to face, and the first shock of arms 
 
 Rang through the valleys. Through the long spring day 
 
 The Volunteers against a threefold force 
 
 Held their own ground, and when the night came down 
 
 Remained the masters ; and another day 
 
 Of fierce and bloody conflict broke again, 
 
 And still no succour from Durando came, 
 
 And still they fought till evening unsubdued. 
 
 But when all hope was over, and no aid 
 
 Was possible, they fell for shelter back 
 
 Upon the green and forest-sprinkled sides 
 
 Drifted with heaps of apple-blossom snow 
 
 Of Mount Belluno ; and the sun went down 
 
 Blood-red behind it, and the awful heights 
 
 Above Cadore stood out one by one, 
 
 And through the greyer gloom the glimmering white 
 
 Came chilly, from the waste of waters spread 
 
 In foaming network over many a mile 
 
 Of sand and shingle, where Piave swept 
 
 Below the green and dewy pasture-slopes, 
 
 As Ugo went along with the retreat, 
 
 Bearing the wounded up the rocky ways,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 From his first battle-field. And the next day 
 They passed back to Treviso, where they held 
 The enemy from further pressing on. 
 
 Here, in the daily sallies that were made, 
 Foremost amid the fire, unarmed, unhurt, 
 Was Ugo Bassi, like a guiding star. 
 In front of those who wavered, when the hail 
 Fell sharp upon the young, unseasoned files ; 
 Beside the dying on the battle-field, 
 Almost before the charge had swept aside ; 
 Lifting the wounded in the thickest press, 
 And passing with his burdens to and fro 
 Between the cannon and the ambulance ; 
 Soothing the long hours of the restless night 
 Within the hospital ; entreated there 
 With yearning anguish, and let go with pain 
 'Angel of Death,' as many a struggling soul 
 Had sealed him surely with its last low moan. 
 
 And with him others worked, and went, and came 
 A friend of his, Felice Orsini, 
 Younger than he, also a Romagnole, 
 With dark and glorious eyes, and darker yet, 
 Men said, because of prisons, and of dreams, 
 And deathless passion for his native land. 
 And General Guidotti, he who bore 
 So much reproaching, and uncalled-for blame 
 Because of the ill-fortune of the day
 
 UGO BASSl. 123 
 
 He guided at Cornuda, that at last 
 He said in bitterness, ' Will Italy 
 Not trust me to command ? At least, I can 
 Obey, and serve her : ' so resigned his post, 
 And marched out in the ranks. And as it drew 
 To the mid May-time, all the garrison 
 Mustered in force for one determined stroke ; 
 And, issuing from the bridges, put to flight 
 The Austrians in a well-contested day. 
 But in the hottest of the struggle fell 
 Guidotti, with a bullet through his breast. 
 And Ugo in a moment at his side 
 Was bending, seeking for the pulse in vain ; 
 When with a crash he too beside him lay, 
 Shattered and senseless ; and for many hours 
 No succour came. And when at last he lay 
 In his own hospital, they found the ball 
 Had mutilated hand, and arm, and side, 
 And torn a passage open through his breast, 
 And lodged deep in the shoulder out of reach. 
 
 In agony and fever many days 
 He lay, and all around him deemed his wounds 
 Must needs be mortal ; for they still refused 
 All healing ; and the ball could not be found, 
 Though searched for by the surgeons many times, 
 With torments carried into deathly swoons, 
 Yet unavailing ; and the hero-heart, 
 Suffering all things in silent steadfastness,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Began to flicker to the shades of death. 
 And by the next month it became too clear 
 Treviso soon would fall into the hands 
 Of the invaders ; and it was resolved, 
 In order that the wounded might not fall 
 Also into their hands, to send them first 
 To Venice. Thus was Ugo carried there, 
 And painfully the journey was performed. 
 
 A dream of dreams was Venice in those days 
 Heroic ; first and last, and silver star, 
 That rose and set for Freedom while the name 
 Of Italy was spoken. And of all 
 Heroic citizens and noble names 
 That guided and that guarded her, the first, 
 By the consent and reverence of all, 
 Was Daniel Manin. He, the head and chief 
 Of the free city, came forth in her name, 
 With honourable welcome, to receive 
 Him whom all hearts were turning to ; and stood 
 Ready upon the Molo, just in front 
 Of the two granite columns, as the barge 
 Came down the Giudecca, carrying him ; 
 Then stept bareheaded to the water's side. 
 But his face changed to pain when he beheld 
 The face that could not raise its eyes to him, 
 And the cold hand that unresponsive lay 
 Within his clasp. And those who waited there, 
 Lifted him fainting and without a word,
 
 UGO BASSI. ,25 
 
 And bore him to the softest chamber spread 
 
 In the still heart of Venice. There he lay, 
 
 While gentle hosts beside him tenderly 
 
 Watched, and attended on him, seeking ease 
 
 And solace for the burning limbs in vain ; 
 
 And surgeons with their carefullest of skill 
 
 Used their stern arts upon him ; but the strife 
 
 Was threefold betwixt art, and pain, and death. 
 
 But still he smiled and suffered, thanking all, 
 
 And saying, ' It is sweet for Italy ! ' 
 
 Until, at one more trial, when at last 
 
 The surgeons drew deep breaths, and said, ' No mort 
 
 * We cannot ! ' and he answered them, ' Go on ! ' 
 
 The ball was reached and moved ; and he had sunk 
 
 Past consciousness : but those around him said, 
 
 ' He will be saved if he has strength to live 
 
 Through the next day.' But then began afresh 
 
 The strife of life with weakness. Shadowy, 
 
 Upon the borders of the angel world, 
 
 Lay the pale, sculptured face, and wasted form 
 
 For many weary weeks ; and when at last 
 
 The tide of life began to flow again, 
 
 Though languidly, yet surely, he was moved 
 
 Down to Chioggia, to the hospital, 
 
 Where many wounded found their healing come 
 
 In the sea-breezes. 
 
 Here he stayed awhile, 
 Hardly recovering, wavering to and fro 
 In all the painful, fluctuating turns
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of a frame torn and shaken utterly. 
 Consumed besides by the impatient sense 
 The war was passing, and he was not there ; 
 And troubled by forebodings as the days 
 Went by, and fortune now began to flow 
 The other way ; and tidings came of towns 
 Delivered to the Austrians, battles lost, 
 And the King's army in retreat. And dark 
 The clouds began to gather o'er the day 
 That was so clear and splendid in its dawn. 
 
 And faith and unity began to fail : 
 The Pope first failing from the glorious place 
 To which his people's hearts had lifted him ; 
 Receding from his word, and calling back 
 The army that had gone forth in his name. 
 So that the hearts whose loving reverence still 
 Entwined itself with patriotic fire, 
 Were torn asunder, and were forced to break 
 One sacred bond, remaining at their posts ; 
 And knew henceforward, that not man, but God, 
 Must be their helper and their guiding hand. 
 All these things pi-eyed on body and on mind, 
 And made the tedious time more tedious still. 
 A letter from Chioggia once was brought 
 Into our convent, and I heard it read ; 
 It was from Ugo. This was some of it : 
 
 ' The days go slowly, and the summer air
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 Gives me no strength. Many a one lieth here 
 
 More helpless than myself, but scarcely I 
 
 Can make a shift to give a helping hand 
 
 For any need. The days are sad and slow : 
 
 But sometimes towards the evening, I can rise 
 
 And with uncertain steps pass out of doors, 
 
 And breathe the cooler air. I sit and lean 
 
 Upon the long low bridge that ends the street 
 
 And crosses the lagoon. Down to my feet 
 
 The shifting scarlet of the sunset-way 
 
 Ripples across the waters of the waste. 
 
 Behind me all the foldings of the sails 
 
 Of many colours, and the mingled masts, 
 
 And briny, tangled heaps of fishing nets 
 
 Within the little port, come close and clear 
 
 In the still blue flame of the air, full of the salt 
 
 Sea-fragrance blowing over from the sides 
 
 Of the Murazze. As from tower to tower 
 
 The bells chime down along the lighted coast, 
 
 Sweet voices answer them, and fisher-girls, 
 
 Lovely, with depths of ocean in their eyes, 
 
 Make music unto Mary of the Sea. 
 
 Far-wavering distances of golden haze 
 
 Flooding the blue of the Euganean hills, 
 
 The visionary mounts of the soothsayers ; 
 
 Whilst low and clear, one rose from shore to shore, 
 
 Lies Palestrina, like a Paradise 
 
 Of lovers lost, who in this hour at last 
 
 Have found each other ; and the skies and seas,
 
 128 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And earth itself, are panting in the glow 
 
 Of crimson ; and the summer night is theirs. 
 
 And up between, ' ' like rubies loosely strewn 
 
 Upon a silver mirror," fade away 
 
 To northward the innumerable isles, 
 
 And towers, and little towns of the lagoon, 
 
 In a far-shadowed purple vanishing. 
 
 Yea, glorious is the last smile of the day, 
 
 And the unutterable afterglow, 
 
 Here, looking towards the sunset ; and the war 
 
 Lies out beyond it, and the restless heart 
 
 Beats thither, and the trumpets seem to blow 
 
 Far off, far off, behind the dying hills ! 
 
 ' But yet I turn, and to the other sky, 
 Pale, grey, without the mountains and the glow 
 Some hidden power compels me. I can see 
 Flamingo-coloured flashes through the gloom 
 Go southwards, and the white and wheeling wings 
 Of sea-birds passing to the darkened shore ; 
 And I would fain be following them, and learn 
 The mystery that lies for me in that land 
 Untrodden ; where Endanus flows out 
 In sluggish labyrinths through the solitudes, 
 Which but the brooding herons amid the pines 
 Live in, and wander through, and find a home. 
 Who knoweth all the winding ways of waters 
 In slow and many folds about thy feet, 
 O country that none loveth ? Who hath crossed
 
 UGO BASSf. 
 
 The forests of the reeds impenetrable ? 
 
 The willow-courses, where the flute-like notes 
 
 Of ousel, and the darting kingfisher 
 
 Make all the life ? The undistinguished web 
 
 Of river-branches, slowly drifting down 
 
 The desolation of the choking sand 
 
 Seawards, until they reach the trackless waste, 
 
 The wilderness of waters in their ways, 
 
 Where shore, and sea, and river lose themselves ? 
 
 ' I ask them here, " What lieth to the South ? " 
 They answer, "Nothing." And I ask again, 
 " What men dwell there?" they answer me, " Not one." 
 " Where goes the road then ? " and they answer me, 
 " But to Ravenna, three days' journey off. 
 But ere you reach it, you must make across 
 The great pine-forest and the myriad mouths 
 Of Po, and the vast shallows of the plain, 
 With causeways stretching over the lagoon, 
 Not land, not water, where the great eels lie, 
 The Valley of Comacchio." Aye, the name 
 Haunts me ! I rise out of my bed at night, 
 And wish that I could wander there. My limbs 
 Are weak. The moonlight muffles in a mist 
 The land low-lying ; from it comes a wail. 
 I know not why, my heart is bowed with it, 
 Foreboding, like a bulrush with the wind. 
 Is it the Song of the Swans, that ever there 
 Go mourning since the fall of Phaethon ? 
 K
 
 i 3 o THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Some deathnote peals across the water-wold, 
 Pierced with the echoes of some shadowy doom ; 
 Some parting anguish of a soul in flight, 
 Some melancholy mystery of fate. 
 
 ' I pass, I pass in dreaming out upon 
 A wide waste plain, where rushes grow beside 
 The trickling threads that lose themselves in pools 
 Beneath old stones, all thick and dark with moss ; 
 Some little wild thing startled, springs and runs 
 Before me, lost in swift and shadowy flight : 
 And great grey moths with downy circling wings 
 Lead me enchanted through uncertain ways, 
 Where the marigold of the marsh is growing pale, 
 On to the borders of a shimmering mere : 
 As when a faded sunset shines below 
 In silent waters, with the dark between 
 Of land and hills, the light below, above, 
 In sky and water, but the earth is dusk, 
 And all now gathers and grows dusk with it. 
 And hardly now my feet know where they tread 
 In moss, or swamp, or pool ; and here and there 
 A glow-worm sparkles tremulously green ; 
 And a great rustling in the water-flags, 
 And thousands of shrill notes and dreary calls, 
 And plashings, and soft stirrings of the sedge, 
 Tell of the wild flocks that are nesting there. 
 Was that a spirit went by me, all in wings 
 That made the shadows glorious ? Now again
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 It brushed my face, and in a streak was gone, 
 The giant of the dragon-flies abroad. 
 
 ' Great, hollow, hemlock-canes above my head 
 Stretch out their straight, stiff arms ; and all around 
 The ceaseless croak comes up about my feet, 
 And out into the dark and damp ; beware ! 
 Black, shining, twining stems of poison-flowers, 
 Blue blossoms beautiful, and deadly white, 
 Catch at me with their rings ; the osiers smite 
 And blind me, and I cannot make a way. 
 I stand and hear a swift and flowing sound 
 Of waters close beside me, and I strike 
 Away from them ; and on the other side 
 I come upon more waters, gurgling slow ; 
 Waters upon the right hand and the left ; 
 There is no footing, so I stumble on, 
 Ankle-deep in the soft and slimy moss, 
 Until I find an opening. Here is light 
 In ghostly, fitful glimmers, as the coils 
 Of water-snakes shine out in writhing knots, 
 Or cleave the black, slow current, with a wake 
 Of pale blue fire. The gliding Will-o'-the-wisp 
 Hither and thither seems to float and fade 
 Over black trunks that rot amid the stream, 
 And lurid luminous vapour hangs outspread 
 Hovering above the ooze ; and I can see 
 The long grey mosses swinging from the arms 
 Of the old larches ; and all things seem here
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Decaying in a stagnant solitude. 
 
 ' The darkness shuts me in again, and I 
 Go blindly, brushing past the rigid arms 
 Of hideous giant horsetails, and my feet 
 Tread out the burning milk-juice of the spurge, 
 Until at last they find a firmer bed ; 
 And over them the horrible land-crabs 
 Run swiftly, and slow-moving reptiles crawl 
 Dimly beneath me. Now I feel the sand, 
 And now the slippery hollows, as I pass 
 Through the bewildering cane-brakes, till I gain 
 The light once more. Lo, from behind the clouds 
 The moon comes suddenly, and all the night 
 Shines out in silver ; and I come at last 
 To a clear water's edge, a broad still stream, 
 With one calm, onward ripple, breaking here 
 Before me in the moonlight on the sands, 
 The smooth white sands that make a level shore. 
 Behind and over me the feathery reeds 
 Make darkness ; but before me all is light ; 
 The beautiful, broad water, winding on 
 To where dark woods dip into it, and close ; 
 And out in the full wanness of the moon 
 The armies of the sedges in their ranks, 
 The shiver of their swords innumerable ; 
 And not a sound besides, and not a breath, 
 Nor any footprint on the sands save mine. 
 Yet here is something strange, that will not let
 
 UGO BASS!. 
 
 My eyes be loosened from it : scarce a mark 
 
 In the fine sand and yet I cannot fly 
 
 This midnight vision of a new-made grave 
 
 That stops me ; there it lies unconsecrate. 
 
 Now know I, I have reached my house of doom, 
 
 No hope nor saving any more for me. 
 
 What foolish visions of the night are these ? ' 
 
 But though the cruel wound began to heal, 
 Still Ugo languished ; and his wonted strength 
 Returned not to him ; and he, suffering, craved 
 The native air and old familiar streets 
 Of his Bologna ; and with care and pain 
 Thither he was removed at his desire, 
 And lodged among his friends ; and slowly there 
 He mended, and the life came back to him. 
 
 But great good fortune now to me befell : 
 For our good Prior, having much at heart 
 To see Fra Ugo, and to speak with him, 
 And having also business to transact 
 Within Bologna, journeyed thence from Rome, 
 And took me with him^ so it came to pass 
 That I beheld my master's face once more. 
 
 It was in August. I for the first time 
 Beheld Bologna ; and I was amazed 
 To see so great a city, and the lines 
 Of the long porticoes, that from the gates
 
 134 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 So far stretched upwards. As we passed beneath 
 The leaning towers, I saw the ravens wheel 
 About them, croaking, but I heeded not, 
 My heart was full of the great joy so near. 
 And when at last we stopped before a door 
 Among the arcades, and up a stair had climbed 
 My heart stood still before another door 
 That opened to us, and we stepped inside 
 A shaded room ; and, waiting for our steps, 
 From a low couch, once more, at last, at last, 
 The eyes of Ugo Bassi smiled at me, 
 Out of the white and wasted face, that still 
 Was the most beautiful that God had made. 
 
 There was much stir and tumult at this time 
 Within Bologna ; for not long before, 
 The Austrians under Welden had come down 
 On her, defenceless ; but the people rose 
 In force and fury unforeseen ; and drove 
 Them out, and armed themselves ; and thenceforth held 
 And fortified their city ; and stood firm 
 In their municipal and ancient rights, 
 Desiring to be ruled no more by priests. 
 But the Pope's Legate sought by force of arms 
 To repossess himself, and blood was shed ; 
 And all things were unquiet and disturbed ; 
 And all the citizens were under arms 
 Against the Papal troops and the Swiss guard. 
 
 Felice Orsini was also there,
 
 UGO BASSI. 135 
 
 With other of the Roman volunteers 
 Disbanded from Treviso, by the terms 
 Of the capitulation, under bond 
 To fight no more in Lombardy that year. 
 He, having won the rank of Captain, held 
 A leader's place among the boldest there ; 
 And kept a firm hand on the populace, 
 Prone to excesses after lone; restraint. 
 
 And, loving much my master, Orsini 
 Came oft to his sick chamber ; and one day, 
 I, waiting there upon him, heard them both 
 Conversing a short time in earnest tones ; 
 But Ugo's voice failed soon, and he lay there, 
 Silent, and sad, until his friend exclaimed, 
 1 Dost thou see aught, that thou regardest me 
 So gravely ? What is it displeases thee ? ' 
 And Ugo answered, in a voice that came 
 Slowly, and as it were without himself : 
 ' The shadow of a great doom within thine eyes. ' 
 
 ' A doom ! What doom ? ' Orsini answered him : 
 ' We are all in the same doom. Have we not sworn 
 To know no rest till Italy be one, 
 And rescued from the stranger ? Did we think 
 The day of our discharge would find us whole, 
 And young, and ready for this life's reward ? 
 Does the red stand for rose-leaves on our flag ? 
 We have learnt better, thou and I at least. 
 I have spent years in prison, when no hope
 
 136 THE DISCIPLES, 
 
 Seemed possible ; and knew my brethren then 
 
 Were striving for me, and that prayers like thine 
 
 Were rising for me and now I am here : 
 
 But bound in the same service, and I know 
 
 Its uttermost guerdon is the darkest death, 
 
 And that the very face of Italy 
 
 Shall not smile yet on those that die for her, 
 
 And to that doom go forward undismayed. 
 
 But whether thou, or I, or this one here, 
 
 Or any other, shall be called the first, 
 
 Or what shall be the calling, who can know ? ' 
 
 And Ugo answered, still as in a dream : 
 1 Yea, through the Shadow of an Agony 
 Cometh Redemption if we may but pass 
 In the same footprints where our Master went, 
 With Him beside us ; and for me, I fear 
 No evil, since He has not failed me yet, 
 Nor will, for ever ; and I know He will 
 Be with me when I go to meet my hour ; 
 But thou, thou goest all alone to thine.' 
 
 ' Let me be lost, so Italy be saved ! ' 
 Orsini answered ; and went out from us. 
 But the next day I sat beside the bed 
 Where Ugo was asleep ; and watched the flies 
 Should not disturb him, for the heat was great ; 
 And marked the helpful hand relaxed and white, 
 Laid on the coverlet ; and anxiously
 
 UGO SASSf. 137 
 
 Listened for the low breathing which assured 
 He rested : for now, languid after long 
 Fever, and pain, and weariness, he slept 
 Hour after hour, and ever craved for more ; 
 And when awake was weary ; and when left 
 In quiet, quickly was asleep again. 
 
 There was loud tumult in the town below ; 
 But coming through the sultry air, the noise 
 Was not so harsh or near as to do hurt. 
 But through the quiet house now quick steps came 
 Ascending, and the door was pushed aside 
 Hastily, and with jar, and Ugo woke ; 
 And gazed upon Felice Orsini, 
 Who had burst in, with eyes and cheeks aglow 
 And full of laughter, saying : ' Pardon me ! 
 But business is important, and admits 
 Of no delay. I bring a message from 
 A humble suppliant if he were but here ! 
 The Cardinal-Archbishop I am told 
 There is no love lost between you and him, 
 And that there is good cause for it, and you 
 Have a long score against him. Now your time 
 Is come ; he lies imploring at your feet. 
 Will you forgive him ? ' Ugo smiled and said, 
 ' Forgive him now ? Nay, I forgave him then. 
 That was eight years ago : but now, at last, 
 What does he want of me ? ' Orsini said : 
 ' The mob are up against him ; and indeed
 
 138 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 They are not to be trifled with. He seems 
 
 Far from beloved, if one may judge by what 
 
 One hears and sees. Already they have forced 
 
 The doorways, and have filled the inner court, 
 
 And all the square is full of half-armed men, 
 
 Clamouring and crying that he should come forth, 
 
 And answer for his office to the Court 
 
 Of Public Safety. But he dares not stir 
 
 Nor show himself. He sent to speak with me, 
 
 Entreating me to save him, and to get 
 
 An escort that he might escape to Rome. 
 
 But underneath the windows one could hear 
 
 The people yelling like hyaenas, "Who 
 
 Imprisoned Ugo Bassi ? " and again, 
 
 "Remember Ugo Bassi ! " and myself 
 
 Would rather stand before the Austrian guns 
 
 For half a day, than stand for half an hour 
 
 Before the fury of our Bolognese. 
 
 I would not have him hurt ; but for your sake, 
 
 Was glad to have him frightened : so I said, 
 
 As grave and stern as I could well appear : 
 
 " To Rome ? You hear the people name my friend ; 
 
 He is close by, as you are well aware. 
 
 I think there are accounts between you two 
 
 That might be settled better here than there. 
 
 I must consult him." But he begged and prayed : 
 
 He had been forced, he had done nothing more 
 
 Than his most painful duty, and had borne 
 
 Grievous .suspicion, merely through his zeal
 
 UGO BASSI. 139 
 
 In interceding for you ; for himself, 
 
 He always had admired you from his heart ; 
 
 You could not have a truer friend than him. 
 
 His gushing love and his benevolence 
 
 For everybody was so great, in short, 
 
 He could not comprehend how they could show 
 
 Such strange ingratitude but thought it was 
 
 A dispensation of mysterious grace. 
 
 But now, would you, and I, and his good friends 
 
 Get him away ? I need not stay to count 
 
 The pastoral and apostolic showers 
 
 Of benediction that should fall on us. 
 
 But I can do it I can hold the mob 
 
 In check, and I can use the civic guard ; 
 
 Masina too and Zambeccari stand 
 
 By me, and we have all the Volunteers. 
 
 He will be safe, but we must lose no time. 
 
 But now, what message shall I take from you ? ' 
 
 But Ugo on his couch had raised himself, 
 With his eyes burning, and his feverish lips ; 
 And his voice trembled in its eagerness, 
 As he spoke : ' Friend, by all thou holdest dear, 
 If thou hast ever loved me, show it now 1 
 
 keep him safe and sacred ! Promise me 
 This day to hold his life before thine own : 
 
 1 do not say, lest one of his grey hairs 
 
 Be harmed, I trust thee, but lest one rude word 
 Come near him, one rough hand should hurry him.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 If he should suffer now the smallest thing, 
 
 And for my sake, what then could comfort me ? 
 
 He hath been, ever since I was a boy, 
 
 The Primate of this city, and revered 
 
 For blamelessness and dignity of life. 
 
 Besides I do believe that in his way 
 
 He loves our Lord, and thinks that verily 
 
 He did Him service in withstanding me. 
 
 And if the people think of me, do thou 
 
 Tell them from me, that if they would not tear 
 
 Open my wounds afresh, and my heart too, 
 
 They will part from him in respect and peace. ' 
 
 And Orsini departed : but the time 
 Seemed long ; for Ugo breathed in fever-haste, 
 And perilously glowed the sunken cheeks, 
 And all the pulses rushed on one wild way : 
 While the confused and brawling voices came, 
 Now rising, and now falling, to our ears. 
 
 At last Orsini's step was heard again 
 Approaching, and he came up to the side 
 Of Ugo, who had stretched his hands to him, 
 And said, ' He is in safety. Be at ease. 
 He had no trouble after I went back. 
 The people listened to the words I spoke 
 In your name to them : and I had good show 
 Of force besides. He has an ample guard 
 From here to Rome : and no one said a word
 
 UGO BASSI. : 
 
 Of insult to him after he came out. 
 I rode beside him to the Roman gate, 
 And there dismounted, bidding him farewell. 
 But no one can describe his gratitude, 
 And his affection both to you and me. 
 The messages he charged me with to you ! 
 How his paternal heart had ever yearned 
 To you his best-beloved son, far more 
 Than he had been permitted to express 
 How no one understood your worth like he 
 He seemed in fact to have but one regret 
 Leaving Bologna, that was, leaving you. 
 
 ' At least remember that, whatever comes, 
 Monsignor Oppizzoni is henceforth 
 Your most devoted slave. You cannot ask 
 More of him than he will delight to give : 
 He longs for opportunity to prove 
 How true and steadfast can his friendship be ; 
 And his unutterable gratitude 
 Shall spend itself meanwhile in prayers for you. 
 And if, at any time, (which Heaven forbid !) 
 Evil should threaten you, or danger press, 
 Or any undeserved reproach be yours, 
 Then count on him and all he has to use 
 In your defence, and always be assured 
 He could not have a greater privilege 
 Than serving you. Pray keep him in your mind. 
 He still repeats, your piety and mine
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Have saved his life this morning. Poor old man, 
 
 One would not think that he had much to lose 
 
 At his age ! It seems really strange to me 
 
 That saints should be so loth to lose their lives, 
 
 And not more eager for the Paradise 
 
 They say is specially reserved for them. 
 
 He is a venerable man no doubt : 
 
 His predecessors were less discomposed 
 
 As they looked up, and round, and finally 
 
 Settled their eyes upon the grated doors 
 
 That held the lions, opening ; nor let stir 
 
 An eyelash as the bounds came o'er the sand, 
 
 And round and round from earth to sky, the roar 
 
 Of the Coliseum. So at least they say. 
 
 Bishops, I think, were different in those days ; 
 
 Our nerves, perhaps, are weaker. Anyhow, 
 
 He is safe off, and no one seems the worse 
 
 For losing him, nor inconsolable 
 
 At his departure. Are you satisfied ? ' 
 
 Soon after this I was obliged to leave 
 Bologna and my master ; and the next 
 I heard of him was that his wound was whole, 
 And he again had started for the war, 
 Which now had died away in every part 
 Save Venice : for an armistice was signed 
 Between Savoy and Austria ; and the Pope, 
 And all the other Princes, had recalled 
 Their soldiers ; (only, up amongst the Alps,
 
 UGO BASSl. 143 
 
 Forsaken, Garibaldi made a stand 
 With his five hundred). But one city stayed, 
 Queen of herself, a new republic, bound 
 Not unto any court conveniences, 
 But only unto Liberty and Death ; 
 And Venice now against her bore alone 
 The whole revengeful pressure of the arms 
 Of Austria ; only God and her green seas 
 Helping her ; yet she held, and did not fail, 
 The torch aloft, and looked not on despair. 
 
 Ay, when the bells swing up in the Great Tower, 
 Slow, slow, to battle, you may feel the air 
 Begin to tremble, and it is as though 
 Her golden hair streamed out upon the wind, 
 And the white arms are lifted high in air, 
 And the deep eyes are set against the storm, 
 And the white breast begins to heave and glow, 
 And all the waters in the ways below 
 Move with her moving, and become alive. 
 She was awake then, all the rest were dead. 
 There were no treasures left in any house, 
 For every citizen had brought his store 
 Already to the Public Treasury, 
 And all was melted down and used ere now. 
 But her heroic hearts and hands were still 
 Her own, to die when she died. And she stood, 
 Girt to the battle with her golden robes, 
 And with the jewelled breastwork for her shield,
 
 144 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And the soft flowing waters for her walls, 
 Against the cannon and the frowning forts 
 And leagues of the blockade, and hordes of Huns. 
 
 Thither departed Ugo with his friend 
 Felice Orsini, and others, left 
 Out of the Roman legion. At their head 
 Was Colonel Zambeccari. They embarked, 
 Twelve hundred, at Ravenna, in such boats 
 As they could find in harbour, and arrived 
 At Venice after stormy days of sea, 
 And many perils from the Austrian fleet ; 
 And being landed, they were sent to guard 
 The outposts at the fort of Malghera. 
 
 Weeks passed : a silent enemy in front, 
 The desolate breadth of the Lagune behind, 
 Swift rushing of the Brenta on one hand, 
 A stagnant channel on the other hand, 
 Waters divided by the jutting fort, 
 The marshes and the cane-fields all around, 
 The mud embankments, the embrasured walls, 
 The white mist rising round them every night, 
 The pestilential air enfolding them, 
 The autumn fever in the midst of them, 
 Half of the garrison in hospital : 
 And Ugo Bassi, pale and suffering still, 
 Moved, like a shadow of himself, among 
 The stricken soldiers, falling every day
 
 UGO BASSL 
 
 Before the deadly arrows of this foe 
 Invisible, yet did not fall himself. 
 
 Seven miles of the canal and marsh between 
 Mestre and Malghera ; and Mestre stood, 
 The outpost of the Austrians, fortified 
 Anew, and armed with fresh artillery, 
 And garrisoned by chosen regiments ; 
 The key of their position, and the gate 
 Of the mainland. This was to be attacked. 
 
 At ten o'clock one night the drawbridge fell, 
 And all the garrison from every side 
 Were mustered in the central fortress. There 
 The orders were delivered, and all night 
 Was spent in preparations. Orsini 
 Was head of the first column on the right, 
 And next to him, Fontana. Ugo marched 
 Beside the same battalion, without arms. 
 At nine o'clock they issued from the gates 
 Of Malghera, and took the road that runs 
 Alongside the canal. It was the dull 
 End of October, and a heavy fog 
 Had settled over everything, and hid 
 All the dim plain, and muffled every sound. 
 
 Silently, under cover of the mist, 
 The companies of the attack crept on 
 Until they had surrounded all the forts : 
 L
 
 i 4 6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And halted in their order, still unseen, 
 
 Till the command should reach them to advance. 
 
 Long time they waited, wet and chilled and stiff, 
 
 Crouched in the ditches and behind the walls, 
 
 Concealed among the cane-brakes without food, 
 
 Till evening, and no word or leader came. 
 
 At last, at six o'clock, there was one burst, 
 
 All round, of firing, and the hour had come. 
 
 On ! straight at the forts ! and over open ground, 
 
 Under the cannonade from all the walls, 
 
 Advanced the line at once to the assault. 
 
 Knee-deep in water, through the flooded field 
 
 They struggled to the fosse of the Lunette ; 
 
 But their wet arms could not return the fire, 
 
 And still the Austrians mowed them down with grape. 
 
 Then with one shout, ' Viva 1'Italia ! ' 
 
 Felice Orsini sprang, sword in hand, 
 
 Straight to the walls, and all his company 
 
 Rushed after him, and threw themselves upon 
 
 The steep entrenchments in one desperate close. 
 
 Half of them fell beneath the last discharge 
 
 Of the defenders as they turned and fled 
 
 Before the furious onset, and the rest 
 
 Passed inwards. But among the wounded lay 
 
 Fontana, with his right arm carried off, 
 
 As it seemed, dying. Ugo stayed by him. 
 
 But, hand to hand, from house to house the fight 
 Raged on, and everywhere, from point to point,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Back were the Austrians beaten, but gave way 
 
 Slowly, in deadly struggle ; and the night 
 
 Darkened above the crowded combatants, 
 
 And the broad moon appeared, and flames burst out 
 
 In conflagration from deserted holds, 
 
 Till all the place was lighter than by day. 
 
 But many of the Austrians had been made 
 
 Prisoners, and many slain ; and of our own 
 
 Many were slain or wounded ; and at last, 
 
 Past midnight, but a remnant on each side 
 
 Held on through the last conflict, in a wild 
 
 Crash and uproar of blood, and flame, and cries, 
 
 Madness and rage of slaughter and despair, 
 
 Round the last stronghold which the Croats kept, 
 
 The Villa Bianchini, pouring sheets 
 
 Of flaming hail from all the windows, barred, 
 
 And with spiked walls impregnable all round. 
 
 Under the murderous fire Orsini led 
 
 His columns driven back and back again ; 
 
 Some scaled the walls, some wavered, some were hurled 
 
 Headlong upon the others, all their fate 
 
 Hung on the shock and strain of this last hour. 
 
 The flag of Italy upon the ground 
 Sank, with the standard-bearer ; savage cries 
 Rang with the volleys from the heights of stone. 
 Then they saw Ugo in the midst of them, 
 A flash, a vision, with illumined eyes, 
 And in his hand the flag and he was past, 
 Above them high upon the perilous walls,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Unarmed amidst the steel, and fire, and storm, 
 
 And first within the palace, all alone 
 
 Amidst the Croats, who beheld amazed, 
 
 Suddenly there against the flaring sky, 
 
 The terrible bright face of the gold-haired monk, 
 
 With the streaming banner and the lifted hand, 
 
 And the red cross upon his breast ; and some, 
 
 Bewildered with the long and furious night, 
 
 Shrank back, and said awe-stricken as he passed, 
 
 ' St. Theodore for Venice ! ' But he cried, 
 
 ' Surrender, and I spare you ! Pile your arms, 
 
 And go before me ! ' and like sheep they went, 
 
 Driven before him down the stairs ; and he 
 
 Passed to the lower story, and the shots 
 
 Ceased, and the disarmed Croats on their knees 
 
 Cried ' Quarter ! ' But he said, ' Unbar the doors ; ' 
 
 And they obeyed him. At the bayonets' point 
 
 Orsini, with his soldiery, pressed on, 
 
 Who, too infuriate to stay or spare, 
 
 Sprang on their prey, and massacre began. 
 
 But Ugo in the doorway fronted them : 
 
 ' They are my prisoners, and their lives are mine ! ' 
 
 And Orsini struck back with sword and shout, 
 
 The foremost of the maddened, entering throng ; 
 
 While piercing rose, and terrible, the cries 
 
 For mercy, and for vengeance, drowning those. 
 
 But in the shattered doorway Ugo stood 
 
 Before the Croats, and his fiery eyes 
 
 Flashed on the bayonets, and he snatched and held
 
 UGO BASST. 145 
 
 The crucifix to meet them, and his cry 
 
 Rang over theirs : ' Stand back ! You shall not pass, 
 
 But over my dead body and stretched arms, 
 
 And trampled cross of Christ ! ' And they fell back, 
 
 With all the force and fury out of them ; 
 
 And the two hundred prisoners were secured, 
 
 And all was over, and the place was won. 
 
 Six cannon, all the military stores, 
 And all the papers of the Austrian staff, 
 Seven hundred prisoners, and all the forts 
 Of Mestre, fell into our hands that day. 
 But there were heavy losses ; and among 
 The chief who perished was Poerio, 
 The younger, Alessandro, who, a boy, 
 Took arms for freedom thirty years ago, 
 And out of exile sent the songs that stirred 
 His country's heart, and now received his crown ; 
 After five days of agony, he breathed 
 His last in Ugo's arms, at peace in Christ, 
 And with his mother's name upon his lips. 
 
 That was almost the last of the campaign. 
 Soon afterwards the Roman legion came 
 Back to Ravenna ; and as they passed through, 
 They halted for a day or two, and there, 
 As Ugo knelt and kissed the sacred stone 
 That covers Dante's grave, the multitude 
 Followed his steps, and would not let him go
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Till he had spoken to them. Those who heard, 
 Said that his words sank down into their hearts 
 As never words before, so grave and strong, 
 As he laid charge upon them never more 
 To trust in priests or princes, who had failed, 
 But to trust God and their own hearts alone ; 
 And now to keep back nothing of their lives 
 From God and from their country. Then he came 
 On to Bologna, and soon afterwards 
 To Rome again. 
 
 Ah, there was joy with us 
 When Ugo Bassi had come back to take 
 His lodging with the brotherhood once more ! 
 But as it were his ghost at first he seemed, 
 So worn and pallid from his toils and pain ; 
 Yet as the days went on, and the new year 
 Drew into light, his strength returned to him, 
 And the old looks returned to greet our eyes, 
 More beautiful than ever, and new hope 
 And life were stirring in our hearts again. 
 
 Rome : there was such strange tumult in her midst, 
 Of reawakening spirits, that it seemed 
 As if the Dead from all the Catacombs 
 Had risen to live and die again for her. 
 The Pope had fled, and left no power behind ; 
 And rumours came that both from North and South 
 The armies of the Stranger were in march 
 Against the Holy City for his sake.
 
 UGO BASS!. i 
 
 But she was free, and held her own awhile ; 
 
 And there were bonfires in the streets, and shouts, 
 
 And hymns of liberty, and chime of bells, 
 
 And marshalling of troops for the defence. 
 
 Nor did I understand all things that passed : 
 
 But this I felt, that day by day, my life 
 
 Quickened and deepened, and with broader flow 
 
 Swept to the ocean ; and I had become, 
 
 Not only human, from unconsciousness, 
 
 Not only Christian, from the Pagan lore, 
 
 But Roman also, and a citizen 
 
 Of no mean city, but of the world's heart. 
 
 And this was borne upon me by sweet winds, 
 
 That blew, or so it seemed, and cleared the air 
 
 About us, as for some great sacrifice, 
 
 That Rome was now to live again once more, 
 
 And not for Italy alone, but for 
 
 Humanity, and that we too were bound, 
 
 Without escape, to live and die for her. 
 
 I cannot tell how these things came to me. 
 
 About this time I once heard Ugo read 
 
 A letter which, he said, was for us all ; 
 
 He named a name which then I did not know. 
 
 It said : ' I listen for a voice from Ron\e, 
 Some sound as of the reawakening stir 
 Of a whole people to their former height : 
 I do not hear one worthy of her yet. 
 O Romans, had you but the will t the power
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Is yours, this day, to mould the world anew ! 
 
 You hold within your hands the destiny 
 
 Of Italy, and, soon or late, must that 
 
 Become the world's. It has been ever so. 
 
 Do you not know the spell of potency 
 
 In those four letters that make up the name 
 
 Of Rome of Amor? Know you not that that 
 
 Which uttered otherwhere is but a word, 
 
 If uttered once by Rome becomes a. fact, 
 
 Henceforth her own Imperial Decree, 
 
 Urbi et orbi. I, the worshipper 
 
 Of Rome, have watched and waited for this day, 
 
 Knowing that unto her alone belonged 
 
 The Mission, that the Word could only come 
 
 From the Eternal City. Grant it, God, 
 
 That now at last the times may be fulfilled ! 
 
 ' Has ever Providence so plainly said 
 To any nation : You shall have no god 
 But God ; you shall have no interpreter 
 Of His law but the People! Have you not 
 Beheld this war, already three parts won, 
 Lost when you gave its guidance to a King ? 
 The Pope, a voluntary fugitive, 
 Has left you. Without violence or design 
 The way has been made plain before your feet. 
 You have no longer any Government, 
 Nor any power legitimately owned. 
 Rome is to-day by the sole grace of Heaven
 
 UGO BASSI. 153 
 
 A free Republic : and this day is yours, 
 
 Once, and once only, for a choice, to take 
 
 Your glorious destiny upon yourselves ; 
 
 And gather to the heart of Italy 
 
 In unity her delegates elect, 
 
 To utter forth the word to all the world 
 
 Which God shall through the People then declare, 
 
 And henceforth live or die accordingly.' 
 
 This winter was the mildest that had been 
 Within the memory of man at Rome ; 
 The skies were soft and sunny every day, 
 And the red roses bloomed the winter through. 
 And ere the spring had well set in this year, 
 Another Rose had blossomed on the earth, 
 Another crimson in the morning sky, 
 And the Republic was proclaimed in Rome. 
 And late one night, in the first days of March, 
 When beds of violets scented all the air, 
 And marigolds were in the springing grass, 
 Came Ugo Bassi home ; and as he passed 
 Spake but these words, with radiant, awe-struck face 
 That lighted all before him, ' I have seen 
 Mazzini ! ' but I knew not whom he meant.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 V. 
 
 1849. 
 
 ( ' Nay ! not from you to me, from me to you, 
 
 Romans, this homage of our love should pass. 
 
 For all the good that I have sought to do 
 
 Not done from Rome came to me. Rome has been 
 
 Ever for me a talisman. In youth 
 
 I found this record written, that whereas 
 
 In every other country nations grew, 
 
 And spoke their passage in the world's great song, 
 
 Then fell, to rise no more in pristine strength, 
 
 One only city was endowed by God 
 
 With power to die and then to rise again 
 
 More glorious than before, and to fulfil 
 
 A mission nobler than fulfilled before. 
 
 I saw this Rome arise, Imperial, 
 
 With empire from the rising of the sun 
 
 To his unfollowed setting in the sea 
 
 Beyond the Gates of Hercules, her laws 
 
 Written in landmarks still through every land. 
 
 And this Rome I saw perish, overwhelmed 
 
 By floods of the barbarians. From her tomb 
 
 I saw her rise again, this time more great,
 
 UGO BASSI. 155 
 
 In virtue of a victory, not by arms, 
 
 But by the Word of God ; and in His name 
 
 Claiming and wielding sovereignty of souls. 
 
 I to my heart said There is yet to come 
 
 More : for a city which, of all the world, 
 
 Alone has seen two splendours rise and fall, 
 
 The last the first transcending, yet must see 
 
 A third. All things must follow to their fate. 
 
 Following the Rome which wrought by force of arms, 
 
 Following the Rome which wrought by force of words, 
 
 Must come, so was it shown me long ago, 
 
 The Rome which yet shall work by force of life. 
 
 Rome of the Caesars, passed away so long ; 
 
 Rome of the Popes, passed but a little while ; 
 
 Rome of the People rises from you both. 
 
 And now the Rome of the People has arisen. 
 
 Here, in this Rome, I greet you ; and this hour 
 
 Has room in it fbr no less sacred word. 
 
 ' Nothing have I to give you of my own, 
 Nothing have I to promise of myself, 
 Except that I am with you, one of you, 
 Whatever work you now may have to do 
 For Rome, for Italy, and for the weal 
 Of humankind in Italy. We shall 
 Perhaps have more than one sharp step to cross, 
 More than one solemn sacrifice to make, 
 More than one battle with our gathering foes : 
 But with the aid of God we will go on
 
 i S 6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 To victory. I trust that nevermore, 
 So grant it, God, the stranger's scorn may say, 
 This light from Italy, this blaze from Rome, 
 Is but a Will-o'-the-wisp among the tombs. 
 Not so, the world shall hail it as a star, 
 To set no more, pure, everlasting, bright, 
 As those which glow in our Italian sky.' 
 
 These words were spoken on the Sixth of March ; 
 The first time that Mazzini stood within 
 The Capitol, and knew his time was come.) 
 
 But before long, I too had learned to know 
 Mazzini, now a citizen of Rome, 
 And First of the Triumvirate ; by voice 
 Of the Assembly and the People given 
 The post of honour and of danger, kept 
 By Rome for heroes in her hours of fate. 
 And next to him, two men were worthy found 
 Of the same touch of fiery laurel-leaf ; 
 Aurelio Saffi, Armellini ; these 
 Moved with one mind, and Rome was glad of them. 
 
 For he was here at last, the man whose dreams 
 Had seen her in his youth, a queen as now, 
 While other eyes had seen but her decay. 
 He who had prophesied of this young Rome, 
 Who amid scorn and peril had consumed 
 His days and nights for her, had worked, and watched,
 
 UGO BASSI. 157 
 
 And suffered for her till the hour was come, 
 
 And she was born again, a splendour strange, 
 
 Out of the travail of his soul, a dream 
 
 Now in the world's full daylight come to pass. 
 
 And she, immortal, as it seemed new-born, 
 
 Bathed in the golden sunshine of the spring, 
 
 Looked lovely as a bride may look, who knows 
 
 Her lover's eyes are on her ; and rejoiced. 
 
 And I too sometimes, passing in the streets, 
 
 Beheld himself; it was a face which now 
 
 I cannot write of, but I see it still. 
 
 The glorious, fiery eyes, the living light 
 
 That made the world like one grand smile of God. 
 
 On all sides there was arming those first days 
 
 Of the Republic, to resist the hosts 
 
 Of Austria, but we felt no fear of them, 
 
 For everywhere, along the streets and walls, 
 
 Might we behold large letters : ' In the Name 
 
 Of God and of the People ! ' and then came 
 
 The order of the day, and it was signed 
 
 'Joseph Mazzini, Citizen of Rome.' 
 
 The name, the eyes, the voice, were in our midst 
 
 All day ; the living hand was holding ours ; 
 
 We felt that God was with us. For myself, 
 
 I could not understand the words of him 
 
 Who spoke as if His Prophet ; but I saw 
 
 How Ugo Bassi, with dilated eyes, 
 
 Drank them in day by day, and each day grew 
 
 More glorified to look on, as if now
 
 1 5 8 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 No spiritual need were unfulfilled. 
 My Master had been great to me till now, 
 But now a greater One than he appeared, 
 His Master, and the Master of us all. 
 To live through but one perfect hour of life, 
 With hope enlarging all the space beyond, 
 Is better than a life-time, and more long, 
 Looking back on it : thus it seems to me 
 That time was long, because it was so fair. 
 
 But none loved Ugo as Mazzini loved ; 
 Who one day sent for him, and said to him, 
 ' I have a gift to give thee, which thy heart 
 Shall some day thank me for ; I have not found 
 Another worthy of it ; I appoint 
 Thee to the post of peril, as the priest 
 Of Garibaldi's legion. Go to him, 
 And take this letter under hand of mine. 
 And when thy crowning cometh, think of him, 
 Thy friend who loves thee and who parts from thee. 
 
 And Ugo took the letter, and obeyed ; 
 Half grieved to leave the golden hours of Rome, 
 Half glad for stirrings of new destinies, 
 Half conscious of a solemn seal of fate. 
 For no one yet in Rome had ever seen 
 The face of Garibaldi ; but strange tales 
 Were told of him, and of the fearless few 
 Who from America had followed him ;
 
 UGO BASSI. 159 
 
 Of their rough fashions, and their wild attire, 
 And the mysterious fortunes of their Chief, 
 Who in remote and unknown lands had grown 
 To some strange power and leadership of men, 
 And now had risen up at his country's call, 
 For her Deliverer in her hour of need, 
 With his own army and no law but his ; 
 And by a perilous and hard-won way 
 Was now advancing on the road to Rome, 
 And halting at Rieti. Thither came 
 Ugo, as the Republic's messenger. 
 
 The rushing green Velino serpentine 
 Enrings the towers foursquare, and the red roofs 
 Crowded and piled within the ancient walls 
 Of the Sabine City ; and the green plain round 
 Lies one great garden of the vine in spring ; 
 And, twelve miles off, an amphitheatre 
 Encircles it, of mountains, tender-toned, 
 Like harmonies of music turned to shape. 
 And it was morning, when before the tent 
 Of Garibaldi, Ugo Bassi stood ; 
 And the unknown commander from the door 
 Advanced to meet him, drest, as was his wont, 
 In the white mantle and the scarlet vest, 
 Bare-headed, with the lion-flowing locks ; 
 And greeted him with grave face and few words. 
 
 But Ugo looked at him, and speechless stood,
 
 160 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 As in a vision ; and his breath came short ; 
 
 And shadowy changes swept across his face, 
 
 While still he gazed ; and all at once he spoke : 
 
 ' I have seen thee, I have seen thee ! In the cell 
 
 Above the rushing of Potenza, when 
 
 I had no hope, and even God seemed gone ; 
 
 In mortal sickness, when the agony 
 
 Let go, and left me sinking back to life ; 
 
 In the long vigils, as it grew towards dawn 
 
 Through the grey aisles of the Basilica ; 
 
 In flickering nights of fever, when my wounds 
 
 Burned, and the hospital was full of groans ; 
 
 In the last thunder of the guns, when all 
 
 The air was dim and sulphurous with smoke, 
 
 And I was lying on a field well-won ; 
 
 By deathbeds, when the pain had left the limbs ; 
 
 Yea, in the fainting close of the Passion-Week ; 
 
 I was aware of one who came and went, 
 
 But never stayed by me so long, that I 
 
 Might catch the form ; but sometimes in my dreams 
 
 I saw it and I knew it : it was thine. 
 
 I could not hold the dream back as I woke ; 
 
 I was seeking, and I knew not what I sought : 
 
 But now I am waking, and I see thy face ! ' 
 
 And over Garibaldi's eyes there came 
 A soft deep darkness, and he stretched his hand 
 To Ugo, and the two stood face to face, 
 The silence thrilling round them like a march
 
 UGO BASST. 161 
 
 Of music at a hero's funeral, 
 
 Until the voice of Garibaldi spoke : 
 
 ' We two can be no more parted, save by death.' 
 
 And from that hour was Ugo Bassi's place 
 At Garibaldi's side ; and never more 
 Did any day divide them ; and it seemed 
 As if the day long were too short to ease 
 The lifelong burden of their hearts, till now 
 Unknown unto each other, and apart. 
 And Garibaldi said, ' It likes me ill 
 To see a white do re in a raven's nest : 
 Or thy bright face above the monkeries 
 Of the black habit of the Barnabites. 
 Is it so dear to thee?' And Ugo said, 
 ' Nowise ; since I have suffered at the hands 
 Of priests too many things to love their dress 
 But I abide as it was laid on me.' 
 And Garibaldi said, ' I lay on thee 
 Another rule, another uniform ; 
 Wilt thou receive it ?' And he said, ' With joy, 
 Whatever shall thy hand require of me, 
 Whatever shall thy hand impose on me, 
 Shall be to me a law, as at the hand 
 Of God and of my country, sweet, if stern. ' 
 And Garibaldi said, ' I have not much 
 Of worldly goods ; but I have some to spare f 
 Since I have shirts of scarlet two, not one ; 
 Both are the worse for wear, but they will hold ; 
 M
 
 i6a THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Thou shalt have one, and wear it for my sake, 
 
 Who wore it first ; and thou shalt leave the black 
 
 Garb of the priesthood which I most abhor, 
 
 And all my soldiers hate the sight of it, 
 
 And will more gladly hear thee, if thou come 
 
 In their own colours in the midst of them.' 
 
 And Ugo Bassi answered, ' Yea, so far 
 
 My heart goes with thee ; and from thee to me 
 
 Such gift were glory of investiture : 
 
 But yet I cannot carry arms of death, 
 
 Whose mission is for saving help alone 
 
 In need ; nor can I leave the crucifix, 
 
 The only weapon which hath heretofore 
 
 Gone with me through all storms of blood and fire, 
 
 And which must be my armour to the last.' 
 
 And Garibaldi, musing, answered, ' Mine 
 
 Is a bright colour for a battle-mark, 
 
 And a gay show upon the open hills, 
 
 Or in the streets of cities ; but the fire 
 
 Of life burns in it to intenser flame. 
 
 It is not for the splendid sun alone, 
 
 Nor for the trumpets, and the horses' feet, 
 
 And all the bells outringing, till the dome 
 
 Of the blue sky seem one Campanula : 
 
 It has a thought of other hours with it. 
 
 Christ wore it when He wore the crown of thorns, 
 
 When first He took His kingdom from their hands ; 
 
 And the bright maiden wore it to her death, 
 
 Whose knife avenged Humanity and France.
 
 UGO BASSI. 163 
 
 Who wears has chosen ; and whoso weareth it 
 Must wear it to the perilous posts of fate. 
 Rejoice with me to-day, for it may be 
 Some day that thou wilt suffer for me too.' 
 And Ugo said, 'Then will I more rejoice.' 
 And with his own hands Garibaldi put 
 His scarlet mantle on him, and he threw 
 About his neck the slender silver chain 
 On which he carried still the crucifix. 
 And in such guise the golden-gleaming hair, 
 And the inspiring eyes, and tender brows 
 Shone glorious, and it seemed an angel went 
 Among us ; and for ever afterwards 
 Did Ugo Bassi wear the scarlet vest. 
 
 In hurried marches Garibaldi crossed 
 Hither and thither, on whatever side 
 The enemy was threatening, keeping clear 
 The Roman country ; and from place to place 
 Passed Ugo with him, not as priest alone, 
 But, though unarmed, as a chief officer 
 The orderly who from the General's side 
 Carried his messages to every point 
 Of peril, and who bore by word of mouth 
 The call from one to another through the field ; 
 And for this service Garibaldi gave 
 The fleetest and most fiery of his steeds 
 To be his own Ferina ; and the horse 
 And rider were the noblest in the camp.
 
 164 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And in those days, the height of the spring-tide, 
 The voice of Ugo Bassi was a voice 
 Which any man once hearing could not rest 
 Till he had heard again, and which, on days 
 When he was preaching, drew beside the tents 
 The scattered dwellers of the forest lands 
 In thousands, ignorant of why they came, 
 Longing and listening, passionately thrilled 
 As if by music of another world. 
 The wild, fierce legionaries, with no law 
 But Garibaldi's, round him reverently 
 Knelt, for the first time praying, till his word 
 Subdued them to some likeness of himself, 
 And all the camp became a House of God. 
 
 Once of himself, about this time, he spoke 
 These words upon the freeing of his soul 
 From all the bondage of its early yoke : 
 'Now have I found obedience that is joy, 
 Not pain, not conflict of the heart and mind, 
 But harmony of human souls with God. 
 Some law there needs be, other than the law 
 Of our own wills ; happy is he who finds 
 A law wherein his spirit is left free. 
 Heretofore had I often need to bend 
 The manhood in me to a childish law, 
 And, breaking my own will, broke God's will too. 
 Yea, I have borne hunger, and cold, and pain, 
 Submissively, as at the hand of God,
 
 UGO BASSI. 165 
 
 And put off my own will, and uttered speech, 
 Or kept long silence when my heart was full, 
 And stayed, or gone whither I would not go, 
 Seeing no reason, much less asking it. 
 But now no more ; I will not bend again 
 My spirit to a yoke that is not Christ's ; 
 A law that is not of the public voice, 
 Sacred as God's voice in the midst of us, 
 Approved by conscience, tried by wisdom, used 
 By rulers royal in their nature's right ; 
 But law of man to man, without consent 
 Of reason or of justice, and which sets 
 The smallest tyrant in the place of God, 
 Yea, oftentimes the weak above the strong. 
 
 ' The Word of God henceforth shall be enough 
 For me to live by ; therefore I renounce 
 This priesthood, which has well performed its part, 
 Holding the lantern of the Word of God 
 Through the dark places of dark ages past ; 
 But now gives place unto the higher law 
 Of God the Father, and all men His sons, 
 Without the priest between. Thou hast not left 
 Thyself, O God, without Thy witnesses ! 
 Thy highest are upon the earth to-day, 
 Thy Prophet and Thy Soldier. I obey 
 Him of the sorrowful dark eyes, whose smile 
 Is as the lightning opening up the heavens ; 
 And him whose voice above the battle-charge
 
 i65 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Rings clearer than the silver trumpets blown 
 At Easter. Yet, obeying them, I yield 
 No further than Thy law within my heart 
 Consents to it ; and yet I do not fear 
 Strife in this service, nor a broken bond. 
 
 1 Yet let not any think, because I part 
 Myself for ever from the bonds which priests 
 Have fashioned for our souls for centuries, 
 It is for any pleasure of the world, 
 Or softness of the flesh renounced before, 
 Or solace of an unknown tenderness. 
 I do not claim life's sweetness, but I claim 
 Life's liberty, the birthright of a man. 
 If I withdraw, it is not now to seek 
 Aught that could make life dearer to myself. 
 I have not passed so many years of life, 
 Uncomforted of earthly joys, to need 
 Such comfort now. Art Thou not mine, O Lord ? 
 I do not think that I shall find a friend 
 More tender than the One that I have found ; 
 If He stay by me, I desire no more.' 
 
 Once more the Holy War was on the lips 
 Of all Italian people ; and once more 
 The hearts of all the nation throbbed with hope 
 Together, and with an exulting sense 
 Of one whole year of Italy achieved. 
 King and Republic on the Lombard plains
 
 UGO BASSr. 167 
 
 Made ready to receive the shock once more 
 Of Austria's armies, and one brotherhood 
 Ran through them all, and knitted them in one. 
 In Rome we waited in a breathless pause 
 For the first tidings from the battle-field. 
 It came, it came, Novara ! all at once 
 The thundercloud burst on us overhead, 
 And the stroke fell, and Italy was lost, 
 And we had nothing left us but despair. 
 
 Out of all Italy there now remained 
 Rome, Venice, and Bologna : we began 
 To see that crown which had been promised us 
 Was such a crown as death-struck brows might wear ; 
 And that the time was past for any hymns 
 But such as might be sung in Passion Week. 
 
 But he who was among us did not lose 
 The sweet calm smile, the deathless eyes divine 
 That shone the more unwavering as the gloom 
 Grew deeper ; and throughout the length and breadth 
 Of Italy, now fallen, he sent forth 
 This Proclamation : ' Fellow-countrymen ! 
 Piedmont betrayed, and Genoa fallen, all 
 The soil of Italy given up again 
 To tyrants or to strangers, still the life, 
 The true life, of our Italy, in Rome 
 Gathers itself. Let Rome then be the heart 
 Of Italy ; and back from her shall flow
 
 x68 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The vital energy, the living warmth, 
 Through all the scattered members of our race ; 
 And so the name of this fresh Rome of ours, 
 The Rome of the Republic, shall be blessed. 
 
 1 To Lombard, Genoese, and Tuscan, all 
 Our brothers in one country and one faith, 
 A mother's arms are opened here by Rome. 
 Here may the soldier find a camp, and here 
 The unarmed may find shelter in our walls. 
 For us is nothing altered. Strong in faith 
 In God and in the People, we remain 
 Immovable, and still inviolate 
 Uphold that banner we are bound unto. 
 Rome is the home of things eternal. Be 
 Then this Republic an eternal thing, 
 For the salvation of our Italy, 
 Which now for inspiration looks alone 
 To Rome. Here solemnly do we declare 
 That this Republic, the asylum now, 
 The bulwark of Italian Liberty, 
 Will never yield, and never compromise. 
 Witness, ye Romans, in the Name of God 
 And of the People, the Triumvirs swear 
 Their country shall be saved ! ' 
 
 (Yea, saved by fire 
 The soul of it was for the after-days : 
 But they who swore it did not save themselves. )
 
 UGO BASST. 169 
 
 Suddenly rumours, vague and strange, arose 
 Of a French army landing on our coast ; 
 And with vague doubts, ' Is it as friends or foes ? ' 
 But he who ruled us said, ' Let us not wrong 
 A noble nation by so base a thought, 
 That they in face of God and man should break 
 All faith, all honour, and should fall on us 
 Without a word : rather let us believe 
 They come as brothers in our hour of need.' 
 But there was none could shake the shadow off, 
 That flew as if with moaning of the wind. 
 
 It was the end of April, the last day 
 But one ; and in the morning entered in 
 A stranger band of warriors through our gates. 
 Five hundred of the flower of Lombard youth, 
 Of noble lineage, and heroic proof 
 The Bersaglieri, with their floating lengths 
 Of black plumes, and their dark -green uniform. 
 Enrico and Emilio Dandolo, 
 The brothers, Morosini, and their chief, 
 Lucian Manara, foremost. They had come, 
 Having defended Milan to the last, 
 After the fall of Lombardy, to find 
 A grave in Rome. ' For you have need,' they said, 
 ' Of every soldier you can muster now. 
 The French. are on you. Hardly could we make 
 Our way in arms to you across the lines 
 Of Oudinot, who holds the shore and forts,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And kept us back from landing. We have marched 
 
 Here from Civita Vecchia, but obtained 
 
 A passage only through the terms we bring, 
 
 Proposing to you : To surrender Rome 
 
 Into the hands of the French General, 
 
 Who will be by to-morrow at your gates, 
 
 (And guarantees the interests of all, 
 
 A moderate and judicious liberty 
 
 Under the flag of the French Government ; ) 
 
 Or failing free and peaceable consent, 
 
 Be ready to submit to him perforce. 
 
 We are at your disposal to the death.' 
 
 And travel-worn, and toil-worn from their strife 
 By sea and land, this young and noble band 
 Of her defenders through the streets of Rome 
 Passed, with acclaiming of the multitudes. 
 
 And the Assembly met in haste, to frame 
 An answer to the summons, and resolved 
 That to no foreign force should Rome submit, 
 But should defend herself, and hold her own. 
 Yet some there were who wavered, and who said, 
 ' It is in vain. To overwhelming force 
 Let us submit in time : we must at last. 
 Where have we arms enough for our defence ? ' 
 Whereon Mazzini answered, ' I have faith 
 In Rome. It seems to me, I understand 
 This Roman people better than yourselves.
 
 UCO BASSt. 
 
 Let us now summon all our legions here 
 
 Before the Palace, and here proffer them 
 
 The question, Peace or War ? ' And from the ranks 
 
 One universal shout of War ! arose, 
 
 And drowned all timid counsels and weak doubts. 
 
 And for the rest, Mazzini in his heart 
 Held his own counsel : for he after said, 
 ' Well did I know that Victory for us 
 Was equally impossible without 
 Our ramparts or within them. But I knew, 
 Therefore, that since it was our fate to fall, 
 It was our duty, for the future's sake, 
 For us to turn on Italy from Rome 
 Our last look loyal, " Morituri te 
 Salutantl " ' So the doom of Rome was sealed. 
 
 All Rome was turned into a camp that day ; 
 In haste and tumult for her own defence. 
 All day incessantly the Romans worked 
 Upon the walls, the gates, the barricades ; 
 The batteries were strengthened, and the charge 
 Laid in the cannon ; all along the ridge 
 Of Monte Mario with the cypress-groves, 
 The bastions were repaired and fortified, 
 And the battalions of the guard encamped. 
 All the vast square of the Basilica, 
 Saint Peter's, with its pillared colonnades, 
 Was turned into a camp ; and open stood
 
 i 7 2 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Porta Angelica ; while through it pressed 
 
 The clamorous streams of peasants, with their droves 
 
 Of sheep and oxen, and their loaded wains ; 
 
 And breathlessly, amid the martial stir, 
 
 The people waited for a great event. 
 
 The sun was going down, when suddenly 
 Along the dazzling streets a cry arose 
 Of ' Garibaldi ! Garibaldi ! 'There 
 Was the mysterious hero, come to us 
 Unsummoned, and unknowing of our need, 
 But sent by God to us, upon the eve 
 Of battle. After him, his legions came ; 
 But slowly, slowly, through the multitudes 
 That swayed in wildest welcome round his path, 
 And made the air a waving wind of joy, 
 As if the Archangel Michael from the clouds 
 Had lighted, to the succour of the great 
 Beleaguered city. While amidst them all, 
 He with deep eyes, silent and resolute, 
 Rode slowly up the steep of golden sand 
 To San Pietro in Montorio. 
 
 And who was this came riding after him 
 On the white battle-horse ? As he passed by, 
 With the monk's garment gone, and the unshorn hair 
 Floating, and the starry, rapture-lighted eyes 
 Among the Romans, I myself drew back, 
 At first amazed, and thought I had not seen
 
 UGO SASSI. 173 
 
 A manhood so majestic yet on earth. 
 
 But when his eyes fell on me, and he said, 
 
 'Antonio,' then I knew the tender voice 
 
 Was still the same, and would not change for me. 
 
 They held a bivouac in Saint Peter's Place. 
 All night the watch-fires blazed, and torches flared, 
 And sound of hammers and of hurrying feet 
 Through Rome resounded ; with the dawning came 
 A lull, and we were ready. Dull and grey 
 That morning of the thirtieth April broke. 
 
 It was one hour before the stroke of noon 
 Suddenly all the palaces were shaken 
 By one reverberating clap of sound ; 
 A startled cry from every house in Rome 
 Broke, and was lost amid the gathering roar ; 
 The great bell from the Capitol tolled out 
 Above it, and from Mount Citorio 
 The tocsin, silent for three hundred years, 
 Pealed to the battle ; and their voices rolled 
 Into the thunder of the cannonade, 
 And the sharp volleys of the musketeers. 
 From every casement all along the street 
 The heads of women leant ; from every door 
 Burgher and noble, priest and artisan, 
 Rushed to the walls ; and, with the first shot fired, 
 A thrill of deathless passion ran through Rome.
 
 i 74 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Around the base of Mount Janiculum 
 Lies the stone girdle of the Roman wall ; 
 Porta Cavalleggieri to the right, 
 And Porta San Pancrazio to the left, 
 As you look downwards. Towards these gates advanced 
 The French to the attack ; but as they neared 
 Porta Cavalleggieri their left wing 
 Divided, and the outermost passed round 
 The salient angle of the Vatican, 
 Directed on the Gate Angelica ; 
 While, for a mile outside the city walls, 
 The gardens of the Villa Pamphili 
 And skirting vineyards of the road were held 
 By Garibaldi. Here the first shock came, 
 In the open ground. Down, with the bayonets 
 He and his soldiers rushed upon the foe ; 
 And dark and terrible the war-clouds closed 
 Over the desperate combat, hand to hand. 
 The Tigers, as men named them in those days, 
 Of Monte Video, and the African 
 Lions were matched, and locked in furious strife. 
 
 All in and out among the trodden vines, 
 The cypress avenues and lovely lawns 
 Of the Doria Gardens, did this first fight rage, 
 Watched by the Romans from the heights above, 
 With Garibaldi in the midst of it, 
 And the white horse of Ugo galloping 
 From one to another of the scattered troops,
 
 UGO SASST. 175 
 
 With orders from the General, till in midst 
 Of the balls showering, horse and rider fell ; 
 The horse shot dead, but the bold messenger 
 Unharmed, who still on foot across the field 
 Made way, intent on serving such as lay 
 Dying or wounded. Ebbed and flowed the tide 
 Of victory ; sometimes the ground was gained 
 By the assailants, sometimes forced from them. 
 But when at last the firing ceased, the French 
 Were in retreat, and in our hands had left 
 Nearly three hundred prisoners. 
 
 In meantime 
 
 The left attacking columns had made way, 
 Sheltered by walls of villas, and by vines, 
 Unnoticed almost to the very walls. 
 But at the very moment when the sun 
 First flashed upon their arms, the Roman fire 
 Opened in front upon them, all along 
 The terrace gardens of the Vatican ; 
 While in their rear, from Monte Mario 
 Our cannon thundered ; and Saint Angelo 
 Let loose its lightnings on them all at once. 
 They, overnumbered, baffled, and mowed down, 
 Held their ground bravely, but at last retired, 
 Disordered, to the covert of the vines, 
 And sought a passage of retreat to join 
 The right again. Thus on the left and right 
 Were they repulsed. Then Oudinot, to lose 
 No further time, brought forward all his troops
 
 i 7 6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Again to the first position, reinforced 
 By fresh battalions. Then began again 
 That Battle of the Garden : for four hours 
 The mortal combat on whose issue hung 
 Rome, raged with fury, and with equal chance. 
 But Garibaldi in the midst was there, 
 Erect on horseback, with his streaming hair, 
 Bronze like a statue's, and the eyes that ruled 
 The fortunes of the field. Was it those eyes 
 That turned the trembling scales for us at last ? 
 For after desperate fighting we remained 
 Masters ; and on all sides the French fell back 
 In full retreat, and leaving in our hands 
 Their dead and wounded, and five hundred men 
 Prisoners. Our victory was complete that day. 
 
 The triumph and the joy of Rome that night 
 All can remember who were found in her. 
 The whole wide city was lit up with fire 
 Of coloured lamps, and all her people streamed 
 With songs and glorious music through her streets, 
 Or to the open churches, thanking God. 
 
 But one alone was missing. Ugo came 
 Not homewards with the fighters from the field, 
 Nor was there any trace of him, and none 
 Could tell where he had vanished. His dead horse 
 Lay on the hill-side, but no Ugo lay 
 Among the fallen ; Garibaldi said
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 That he had missed him after the first fight, 
 
 And no one since had seen him. Fear and gloom 
 
 Amid the glare of victory fell on me, 
 
 And Garibaldi would not rest that night, 
 
 But went on seeking for him. 
 
 All night long, 
 
 Through the rich moonlight that brought in the May, 
 I wandered in a wild and ceaseless quest 
 About the maze of those enchanted bowers 
 And grassy glades of Villa Pamphili ; 
 Through the great avenues of evergreen 
 Oaks, past the giant shadow of the pines, 
 Out on to the white lawns and glittering flow 
 Of waterfalls and fountains. Miles of green 
 Stretched shadowy in the moonlight ; marble forms 
 Stood clear among them, bathed in glistening light. 
 The flowers were folded, waiting for the burst 
 Of the May morning. Upon every branch 
 The nightingales were ringing out the night, 
 Unheedful of the silent, busy forms 
 That gathered round the dead for burial ; 
 Unheedful of torn boughs and trampled turf 
 And blood-besprinkled beds of lilies, where 
 Some lay in their last sleep. On every side 
 Were strewn the signs of that day's ravages. 
 I looked into the face of every one 
 That lay there silent ; I found friend and foe 
 Rigid together under the bright moon, 
 Among the bruised and dying cyclamens ; 
 
 N
 
 i?8 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And my heart trembled before every one ; 
 But still I found not Ugo ; and as day 
 Came on, I still pursued the fruitless search 
 From here to Rome, and asked from every one 
 Some news in vain : till in the afternoon, 
 I found myself within Saint Pancras gate, 
 And faint and wretched sank upon a bench 
 Amid the stream of passers ; and my head 
 Dropped in my hands. 
 
 I heard the many feet 
 Go by me, in a dream, a dreary dream 
 From which I could not wake ; I heard the voice 
 Of many a citizen sound close to me, 
 With triumph in its tone ; when suddenly 
 Among the steps and voices came one step 
 Straight onward, and I knew it, and looked up 
 And there before me, the far-seeing eyes 
 And the commanding form of Ugo passed, 
 A little worn and weary, and with dust 
 And tear of travel. But I could not speak ; 
 Only my face caught his face, and he stopped ; 
 And said amazed, ' Antonio, what is this ? 
 Am I a ghost that you should look so scared ? 
 What has come to you ? ' But when I at last 
 Had told my tale, and how not I alone, 
 But Garibaldi, suffered in suspense, 
 He took me also on his way to him 
 At San Pietro in Montorio, 
 And told me all the story as we went.
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 For in the first fierce conflict, he was close 
 To one of our own soldiers, mortally 
 Wounded, and dying ; whom within his arms 
 He held, and listened to the last faint sobs 
 Of his confession, when the bugle-call 
 Sounded retreat, and in the varying tide 
 Of the day's fortune our side was compelled 
 To yield the ground. All fell away at once ; 
 But Ugo, kneeling, would not loose the clasp 
 Of the cold fingers that still clung to his, 
 Nor, while the death-film gathered o'er the eyes, 
 Did the bright vision of his aspect pass 
 Away above them. As the French rushed on, 
 Furious, to take the long-contested spot, 
 They found that one unarmed bright enemy, 
 Whom they surrounded, and the dying man 
 Breathed his last sigh upon the sheltering breast, 
 Untouched of them ; but roughly, in their rage, 
 They handled Ugo, and were hardly held 
 By their commander from destroying him. 
 And he, their prisoner, marched with them that day 
 For fifteen miles' retreat along the road ; 
 Nor did they treat him well, for no one gave 
 Him food or drink, and all the night he lay 
 Without a cloak or shelter, on the grass, 
 Heavy with dew ; but at midday was brought 
 To the head-quarters, where the General 
 Delivered to him letters, praying terms 
 Of armistice, to the Triumvirate ;
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And set him free to carry them to Rome ; 
 But bound him by a promise to return 
 If these should be refused. So Ugo came 
 On foot again to Rome, fatigued but safe, 
 And to the heads of the Republic took 
 His message. 
 
 But they sent him back, because 
 They would not grant the terms. Nevertheless 
 An armistice on other grounds was made, 
 And truce proclaimed between the camps, and each 
 Retained its own position, far apart ; 
 And envoys between Rome and Paris passed ; 
 And hopes were entertained of happy peace 
 Between the two Republics. Oudinot 
 Sent Ugo Bassi back to us next day 
 In token of good-will. And on our side, 
 Mazzini, who could never yet believe 
 That others were less noble than himself, 
 Set unconditionally free the whole 
 Of our five hundred prisoners, who had been 
 Treated with every honour as our guests. 
 And ere we parted from them, solemn prayers 
 They joined in at Saint Peter's, offered up 
 For them, and for ourselves, and for the whole 
 Fraternity of Peoples ; and by throngs 
 Of the rejoicing people to the gates 
 Were led, and were saluted in farewell. 
 
 At that time it was often talked about
 
 UGO BASS I. 181 
 
 In hot debate, that, on the First of May, 
 
 If Garibaldi had not been withheld 
 
 By the Triumvirate, he would have gone 
 
 Straight in pursuit of the disordered foe, 
 
 And would have hemmed them in in their retreat, 
 
 And have destroyed them, cut off from the sea ; 
 
 And Rome would have been saved. I cannot tell 
 
 Wisdom is easy after the event. 
 
 Ten thousand, ay, ten million, eyes are sharp 
 
 As needles, to prick holes in deeds performed, 
 
 For the one eye of eagle that can mark 
 
 The moment's action, and strike straight at it. 
 
 The military hospitals, for those 
 Who had been wounded, whether friend or foe, 
 Were tended by the noblest hands in Rome. 
 And Ugo daily ministered in them ; 
 I being under him : and I, likewise, 
 Was now appointed to a special post 
 Of service with the ambulance, in case 
 Of further fighting. On one eve I went, 
 Bearing a message from the hospital 
 To the head-quarters of the cavalry 
 On Mount Janiculum ; and there I found 
 Ugo with Garibaldi. All the doors 
 Of the great Convent were set open wide, 
 And in the cloisters were the horses ranged ; 
 And the wild soldiers filled the rambling courts, 
 And noisily pursued their sports around
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The sacred Temple of the Cross. But out 
 
 Upon the quiet terrace of the church, 
 
 Red in the sunset, walked those two apart ; 
 
 All Rome beneath them ; and beyond it far, 
 
 The plain of flooded light up to the bound 
 
 Of the crimson hills ; and overhead a sky 
 
 That glowed with every glory of the rose, 
 
 And held the earth within it, as it were, 
 
 All glorious together. Ugo said : 
 
 ' This hill is sacred that we stand upon, 
 
 For its Saint's sake. Can we but think of him ? ' 
 
 ' No,' Garibaldi said, ' I am no priest ; 
 
 And do not overmuch admire the Saints.' 
 
 And Ugo spoke again : ' I can but think 
 
 Of one who was most happy, standing here. 
 
 This is his City ; his Basilica 
 
 Lies at our feet ; and all the prayers of the world 
 
 Draw thither in a ceaseless pilgrimage ; 
 
 And whoso once stands in it cannot loose 
 
 Its shadow from his soul. Did he not here 
 
 Conquer this city, which had conquered earth, 
 
 To be his Master's ? Is there any place 
 
 Around us, but he first did consecrate 
 
 To the new kingdom ? One may sweep away 
 
 His throne ; but cannot sweep the spirit of him 
 
 From the air of Rome : but what was this to 
 
 him 
 
 Here ? Was there anything in earth or heaven 
 That could come nigh him on this last steep height.
 
 UGO BASST. 183 
 
 But the one joy too great for heart to bear, 
 But the One Face so soon to see again ? ' 
 
 They turned into the church, and I with them ; 
 The great and gloomy church was dark and cold ; 
 The pictures of the Passion on the walls 
 Made one feel glad that one was not a Saint. 
 The altar-piece of Peter crucified 
 Was happily but little to be seen. 
 But Garibaldi walked with Ugo still, 
 Conversing, up and down the shadowy aisles, 
 Untroubled, until Ugo drew him close 
 To the high altar, and at foot of it 
 Showed him a bare flat stone, and said to him : 
 ' Here let thy feet fall softly. Dost thou know 
 Whose grave this is, without a cross or name ? ' 
 
 ' No,' Garibaldi said, ' I do not know 
 Of any grave. Perhaps another Saint ? ' 
 
 ' Nay,' answered Ugo, ' not of priests and popes ; 
 They who delivered her over to her doom 
 For the price of fifty thousand golden crowns : 
 But of the number of the innocent souls, 
 Those that were slain, whom God beholds in heaven, 
 Under the altar crying still to Him, 
 And has not sent an answer yet to earth. 
 Yet shall this stone not keep His ears from her 
 Who lies beneath it for -two hundred years,
 
 T84 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The Roman Beatrice, buried here 
 
 Without a priest, or prayer, and left alone 
 
 In death. What more could any do for her ? 
 
 The first soft touch that ever came to her 
 
 Was here, where hands, that could not spare nor save 
 
 Strewed her with violets from head to foot, 
 
 And laid the heavy stone to keep her safe 
 
 From any harm of hateful human hand. 
 
 1 It seems to me, if any one to-day 
 Could lift it up, that we should see her there, 
 Without a shadow of change from then till now. 
 She is lying there with that same face we know ; 
 The young limbs lovely, and the child's bright head 
 Have not had time to lose their deep delight, 
 Lying where none can tear them from their rest. 
 The sweet lips keep their last look infantile ; 
 The young and sleepless eyes are shut at last ; 
 The untwisted golden hair falls over her ; 
 The soft hands are folded like a child's that lies 
 Beside its mother ; you can hardly see 
 Whether she breathes or not, she lies so still. 
 If there be any violent bruise or streak, 
 The shadow of the violets smooths it down. 
 
 ' If so, indeed, she stay beneath our feet, 
 And I myself can almost feel her peace 
 Around me in the still and sacred air, 
 It were but little of a miracle,
 
 UGO BASSI. 185 
 
 For the miracle that kept the flower of her soul 
 
 Alone in the unspeakable abyss, 
 
 Stronger than adamant, softer than the spring, 
 
 Serene and shining, and ineffable, 
 
 A lily steeped in crimson by the rush 
 
 Of the wings of dawn, star-clear within itself, 
 
 Trembling with tenderness to every touch, 
 
 So that her lips smiled once before she died, 
 
 With consolation to the hearts that broke 
 
 Only with looking on her, smiled, and said, 
 
 " Let me not grieve you ; but thank God for me 
 
 That now my life is over." "... 
 
 Now arrived 
 
 At Rome the news that sounded like a knell, 
 Bologna fallen : after a defence 
 Heroic to the last, but of despair, 
 She was delivered up into the hands 
 Of General Gorzhowski, known from all 
 The other Austrian generals of that day 
 By a pre-eminence of evil fame. 
 And such tales came to us as made the blood 
 Boil in our veins, of shameful violence done, 
 Rapine and devastation, fire and sword, 
 And brutal insolence of force that flung 
 Mocking and shame at those it trampled on. 
 
 And unavailing passion rent the heart 
 Of Rome ; but Ugo's heart was rent with loss 
 Of his own city ; and he could not rest
 
 i86 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 For thinking of her ; and his eyes began 
 To take a sadder shadow than their wont. 
 
 While there was truce between the French and us, 
 The army of the king of Naples moved 
 Within our borders, and possessed themselves 
 Of all the open country, and encamped 
 In fortified Velletri, whence they held 
 A post of menace for us from the South. 
 Therefore the Roman army was sent forth 
 Against them. Garibaldi led the way, 
 With Ugo Bassi riding by his side, 
 His officer of ordonnance ; (for when 
 His horse was shot, had Garibaldi given 
 Another to him). But I had besought 
 Of Ugo Bassi, and almost with tears, 
 That he would take me with him ; for I said, 
 ' O Master, it was terrible, that day 
 When none could find thee ; and thou goest now 
 Into fresh perils, and who knows what fate ? ' 
 But he made answer, ' None may go with us, 
 But such as are accustomed to the march. 
 God's hand is over thee and me alike, 
 Whether we go or stay : but stay thou here, 
 And tend my sick for me while I am gone. ' 
 And they through many toils and dangers passed 
 Up to Velletri ; and a battle there 
 Was fought, and all the army of the king 
 Was beaten back, and fled ; and they retook
 
 UGO BASS/. 187 
 
 Velletri ; and returned in triumph home, 
 And safe ; and on the Twenty-fourth of May 
 Re-entered Rome amid wild cries of joy. 
 But Ugo had been wounded in the foot, 
 Though slightly, galloping across the line 
 Of the enemy's fire, to hurry up the troops 
 Commanded by Manara to the front. 
 
 Nearly were articles of peace, and terms 
 Of honourable concord, signed between 
 Lesseps, the Envoy, and the Triumvirs ; 
 When counter-orders came to Oudinot, 
 Who suddenly, upon the First of June 
 Broke off negotiations, and thus wrote : 
 ' My orders will admit of no delay. 
 I am to enter Rome ; whether by force 
 Or by free-will, it is for you to choose. 
 We give you till the morning of the Fourth ; 
 Within that time surrender if you will ; 
 If not, I take it by assault at once.' 
 
 Hardly was any answer deigned to this 
 Last summons ; but the Romans, young and old, 
 Flocked to the walls and batteries, and worked 
 With a redoubled spirit. And in front 
 Ever was Ciceruacchio, with the band 
 Of workmen volunteers, who followed him 
 As pioneers and sappers ; and the strong 
 Arms, and the deep and ever-mirthful voice
 
 1 88 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of that one man alone did work enough 
 In any day for six days' common hire. 
 The Fourth was Monday : and upon the night 
 Of the Second, many of us said, We will 
 Rest on the morrow, and rejoice once more. 
 After this Sabbath shall we sleep again ? 
 
 But this was not to be : for on the night 
 Between the Second and the Third, when we, 
 Relying on our adversary's word, 
 Believed we had another day to spare, 
 The army of the French moved silently 
 From its position, and advanced on us, 
 And through the darkness reached our outer works 
 And glided silently between the lines 
 Of myrtle hedges that there mark the way, 
 And came upon our sentinel, who cried 
 ' Who goes there ? ' and the answer was returned, 
 ' Viva 1'Italia ! ' so the first passed in 
 Without alarm ; and with a poniard-thrust 
 The sentinel lay quiet at his post. 
 And following them, the column rushed inside, 
 Killing and taking prisoners on their way 
 The unprepared and scattered men-at-arms : 
 And swiftly, silently, and suddenly 
 Taking possession thus of all our posts 
 Outside the walls ; the Villa Pamphili, 
 The Villas Valentini, Corsini. 
 Only remained the one nearest the gates,
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 Villa Vascello. While, at the same time, 
 Their left had marched on Monte Mario, 
 And also in the darkness had surprised 
 The unsuspecting guards ; and seized the works 
 Of the defence, the heights that overlooked 
 The city, and had turned them on ourselves. 
 
 Such of the guards as were not overpowered, 
 Rushed to the gate of San Pancrazio, crying, 
 ' To arms ! To arms ! ' and from the ramparts there 
 The cannon opened fire upon the posts 
 Carried by the besiegers ; and the French 
 Close by poured in a furious fusillade. 
 And at the sound the drums began to beat, 
 And with a gathering clang the bells joined in. 
 In the uncertain glimmer of the dawn 
 Was Rome awaked to find her outposts won 
 By treachery. 
 
 [The account of the taking of Rome by assault and bombardment, 
 and its heroic defence, can be found in several other books. It 
 was therefore left to the last by the Author, who is now overtaken 
 by illness, and forced to relinquish her work.]
 
 igo THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 JULY 2ND. 
 
 Then Garibaldi gathered all his troops 
 Around him, in Saint Peter's Place, and said : 
 ' My place is here no longer. Rome has fallen. 
 She has forbidden us to strike again 
 For her defence. I will not stay to see 
 The foreign army pass along her streets 
 Victorious. Still, against the foreigner 
 Shall never struggle cease in Italy, 
 While I can live for her. I go to bear 
 Her last resistance through the provinces, 
 God helping us alone. Whoever wills 
 To follow me, I will receive to-day. 
 Nothing I ask from them to make them mine, 
 But love for Italy and faith in her. 
 They will have neither pay nor rest with me ; 
 But bread and water, if we have the chance 
 To find so much. I cannot promise them. 
 Even a grave ; nothing is sure but death. 
 Whoever is not satisfied with this, 
 Had better come no further. Every step 
 Will be a step towards death, when once the gates 
 Of Rome have closed behind us. Who will come ?- 
 Meet me at six o'clock this evening, here.' 
 
 These are the words that Garibaldi wrote 
 Long afterwards, remembering this day :
 
 UGO SASSL 191 
 
 1 Four thousand men on foot, nine hundred horse 
 
 Ranged themselves round me. And the first who came 
 
 To join themselves to me, that hour, were these ; 
 
 Anita, Ciceruacchio and his sons, 
 
 And the saint, Ugo Bassi, who aspired 
 
 To martyrdom. The rest in order came. 
 
 Towards evening, by the gate of Tivoli, 
 
 I quitted Rome. My heart was sad as death.' 
 
 And the same hour the French came into Rome.
 
 iga THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 JULY, 1849. 
 
 And now, when Ugo Bassi would depart 
 With Garibaldi, I again besought 
 That he would take me with him ; and he said, 
 ' I will not say thee Nay this time. Who wills, 
 May follow now. Come ; thou art one of us ; 
 There will not be too many on this march." 
 So with the rest I went, carrying with me 
 The musket that was given me, when I took 
 My turn upon the walls of Rome. We left 
 By different gates, having for meeting-place 
 A spot about four miles outside the walls. 
 I by the gate of Saint Sebastian passed 
 Along the Appian Way. The night was warm ; 
 The moonlight and the shadows of the tombs 
 Chequered the ground in silver and in black ; 
 The yellow berries of the ivy hung, 
 Whitened with dust, above the roadside walls. 
 After two miles we halted by the church, 
 Where Peter met our Lord upon the road, 
 And said to him, ' Quo vadis, Domine ? '
 
 UCO BASSI. 
 
 And there we waited for another band. 
 Behind us still we heard, or seemed to hear, 
 The stir ofRome, though now, for the first time 
 For many months, no guns disturbed the night : 
 Behind us rose the shadow of the hills. 
 We felt the gates were passed, and never more 
 Should any one of us re-enter Rome. 
 
 Here were we joined by others ; and by trains 
 Of ammunition, strings of loaded mules, 
 And waggons ; and the companies were formed 
 In order : Ugo Bassi was with us. 
 It was near midnight when the word arrived 
 To start afresh. The moon was at the full, 
 So that there was no need of other light. 
 There in the moonlight, in the midst of us, 
 When all of us were ready, he stood out, 
 And said, ' Will any now go back to Rome? 
 The way is plain ; the gates are open still ; 
 There is yet time.' But no one answered him. 
 And all of us stood still, regarding him : 
 For as he stood, a look came over him, 
 Which, as we gazed, seemed to us that he saw 
 Another coming ; and some other eyes 
 Were meeting his ; and slow and sure the feet 
 Unsandalled drew towards him, and there came 
 The rustling of a garment white and long 
 Approaching and the two were face to face ; 
 And Ugo's voice was passionately near. 
 o
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 ' O Lord, the same this night that long ago, 
 Here in the moonlight, in the midnight came ! 
 So that Thy very footprint still is left 
 Upon the stones ; and we, too, stand and pass 
 On the same dusty road between the tombs, 
 On to an end which yet we cannot see, 
 But in Thy service, and at Thy command ; 
 We do not fear to meet Thy face to-night 
 Without its smile ! Thou standest in our midst, 
 And all our hearts are comforted and calm. 
 Keep us Thine own ; and keep us in the way 
 Thou first hast trodden : we are going now 
 Whither we know not ; only go with us ! 
 Thou wilt not set Thy face to Rome to-night, 
 But out into the wilderness with us. 
 Be Thou beside us, and in all our need 
 Suffer us not to fall away from Thee. 
 And if at any hour, at any pass 
 Of our extremity, our hearts should fail, 
 And the betrayal tremble to our lips, 
 Turn on us Thy reproachful eyes again, 
 Whose least sad look can strike the falsehood back, 
 Sharper than many swords ; whose least low word 
 Sets the face steadfast through the thundering storm 
 Whose least light touch can smooth the bars of fire 
 Into a bed of roses, look on us ! 
 O Lord, stay with us, and we ask no more !' 
 
 Then to the left we turned ; and made our way
 
 UGO SASSf. 
 
 Across the fields and vineyards, and by lanes, 
 
 To join the others, who had come from Rome 
 
 By Porta San Giovanni. The night air, 
 
 Laden with jasmine and magnolia scents, 
 
 Had yet a sulphurous odour above all, 
 
 Though clear ; and peace seemed not on all the earth. 
 
 About a mile from the Tiburian road, 
 
 Southwards, we halted, having met and joined 
 
 The others ; and the whole five thousand thence 
 
 Set off together, led through the by-ways 
 
 By Ciceruacchio ; for it was the aim 
 
 Of Garibaldi to avoid the road, 
 
 Seeing three armies were about our way, 
 
 To track, and seize, and crush us. But he said : 
 
 ' We may escape them all, if we but wind 
 
 Among them, by the paths they least suspect ; 
 
 And once amidst the mountains, numbers count 
 
 For little. ' So we stole across the plain. 
 
 Full dark was Garibaldi's face that night ; 
 And mounted close beside him went his wife, 
 Anita, with her glory of dark eyes 
 That spoke for her, and held his heart in hers ; 
 The beautiful Flower of the New World that he 
 Had gathered in a garden not his own ; 
 Who had lost the world, and lost her soul for love, 
 And followed him through flood, and field, and fire, 
 And bonie him children, and had been to him 
 The angel in the battle and the storm ;
 
 196 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And now was nigh to bearing her fourth child, 
 Having left her little children safe in charge, 
 When she came into Rome to share the siege. 
 Her face was sadder than I yet had seen. 
 And close by them went Ugo, at the word 
 Of Garibaldi ; for he said, ' Thy place 
 Be ever nearest me. We have not known 
 Each other long ; and little have we had 
 Of joy together let us have to-day. 
 After, who knows how long our life may last ? 
 I would not lose one hour, away from thee.' 
 I followed some way after, with the rear. 
 
 Next morning we arrived at Tivoli, 
 And rested there through the day's heat. The day 
 Of cloudless splendour yet remains with me ; 
 The blossom-spray of myrtle burst and foamed 
 All round us, like the silver foam and spray 
 Of dazzling waters sliding from the heights. 
 The gardens of that Paradise on Earth 
 Were made for such as had not known a care : 
 But among us, the sick and restless awe 
 Was brooding, of the future and the past f 
 We, fugitives between three armies loosed 
 Upon us, soldiers of a flag gone down, 
 Digging our own graves where we should lie low 
 With our dead hopes, and knowing that our fate 
 Had severed us already from our lives.
 
 UGO BASSI. 197 
 
 At close of day we passed from Tivoli 
 To Monticelli ; there abode the night : 
 And still across the plain we went next day, 
 By rough and narrow roads ; and as the day 
 Sank, through a little village, thick in vines, 
 We laboured, called Mentana ; and in front 
 Beheld the great hill break out of the plain, 
 Monte Rotondo ; we were glad when we 
 Reached it, and camped around it for the night. 
 Thence for a little way we followed on 
 The Via Salaria, the old Roman road 
 That leads one to Rieti ; then struck off 
 To left across the country, leaving all 
 Safe roads and smooth ; and after four days' toil, 
 Over a wilderness of mountain lands, 
 The wild untrodden heart of Italy, 
 Arrived at Terni, having all our store 
 Of baggage and of ammunition safe. 
 
 Meanwhile the troops of Naples, France, and Spain, 
 By every straight road leading out of Rome 
 Had been pursuing us, but found us not. 
 
 At Terni, in the shelter of the hills, 
 Two days we stayed : and there nine hundred men, 
 Part of the legion of America, 
 Joined company with us. The second night 
 We set off on our wanderings again. 
 We took the road five miles below the Falls ;
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 We could not see them for the woods between, 
 But to our ears the far-off thunder still 
 Came down the valley ; and at one wild turn, 
 The deep sound drew me, and I looked behind, 
 And all at once, unutterably clear, 
 Far off I saw a liquid precipice 
 Hang high in heaven above the dark-green hills- 
 Glorious and awful. Passing under cliffs 
 Of limestone, with great caverns in their sides, 
 We rested at San Gemini, and thence, 
 A rugged road crossing the mountain ridge, 
 Brought us to Todi ; there we stayed some days. 
 
 Here were we met by secret embassies 
 From Tuscany, who prayed of us to come 
 Into their midst, they being ripe, they said, 
 For a fresh rising, and the people all 
 Maddened with indignation as they saw 
 The insolent Croats in their City of Flowers 
 Go masters ; but the garrisons were weak, 
 And might be overpowered by a surprise. 
 So Garibaldi shifted course, and made 
 Thither, in hope of fortune's favouring him. 
 Both of the high-roads into Tuscany 
 The Austrians held ; the Neapolitans 
 Were close behind us ; and the French had reached 
 And occupied Viterbo on the left. 
 The gates of the Legations, too, were closed 
 By Wimpffen and Gorzhowski, who had marched
 
 UGO BASST. 
 
 To guard the Apennines : on every side 
 1 he fatal ring of fire encircled us. 
 
 But Garibaldi broke through it. He sent 
 Light troops of horse below the very walls 
 Of hostile garrisons on either side, 
 Foligno and Viterbo, to draw off 
 Hither and thither the pursuing hosts ; 
 While part to northward crossed the Tiber near 
 Thrasimene ; and he himself remained 
 At Todi, waiting till they should converge 
 Towards Cetona, where they should await 
 Himself; and then struck off for the same point. 
 
 We left behind at Todi all we had 
 Superfluous, horses, waggons, heavy guns, 
 And ammunition, and set out again 
 To our adventure, little left to lose. 
 A hilly bridle-road for eighteen miles 
 Led us all day by lonely ups and downs ; 
 Without a -sound save the innumerable 
 Streams of the mountains, falling either side 
 Towards the rivers. Early in the day 
 We crossed the Tiber, and from hour to hour 
 Forded the waters in their summer beds. 
 But in the afternoon we found a bridge 
 Across a greater river, and again 
 Another river with another bridge 
 Met us, and flashing down the valley rolled
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 To meet the first ; but we passed farther on 
 To Orvieto ; and at sunset saw 
 The city rise before us, walled, and set 
 Upon the last rock of the long sheer range 
 Volcanic, stretching straight across the plain 
 In vertical escarpments, lava-black. 
 And separated, at the end of all, 
 An island at a promontory's point, 
 The bare steep circuit, with its citadel, 
 Eight hundred feet above the washing waves 
 Of Paglia round its base, and crowded up 
 With roofs and turrets to its midmost height, 
 Where its Crown Jewel, its Duomo, stood, 
 Bearing aloft its golden western front 
 High in the sunset over all the land. 
 
 But the next day alarm was raised, the French 
 Were marching from Viterbo, and in haste 
 We left ; but from the heights we saw the road 
 Across the plain to southward hid in clouds 
 Of dust, and through the clouds the blueish glint 
 Of the advancing columns. Half an hour 
 After we quitted Orvieto, they 
 Were in it. This day by the road we went, 
 A march of fifteen miles. At first, down hill 
 Until we crossed the rivers ; then the way 
 Ascended to La Croce. All the land 
 Was lovely : far and clear around us lay 
 The olive-softened hills of Tuscany,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 One fresh and fertile garden every side ; 
 
 Perpetual quick blue rivers flowed and sang 
 
 Down the green valleys, meeting now and then 
 
 In cool delicious beds of foaming white ; 
 
 The violet gladiolus in the corn 
 
 Drooped with its glory ; and the way-side rose 
 
 Blossomed in every fragile crimson change ; 
 
 The yellow garland-flower, the melilot, 
 
 Hung its trails over us from bush and brake 
 
 As though we had been conquerors. As we rose 
 
 Higher, we skirted forests of the oak, 
 
 And glades of grass and fern. But we were tired, 
 
 And hungered, and footsore ; and felt our foes 
 
 Beforehand with us whither we might turn, 
 
 And were uncertain whether we might meet 
 
 Our comrades, or what fate the day might bring ; 
 
 And would have rather seen some homely place 
 
 Of rest, and refuge, and security, 
 
 Than any fairest landscape upon earth. 
 
 That night we reached Ficulie : and next day 
 
 On the same road went forward without check. 
 
 By evening we had mounted to a ridge 
 
 Parting the torrents to the east and west, 
 
 And marched along its summit till we reached 
 
 Citta della Pieve, which we made 
 
 Our next night s halting-place. 
 
 From this we left 
 
 The road, and marched all day across a wild 
 And solitary country to the west.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 At first through forests ; then the ground became 
 
 More broken and more barren, tracts of moor, 
 
 Brushwood of myrtle, heath, and arbutus, 
 
 With here and there a solitary pine ; 
 
 And the wild deer fled from us, and wild birds 
 
 Flew off in flocks ; but we passed on, until 
 
 The moorland gave its moss and turf alone 
 
 Unto our feet, and grassy hills arose 
 
 On every side of us, in strange great shapes, 
 
 As though they had been fashioned by the hands 
 
 Of giants ; and a phantom wind arose, 
 
 And moaned through them at evening ; and we wound 
 
 Through narrowing defiles, where on either hand 
 
 The walls were hollowed into sepulchres, 
 
 Line above line, with awful ancient doors 
 
 For dwellers taller than the race of men, 
 
 All desolate and silent, with large rows 
 
 Of letters, carved in some unknown dead tongue 
 
 Still speaking to us a green place of tombs ; 
 
 Nor trace of any city, but of one 
 
 Great Nation of the Dead : and farther on 
 
 The valley opened out upon a sea 
 
 Of swelling hillocks, and among them rose 
 
 Green hills like pyramids, and every one 
 
 Hollowed in chambers and in labyrinths, 
 
 Tomb after tomb ; and all the turf was fine, 
 
 And flocks of sheep amid the solitudes 
 
 Were grazing, and black birds among them walked.
 
 UGO BASSr. 
 
 At evening, turning past a higher range, 
 We saw in sudden light, without a cloud, 
 A great black mountain with torn peaks stand up 
 Alone against us for four thousand feet ; 
 And climbed up to Cetona, with white walls 
 Half-hid in olives, nestling at its base. 
 The other companies had here arrived 
 In the day's course, and occupied the fort, 
 The Austrians having fled at their approach. 
 Here Garibaldi rested for a day ; 
 And reconnoitred, but without success, 
 Toward Siena. 
 
 Here the roll was called 
 Of all who still were following. But alas ! 
 Already had our number fallen off 
 Almost by half : many had lagged behind, 
 111, or exhausted ; many had given up 
 A hopeless quest, and sought security ; 
 And some, dishonour to a noble cause, 
 Had cast off all restraint, and strayed away 
 For pillage and for rapine. When we left 
 Cetona, we were but three thousand men. 
 
 Through the rich ancient heart of Tuscany, 
 Three days our course continued, still pursued 
 Closely ; at Monte Pulciano first 
 We halted ; at Foiano the next day ; 
 And at Castiglione on the third. 
 And still advancing, saw with hope the walls
 
 2o 4 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Of old Arezzo, stretching up the hill. 
 There we expected welcome ; but we found 
 The gates were closed against us, and the towers 
 Threatened us ; for the Austrian garrison 
 Had overawed the people, and the troops 
 Of the Archduke were close upon the town. 
 The Austrians were around us all next day, 
 And kept us from the roads ; we had to pass 
 By rugged devious tracks along the hills, 
 And so arrived, hemmed in on every side, 
 Upon the summit of a mount, where stands 
 Citerna. Here we had no breathing-time : 
 On every side of us the enemy 
 Were closing in. We raised a false alarm, 
 By feint of marching northward ; and when night 
 Closed in upon us, Garibaldi bade 
 We should depart in silence to the east, 
 We raised our camp in fear and cautiousness ; 
 And all night long we toiled by rocky paths 
 And perilous, so narrow that we scarce 
 Singly could pass along them ; it was dark ; 
 We hardly thought that we should live to see 
 Another day's light ; but at dawn we came, 
 Still living, to the little frontier town, 
 San Giustino ; but we might not rest. 
 
 Deeper and deeper, up into the heart 
 Of the wild Apennines, we still pressed on, 
 Through paths known only to the muleteer
 
 UGO BASSI. sos 
 
 And goatherd ; we were well-nigh spent with thirst, 
 And hunger, and fatigue ; the fierce sun beat 
 Upon the burning rocks ; and ever up 
 And up we went ; and many vultures too 
 Were following us ; and some lay down and died. 
 But all whose strength would hold, still dragged them- 
 selves 
 
 On, not to let the terrible wilderness 
 Serve for their sepulchre ; for all among 
 The cliffs, we saw the caverns of the bears ; 
 And through the night wild fox and tiger-cat 
 Screamed from the savage ledges out of reach : 
 And well we knew no kindly foot should come 
 That way again, nor any bones of ours 
 Be found of friends, and buried by the way : 
 Yes, I am glad that I did not die there ! 
 
 But Garibaldi's face was still as one's 
 That looks upon a sunset, and the light 
 Streams back into his eyes. And Ugo's wore 
 The utter peace of one whose life is hid 
 In God's own hand. And through the day's fatigue, 
 Those two alike apparelled still went on 
 Foremost, and side by side. And I, being sure 
 Of foot, and mountain-bred, fared easier 
 Amid the perils of the way than most ; 
 And when the track was lost, and down below 
 The precipice fell off to the abyss, 
 And round a jutting shoulder there appeared
 
 206 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 No footing, and it was more difficult 
 
 To turn than to go on ; then Ugo called 
 
 Me to the front, aad I went on with them 
 
 First, to make clear a passage for the rest ; 
 
 And all the day I went in front with them, 
 
 And helped across the straitest of the pass 
 
 To bear the litter where Anita, lay, 
 
 Who now could fare no further upon foot. 
 
 And Garibaldi spoke to me, and once 
 
 Commended me, nor did I part all day 
 
 Out of the sight of those two friends and chiefs ; 
 
 But henceforth stayed beside them, and the way 
 
 Seemed not so terrible when they were near. 
 
 And though I know that Garibaldi's face, 
 
 And splendour of eyes, and tawny mane of hair 
 
 Are yet not to be matched in all the world, 
 
 I thought the other, taller and more spare, 
 
 With the fatigue beginning to tell now 
 
 Upon the clear and spiritual face, 
 
 And the dark hollows underneath the eyes, 
 
 Not the less beautiful : and often mused 
 
 On the strange fate that had elected me 
 
 To be so near to heroes, and to share 
 
 Such noble things, and in their hour of need 
 
 To be obedient to them, and to serve 
 
 Him whom I loved the best of all the world. 
 
 At sunset, after twenty-four hours' march, 
 We reached the extreme summit of the chain
 
 UGO BASSf. 307 
 
 Of Apennine ; and knew that here at least 
 We were secure a little while. So then 
 We lit the camp-fires, staying for the night. 
 But little food was there, and little* sleep 
 On the bare rock that night for any of us. 
 And I remember still the hour that came 
 Before the sunrise, in that mountain hold, 
 As the next day drew on ; and all around, 
 The crowning peaks grew visible in air, 
 Range upon range of solemn shapes that wore 
 All the live hues of the anemone, 
 Crimson, and purple, and deep dawning blues ; 
 And morning-mist below them ; and above, 
 The growing golden spaces of the light. 
 And then the silent burst of sunrise, with 
 The .long, low violet shadows swept across 
 From mountain unto mountain ; and at once, 
 From three far separate crags I saw the rise 
 Of three great hovering eagles, each alone, 
 Each in his kingdom of another day. 
 But oh ! the freshness of that kindling dawn 
 In that untrodden fastness ; and the breath 
 Of the first breeze that streamed from height to height ! 
 All youth was in it, and the coming tale 
 Of the long summer's day ; a day it was 
 That one might wake to, saying, ' If we live 
 Till evening, we shall not have failed of bliss.' 
 Some mystery of joy in every hour 
 . Lying folded, as the rose-leaves in the rose.
 
 ao8 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 But we who hailed that dawning, knew the day 
 
 Should be but one day's march the nearer death ; 
 
 And stiff and sleepless, famished and footsore, 
 
 Haggard and torn^ like spectres of ourselves, 
 
 Lifted our aching limbs to bear us on ; 
 
 Knowing that ere another night came round, 
 
 They might ache worse, with wounds, or chains, or 
 
 stripes ; 
 
 And hardly knowing if we wished to live. 
 And as the curling mists began to move 
 Around the narrow passes of the hills, 
 We watched their wavering with uneasy eyes, 
 And thought we saw the columns of the foe 
 Wind through the gateways of our last retreat ; 
 And started at each shadow of the clouds. 
 
 Descending by the rugged eastern side, 
 We, on the twenty-eighth of July, reached 
 San Angelo in Vado ; but could find 
 No resting place ; and nearly were surprised, 
 Leaving the town : the Austrians had come up 
 With our rear-guard, and in a desperate fight, 
 These forced a passage through the enemy, 
 And came up to rejoin us, by steep paths 
 The others could not follow. On we went, 
 Breathlessly, daring not to look behind. 
 
 And now, reduced to these extremities, 
 We, under Garibaldi, made our course
 
 UGO BASSI. 209 
 
 For San Marino, in whose territory, 
 
 As a Republic yet inviolate, 
 
 He purposed to find refuge for all those 
 
 Whose strength and courage might not bear them on 
 
 Through new and unknown perils : while himself 
 
 Pushed on to Venice with such few as still 
 
 Might follow and be faithful. But the hearts 
 
 Of most had failed already, and their strength 
 
 Was yet at lower ebb ; all hope was lost ; 
 
 Nothing was left them, perishing among 
 
 The rocks and forests of the wilderness. 
 
 Not even hope of glory, nor the wild 
 
 Excitement of the battle, nor the gain 
 
 Of falling in fair field to leave a name 
 
 Our country should keep honoured. We had done 
 
 Our utmost, and had failed ; the rest had failed 
 
 Before us. But, myself, I did not care, 
 
 So long as life kept in me, what should come, 
 
 While still my place was at my master's side. 
 
 That was enough ; together we went on, 
 
 Sharing the peril and the pain alike, 
 
 To our destruction, knowing not what hour 
 
 Our fate should meet us ; and I thought at least, 
 
 We should not be divided in our death. 
 
 Arduous and nigh impassable we found 
 The way to San Marino ; unknown paths, 
 Dense forests, rushing torrents, deep ravines 
 And not alone the Austrians in our rear, 
 P
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Descending from the Tuscan Apennines, 
 But pressing up on either side of us, 
 The armies from Romagna. All the night, 
 And all the day, we marched, but many fell 
 Dead on the way. At evening we arrived 
 At Macerata Feltria. 
 
 In what place 
 
 Soever we found shelter, joyfully 
 The people and the peasants succoured us, 
 And gave us of their best. And there as we 
 Rested, and in the shadow of the trees 
 Had Garibaldi laid Anita down, 
 Wrapt in his cloak, a woman came to us, 
 Tall, and of serious aspect and pale face, 
 And brought-us in abundance bread and wine, 
 And served us with untired solicitude. 
 But she looked pityingly, with softened eyes, 
 Upon Anita who lay wearily 
 With hollow cheeks, and moaning in her sleep 
 And said to Garibaldi, ' General, 
 Let her not fall alive into their hands ! ' 
 But he smiled mournfully, and said, ' No fear ! 
 I keep a dagger for her next my heart ; 
 And a last pistol-charge.' And she went on, 
 ' They are near, General ! They are all around : 
 I know not if there be between us yet 
 An hour's march : as you see there the leaves 
 In the wood rustling, through them there may be 
 The white coats coming.' Garibaldi said,
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 ' We have come here through many straits, and now, 
 
 God helping me, I shall yet give the slip 
 
 To General Gorzhowski ' here he paused ; 
 
 For at the name, her face grew quivering-white, 
 
 And the deep passion burst forth in her voice : 
 
 ' Gorzhowski ! Can a Christian speak his name, 
 
 And not add to it every curse in hell ? 
 
 Do not we dwellers in Romagna know 
 
 Of him and his too well ? Look round, and see 
 
 The heaps of ashes where our homes have stood. 
 
 See, if you will, but do not think to hear, 
 
 For men and women utter not such things 
 
 As they have known in this unhappy land. 
 
 Have you seen Monna Lucia as you passed, 
 
 She who looks down upon her empty arms 
 
 Rocked on her bosom, where a month ago 
 
 Her babe lay smiling as the Austrians broke 
 
 In, and demanded at the bayonet's point 
 
 Her husband who was hidden ? There is one 
 
 Close by, indoors, and her you will not see, 
 
 For never will she lift her head, nor speak, 
 
 Nor come out of the dark ; the loveliest girl 
 
 Of all our village, Angela, the one 
 
 With hair like Guide's saints, and once she smiled. 
 
 She was betrothed, it was her wedding-day 
 
 Two months ago, why is she not a bride ? 
 
 That was the day Gorzhowski's troops were here. 
 
 What is the last news from Bologna ? ah ! 
 
 Can I not tell you that ? Who knows so well ?
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 I can bring to you one for testimony, 
 
 My son, my child, a boy of twelve years old. 
 
 In the last rising of the city, he 
 
 Was in the streets, too young to carry arms ; 
 
 But he was captured with the tricolor 
 
 Held in his hand, when half the rest were slain. 
 
 What is Gorzhowski's mercy ? He was spared 
 
 His life, he said, by favour ; he came home 
 
 To me, his mother, from the Austrian rods, 
 
 And ah ! if I could show you, General ; 
 
 (God save you, for you would have saved us too !) 
 
 I am a woman woman's lips may fail 
 
 At such a telling but this woman's hand, 
 
 God let it wither in the flames of hell, 
 
 If aught it fail for pity or for prayers, 
 
 When once it has the knife in the Austrian flesh.' 
 
 We struggled onwards without road or guide, 
 And next day we had well-nigh lost ourselves 
 In the deep woods ; and coming to a pass, 
 Found that the Austrians had already seized 
 The heights above ; and nearly were cut off. 
 But at the day's end, such as still were left 
 Had reached Pietra Rubbia ; and next day, 
 Through the same perils held on out of breath, 
 Until at last we set our feet upon 
 The rock of San Marino, and might rest. 
 And there the people welcomed us with joy, 
 As men who had been saved out of a wreck ;
 
 UGO BASSf. 
 
 (Only twelve hundred of us being left). 
 
 But the next day we hardly were awake, 
 Before a summons to the city came 
 From General Gorzhowski, which proclaimed 
 That the Republic, should it harbour us 
 Beyond the morrow, should be entered by 
 The Austrian armies marching from each side ; 
 (Ten thousand men having already held 
 The passes leading from it, to close up 
 All way for our escape). And furthermore, 
 A messenger to Garibaldi came, 
 With these proposals for himself and us : 
 That all our arms should be laid down at once, 
 And pardon should be granted us ; that we 
 Under safe-conduct should be guarded home ; 
 And he himself, secure from further harm, 
 Have passage given him to America. 
 
 But Garibaldi tore the paper up ; 
 And said, ' I make no terms for my own life 
 With him whose heel is down on Italy. 
 There is no answer. But I will not bring 
 Ruin and rapine on this peaceful town, 
 That gives us welcome worthy of her boast 
 Of freedom immemorial. But alas, 
 There are no rights left now to be maintained, 
 Nor any law of nations or of God ; 
 And the thousands of the tramping feet may march
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Straight on, and sparing not, for all is theirs." 
 
 Then he assembled all of us : and said, 
 ' Friends, we have done a great thing, reaching here, 
 And God has helped us ; we are safe to-night ; 
 Inviolate in this spot, which kings have spared 
 So long, but will not spare another day 
 If we remain in it. Now go your ways : 
 And many of us shall not meet again ; 
 For I go hence to-morrow with my sword ; 
 Since Venice yet holds out, and we by sea 
 May reach^er yet, though but by miracle. 
 But whoso willeth may lay down his arms,' 
 And have safe-conduct from the Austrian hence ; 
 And none of you henceforth is bound to me, 
 Ye have done well, now take your chance of life : 
 Yet some of you, I know, will leave me not. 
 Sleep in this hospitable town to-night, 
 For it may be the last night ye will have 
 For sleeping ; take your rest, and eat and drink ; 
 Speak among friends free words of kindliness ; 
 Cast not by any sweet face ; if ye can, 
 Sing and be merry ; and to-morrow morn, 
 Let him who feels that he can easily 
 Lie down with death as if it were a bride, 
 And cares not now to live when all is lost, 
 Meet me again and here : but let him know 
 He will not have to-morrow's choice come twice. 
 For whoso goeth forth of here with me
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Will leave behind him his last chance of life. 
 Yea, every chance save one, that he may die 
 Free in Italian freedom, ere it dies, 
 The freedom that has only lived a year 
 And that is but a chance a slender one.' 
 
 And the next day, at the appointed hour 
 I, at the place appointed, found myself 
 One of three hundred, who were all that now 
 Remained with us. And so we took our leave 
 Of San Marino ; and set forth again 
 On a more desperate errand than before. 
 
 Nine hundred of our comrades stayed behind ; 
 Having consented to lay down their arms 
 Under a promise from Gorzhowski's hand 
 They should go free. But they did not gain much 
 By their surrender ; for upon the road 
 He stopped them, and divided them ; and half 
 He to the prisons sent of evil fame 
 Of Mantua ; and upon the rest bestowed 
 The bastinado, ninety strokes apiece. 
 
 And ere we passed from San Marino, we 
 Had seen the proclamation issued forth 
 To every town and hamlet of the land, 
 By General Gorzhowski, in these terms : 
 ' Whoever shall from this time forth receive
 
 zi6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The outlaw Garibaldi, or his wife, 
 
 Or his banditti, some three hundred men, 
 
 Or any of their number, or shall give 
 
 Them shelter, or shall furnish them with food, 
 
 Or fire, or water, or shall succour them, 
 
 Or guide them, shall be counted one with them, 
 
 And share with them the penalty of death. 
 
 And death shall further be the penalty 
 
 For any one, who, knowing where they hide, 
 
 Shall not detain them and deliver them 
 
 Up to the military law at once. 
 
 And any place or village where they pass 
 
 Shall be included in the penalty, 
 
 If within space of twenty-four hours thence 
 
 They be not lodged within our hands. Take note 
 
 Of every stranger that shall come your way. 
 
 The diabolical, ferocious face 
 
 Of Garibaldi, no one can mistake ; 
 
 The woman, though disguised, may soon be known, 
 
 Being great with child, and close upon the hour ; 
 
 The men are armed as brigands, and are all 
 
 Well-nigh barefooted, and in rags by now. 
 
 And every one who gives a rebel up, 
 
 Alive or dead, but most of all alive, 
 
 Shall have reward : but he who has the luck 
 
 To capture Garibaldi, though he be 
 
 A rebel and an outlaw too, himself, 
 
 Shall have free pardon, and a fortune too, 
 
 Worthy of the Imperial treasury.'
 
 UGO BASS I, 217 
 
 Forward we went all day in gloom and dread 
 For Garibaldi's eyes had grown so dark, 
 And his mouth set so stern, I did not dare 
 To look upon him ; and I felt the days 
 Were drawing to some terrible great close. 
 But still I had the comfort close at hand, 
 And the way was not dark to me ; for stHl 
 I was with Ugo, both upon one march, 
 Who, free from any earthly bond or care, 
 In the red raiment of the battle-field, 
 Went onward ever in a glorious peace, 
 As though the bitterness of death were passed, 
 Or rather could not come to him. And I, 
 Looking on him whom I had loved so long, 
 Saw, standing in the sunset, as it were, 
 The angel of that Ugo who had stood 
 In the monk's habit side by side with me, 
 Serving the sick in the dark house at Rome. 
 
 And that night in the open we encamped, 
 To the sea-coast advancing. It was dark ; 
 More than one fire we did not dare to light ; 
 And near it Garibaldi and his wife, 
 And Ciceruacchio and his two sons sat, 
 With Ugo and some others, through the night. 
 But Ugo drew a poem from his breast, 
 Which he was writing : all the way from Rome 
 This work had come with him ; and many times 
 When others were asleep, he sat and wrote ;
 
 ai8 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And now, this night I watched him write again, 
 
 Fast, and with knitted brows, as though his heart 
 
 Were set to finish it. The book was called 
 
 ' La Croce Vincitrice ' (being a tale 
 
 Of those who first for Christ had died in Rome, 
 
 And how, at last subdued, an Emperor 
 
 Had laid his Empire at the Cross's foot). 
 
 I never saw the poem and indeed, 
 
 I could not well have read it, but I saw 
 
 The face of Ugo, when his feet were set 
 
 Upon the way of doom. 
 
 The wakeful eyes 
 
 Of Garibaldi strained into the dark ; 
 And still he listened, and would take no rest. 
 And by the watchfire that night once he broke 
 The gloomy silence, saying : ' Friend, good-night ! 
 What shall to-morrow bring us ? Shall we reach 
 Venice together ? Nay, I think it not. 
 For we have come to our last hope, and that 
 Is failing us, to die amongst our own. 
 What matters ? What is left us now to do, 
 Since this year's Italy was but a dream, 
 And it is over, but to vanish too? 
 We could not save her, should we save ourselves? 
 Nay, it were well for us if but our blood 
 Might drop into her furrows, and sink down, 
 And through the winter lie among the seeds, 
 And we be no more heard of evermore : 
 For I know surely that though we be dead,
 
 UGO BASSf. 319 
 
 Though all this generation pass away, 
 
 Out of this soil the flower shall spring at last, 
 
 Of the starry whiteness, and the crimson heart, 
 
 And the green leaves spreading Yea, the Flower of the 
 
 World, 
 Poets have dreamed of but upon our graves. ' 
 
 And Ugo answered, with the flickering fire 
 Lighting the liquid eyes up underneath : 
 1 Yea, Greatest, on our graves, but not on thine. 
 Thine eyes shall see it. They have got no look 
 Of yearning after a dream unfulfilled ; 
 But rather that magnetic joy which draws 
 Men to partake of it, saying, "We desire, 
 And falter, and come short ; lo, here is one 
 In whom the strength is one with the desire." 
 Though now thou comest to that straitest pass 
 Wherein availeth thee not strength, nor joy, 
 And thou must suffer, and not thou alone. 
 But thou shall come forth from it, though thou leave 
 Thy heart's desire there, and thy bloom of life, 
 And God shall go with thee through the dark days 
 That are coming, that are come. And thou shalt stand, 
 Some day far hence, after long tale of years, 
 Alone, alone, but Garibaldi still, 
 In the face of all the world ; and at thy side, 
 Like a golden lily after th night's rain 
 Bursting its sheath in the sunrise, all uprisen, 
 Italy, Italy, with the eyes of fire !
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Laying her hand in thine, and turned to thee, 
 
 And saying, "My Saviour ! can I give thee nought?" 
 
 And then thy heart will turn back to this day, 
 
 This day of utter desolate despair, 
 
 When we were driven between the shore and sea, 
 
 And the hounds of all the Empire loose on us, 
 
 And yet we were together ; and the heart 
 
 Of thy child's mother lying close to thine : 
 
 And thou wilt say in the glory to thyself, 
 
 "Give me that day back but it cannot be." 
 
 Yet fear not, Garibaldi, for thy heart 
 
 Is stronger than all grief, or death, or time.' 
 
 But then Anita sprang up passionately : 
 ' Have we to die so soon ? I cannot die 
 Till I have seen my children once again ! 
 They are across the mountains and the sea, 
 They are asking when their mother will come back. 
 How can a mother die, with her little ones 
 Calling her back to them and wanting her ? 
 O Christ, Who wast born of Mary, hearken me 
 For Thy mother's sake, and pity me now at least 1 
 O Mary, save me ! Let me suffer pain, 
 Yea, any labour, any agony, 
 So I but living to my children come ! 
 Let the way be as long and perilous 
 As ever any pilgrim had to tread, 
 Before his sins were loosened, and he sank 
 Dead on the last steps of Thy sanctuary.
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 If I have sinned, I have suffered ! Have I not 
 
 Done expiation, even all these years ? 
 
 Have I lain on beds of roses, or stood back 
 
 From the sweeping sword and shot, or turned aside 
 
 Because the stones were sharp and my feet were sore ? 
 
 I did not count the cost, but I have paid. 
 
 Am I not too a woman, and my flesh 
 
 As soft and white as any Queen of all ? 
 
 Have I not worn through, when the stoutest men 
 
 Dropped off from following? Did any think 
 
 My limbs were iron, though I made no moan ? 
 
 my love, my love, it is not I complain ! 
 Thou hast repaid me ; if I might but live 
 And suffer by thy side for evermore, 
 
 It were enough ; but keep me now alive ! 
 Let not thine arms unloose me, till this strait 
 Be over, and I have my babes again. 
 
 ' O Menotti, O my firstborn, thou hast not 
 Forgotten me ! Thou standest at the gate, 
 And lookest down the road that I shall come. 
 
 1 am coming, O sweet smiles that wait for me ! 
 O my little one, my nursling, what shall keep 
 My feet from finding thee across the world ! 
 
 O warm in thy sleep, with thy crimson cheeks, and curls 
 Crushed in the pillow, and thy rosy feet 
 Soft and uncovered, till thy mother's hand 
 Wraps them up softly, wilt thou not awake, 
 And sit up smiling, and stretch out thy arms ?
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 O my lamb with the golden fleece ! let me have thy head 
 
 On my breast a minute, stand with clinging feet 
 
 Upon my knees ! It is the hour of night 
 
 When babes are frightened if they do not find 
 
 Their mother. Who is holding me away ? 
 
 They cannot come to me, nor I to them ! 
 
 They are crying for me in the night, O God ! ' 
 
 She sank down with a long and bitter cry ; 
 She did not weep, her eyes were dry and wild. 
 But Garibaldi wrapped her in his arms, 
 And murmured tenderly ; and laid his hand 
 Upon her forehead ; and his other hand 
 Held both of hers ; and so she lay awhile, 
 Quiet a little, shivering with long sighs. 
 
 The following day we came unto the sea 
 At Cesenatico ; we overpowered 
 The hundred Austrians of the garrison, 
 And took possession of the place ourselves. 
 Then we were marched down to the beach, and there 
 We found a line of fishing-boats drawn up ; 
 And Garibaldi ordered us to form 
 In companies of twenty-four apiece, 
 Apportioned to the boats, thirteen in all ; 
 He keeping Ugo Bassi at his side. 
 And then for the first time I saw and knew 
 That we should be divided ; and my heart, 
 Struck with the sudden blow, sank down and died.
 
 UGO HAS SI. 
 
 But when he saw me standing on the shore, 
 Among the others, ready to depart, 
 At the boat's side, Ugo came up to me, 
 And took my hand in his, and said to me, 
 ' Farewell, Antonio ; for we part to-day, 
 And who can tell whether we meet again 
 Out of this peril that we pass unto ? 
 And now I thank thee for this love of thine, 
 Which thou hast given me out of thy true heart, 
 And for thy faithful service, and thy prayers, 
 In which forget not to remember me 
 Still, as I thee. We both have need of prayers 
 This hour. And if a hard doom come to thee, 
 And cruel death or crueller life be thine, 
 Rejoice then to have suffered for God's sake, 
 And for our Italy's and for all men's. 
 It may be one of us shall perish now, 
 And one of us be left alive : and though 
 No more thou hear the voice nor feel the hand 
 Thou lovest, yet thou art not desolate ; 
 I leave thee to a better Friend than I. 
 Love Him, and trust Him, follow Him with pains, 
 Not easily the grace is for the strife ; 
 And whatsoever trial He may lay 
 Upon thee, trust Him through it, and give thanks ; 
 And when thy heart is heavy think on Him, 
 And when thy need is greatest, call on Him. 
 Hold fast God's promise, and remember this 
 Christ will not fail thee, though Fra Ugo may.' 
 Then we were parted and the end was come.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 VII. 
 
 AUGUST, 1849. 
 
 And this was how it ended : on the third 
 Of August, Garibaldi steered his fleet 
 Of fishing-boats towards Venice ; and at first 
 The wind was favouring. In the boat I lay 
 Huddled, and helpless, and most miserable ; 
 And though the helm which Garibaldi held 
 Guided us all, and all the boats kept near 
 Together, yet I felt the waters heave 
 Between us, and I knew that over them 
 Hand might not reach to hand, nor eye to eye. 
 No, never more : did I not feel it then, 
 Though yet we held the same course ? So we passed 
 A day and night, and at the break of dawn, 
 The swift sun rising smote across the sea ; 
 And we, far off and opposite, beheld 
 A vision all of palaces, and faint 
 Turrets and belfries in a silvery light, 
 Rose-tinted ; on the bosom of the sea, 
 Low down upon the last horizon line 
 Of smooth-swept plains of liquid opal. Then 
 The officer on board gazed out, and said,
 
 I/GO SASSf. 2: 
 
 4 It is the Queen of the Adriatic ! ' and 
 
 He hailed her, saying : ' Haven of our hopes ! 
 
 Last Lamp of Italy, receive us now ! 
 
 Let us but fall on thy heroic breast, 
 
 Not lost at sea, or hunted on the waste, 
 
 Or buried in a prison ! ' And as rose 
 
 The sun, the vision grew more clear and fair, 
 
 And we stretched out our hands and eyes to her. 
 
 But lo ! another vision and this time, 
 
 A dark and deadly one. What shapes are these, 
 
 These black hulls looming nearer into sight ? 
 
 The Austrian fleet is bearing down on us. 
 
 Already had we rounded past the cape 
 Punta di Maestra, when they appeared, 
 And opened fire upon us ; and at once 
 The wind veered round, and beat against us too. 
 All round us cannon-smoke and thunder rolled, 
 And we, dismayed, thought our last hour had come. 
 But Garibaldi shouted all to keep 
 Together ; and still sought to force a way ; 
 And a fierce fight we held upon the sea. 
 But all was vain ; the great ships came between 
 And scattered us ; one of our boats was sunk, 
 And seven were captured ; and the prisoners forced 
 Up the ships' sides, and cast into the holds, 
 And to the fortress-city, Pola, brought, 
 Loaded with chains, and there compelled to work 
 Among the galley-slaves as criminals. 
 Q
 
 *a6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 And I among them. And if now it were 
 My history which I had to relate, 
 Not Ugo Bassi's, I might wring your hearts 
 With what we suffered there, our tale of wrongs 
 And cruelties, cut off from all the world. 
 For in those months that bordered on despair, 
 No comfort ever came to me but this, 
 The memory of the words that Ugo spake ; 
 And, as he bade me, I remembering him 
 Prayed ever for some succour unto Christ. 
 But never answer came to me, except 
 My own tears bursting as before me rose 
 The vision of his face, when last on me 
 Bent the beloved eyes in their farewell. 
 Yet it may be those tears preserved my heart 
 From, breaking ; and at last a comfort stole 
 About my heart, thinking that death was near : 
 For we of Southern nurture do not hold 
 Our life deep-rooted, and could less endure 
 Than could the Lombards, and we wasted fast. 
 And many of our number out of Rome 
 Had died already, when an order came 
 To set us free ; the statesmen having ruled 
 Our ransom. We were under guard conveyed 
 To the Sardinian frontier, and there left 
 Destitute, such of us as had survived. 
 And hearing there that Garibaldi lived, 
 And was at Genoa, begging and on foot 
 Thither I made my way, in hopes to find
 
 UGO BASSL 
 
 My master, or at least have news of him, 
 And there at last I learnt what had befallen. 
 
 For Garibaldi with five boats escaped ; 
 And under cover of the darkness beat 
 All night about the coast, and at the dawn 
 Landed his company upon the beach, 
 Near Magnavacca. In the boat with him, 
 Besides Anita, and some others, were 
 Ugo, and Ciceruacchio with his sons, 
 And Count Livraghi of Bologna, who, 
 Wounded in that encounter on the seas, 
 Moved but hi pain. The other boats contained 
 About a hundred. All these castaways 
 Now found themselves upon the enemy's shore, 
 Upon the sandy Vaccolino, in 
 The last of the great forest of the pines, 
 That stretches from Ravenna. Death behind, 
 And death before, still Garibaldi held 
 Northward, if so some miracle of God 
 Might bring them yet to Venice ; and all day 
 They travelled, traversing the boundless tracts 
 Of the Lagunes, or lost among the reeds 
 Of the inextricable labyrinths 
 Of the great river's mouths and shifting sands 
 Until at eventide they entered in 
 A forest, which the people of those parts 
 Call the Elysian Grove ; and there at last 
 Anita sank and could no further go,
 
 228 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Worsted for the first time, and evermore. 
 
 The shadow of her coming agony 
 Was over her, and of her heart's despair ; 
 Seeing it was not well for her to die, 
 As for all other women in this world, 
 For she was Garibaldi's wife, and had 
 Her heaven in this life ; and the other side 
 Of the dark river she had come to cross, 
 Walked ever the pale ghost of him who died 
 Long years ago for her, and waved to her 
 With clutching hands, and hollow eager eyes, 
 ' I have waited long for thee, and thou art mine : 
 My time is come ; ' and heavier ever came 
 Back the reproachful memory of those times, 
 Of love betrayed for love ; and that dead life 
 Laid a cold hand upon her heart ; while yet 
 Within her heart the impatient unborn life 
 Shuddered and heaved ; and she was spent to death, 
 And clung to Garibaldi, and her eyes 
 Prayed ' Keep me ! Save me !' and he could not speak 
 Together they had come to their despair, 
 No hope for him in life, or her in death. 
 
 Then Garibaldi knew all hope was gone, 
 And that his quest was over ; and he said, 
 ' This is the end for us. We will stay here, 
 My wife and I together, and abide 
 Our fate ; and ye, most faithful to the last,
 
 UGO BASSl. 829 
 
 Part from me here ; there is no more to do. 
 We shall not save our lives, but we may pray 
 To meet once more before the throne of God, 
 And hear from Him that Italy is saved.' 
 
 Then they departed all their several ways 
 Whither their fate should lead them. But those seven 
 Whom I have named, a little longer kept 
 Together, seeking yet if they might find 
 Some shelter for Anita. And at last 
 They came upon a woodman's cottage, set 
 Amid the thickest forest of the pines 
 That reached between the river and the sea, 
 And in it an old man, who said : ' I have 
 But little life to lose ; if I may yield 
 You any aid, my last days are my best.' 
 
 By the low door they lingered, for to part 
 Was hard ; .and Ugo said : ' Livraghi's wound 
 Needs rest ; no hope is there for him to cross 
 From here to Venice, and I cannot leave 
 Him helpless ; he and I must take our fate, 
 As God shall send, together.' Then the sons 
 Of Ciceruacchio, and himself, embraced 
 Their leader ; and departed by themselves 
 Into the forest, and were seen no more. 
 
 Then Garibaldi, holding Ugo's hand : 
 ' The night is coming ; it is time we two
 
 230 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Should be alone together. Is there more 
 
 To say, O my beloved ? We must part. 
 
 God be with you, and us ! ' And Ugo said : 
 
 ' O Friend, O Hero, who hast lifted me 
 
 Into a height and blossoming of life 
 
 I dreamt not of, and set me by thy side 
 
 At the world's heart, farewell ! hear my last word. 
 
 The hope of Italy is on thy head ; 
 
 Guard it, for God's sake ! though each one of us 
 
 Fall, and our lives pass, yet let thine remain ! 
 
 His work is done with us, but not with thee. 
 
 Dying is easy ; keep thou steadfastly 
 
 The greater part, to live and to endure. 
 
 For though we meet no more, and the fair days 
 
 Are over, and my time is near at hand, 
 
 I have this comfort of thee in my heart, 
 
 That God has yet got many things for thee 
 
 To do and suffer for our Italy, 
 
 And greater things than any heretofore.' 
 
 Then they wrung hands, and parted ; and he turned 
 To where Anita, seated on the ground, 
 On the smooth carpet of the fir points fallen, 
 Gazed with beseeching eyes for some last drop 
 Of comfort in her anguish ; and as now 
 He saw her passing thus from life and love 
 Away together in the gathering gloom, 
 This parting was too cruel ; and for once 
 The utter pity overpowered the peace ;
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 And as he took her hand and looked at her, 
 The face that to so many dying eyes 
 Had lighted up the gathering of the dark 
 With eyes that smiled above their mortal pain, 
 Now quivered, and his voice broke down, and he 
 Suddenly turned, and hurriedly away 
 He passed, he and Livraghi, and were lost 
 To sight, amid the shadowy forest trees. 
 
 Two days from this, the setting sun lit up 
 The Villa Spada, on the heights above 
 Bologna, the head -quarters of the Staff 
 Where General Gorzhowski, Governor, 
 Sat with his Council in a close debate 
 What other stringent measures they might take 
 To capture Garibaldi, since till then, 
 In spite of proclamations and rewards, 
 And troops on every side, and Carabineers, 
 He was not taken ; nor indeed had he 
 Since he had sailed from Cesenatico 
 Been heard of. General Gorzhowski was 
 Certainly not beloved in any part 
 Of the Romagna, over which he ruled ; 
 Least of all in Bologna, which had long 
 Held out against him, and in which his name 
 Was spoken but with curses. Yet he was, 
 Though far from handsome, a distinguished man, 
 Polite too, I have heard, an ornament 
 Of drawing-rooms, and took the hand of queens
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 In dancing, and though choleric at times, 
 Still a good ruler for a state of siege. 
 
 To him, thus sitting, was brought in the news 
 That now two men, stragglers and fugitives 
 From Garibaldi's legion, had been brought 
 In, prisoners, to head-quarters ; and at once 
 He gave command that they should be conveyed 
 Before him. Then into the council-room 
 Were Ugo Bassi and Livraghi brought, 
 Loaded with chains. And upon seeing them, 
 Gorzhowsld, who with rapid utterance spoke, 
 And sometimes choked with passion, poured his wrath 
 And disappointment forth on them, and with 
 Unmeasured words reviled them ; and went on : 
 ' So you are caught at last ! You are the first, 
 But will not be the last ; but you shall have 
 The privilege of serving to the rest 
 For an example. Every one of you 
 Already is condemned. You will be shot 
 To-morrow morning ; and you need not hope 
 For mercy, unless one of you indeed 
 Had the good luck to know the whereabouts 
 Of the vile Bandit whom you call your Chief. 
 That, has been set forth under seal of ours, 
 Should save the veriest scoundrel of you all 
 His punishment. But beggars such as you 
 Are not so likely to be favoured with 
 His counsels, or to know the way he took.'
 
 UGO BASSf. 233 
 
 And Ugo answered calmly, ' Yes, we know.' 
 
 Like one who digs for iron and strikes gold, 
 Gorzhowski started ; but recovering, 
 Burst forth in thunder, ' Dare you jest with me ? 
 Do you think insolent lies will save your life ? 
 You have made up some tale to pass on me : 
 It will be worse for you than you think yet, 
 Unless you prove your words, and that at once.' 
 
 The adjutant who had escorted them 
 Came forward, saying, ' Sir, they speak the truth. 
 Two days ago was Garibaldi seen 
 Near Magnavacca, and these men with him. 
 But every trace of him has since been lost, 
 And these were taken yesterday, alone, 
 Sleeping within a tavern stable-loft 
 Close to Comacchio.' Then Gorzhowski said, 
 1 If this be so, you yet shall have a chance, 
 The only chance any of you can have, 
 And that is, a reprieve, until I find 
 Whether you really know what you profess. 
 The Son of Satan last was seen with you, 
 And you shall show me where to find him now. 
 I stand no lying, and the sooner caught, 
 The better it will be for both of you. 
 I give you but two days of grace in all, 
 And if he be not here within the time, 
 No crying back will save you afterwards.'
 
 234 THE DISCIPLES 
 
 Thus spake Gorzhowski, fuming, full of rage, 
 And hardly looking at them all the time ; 
 While Ugo stood in silence until he 
 Paused : and the overworn and sleepless eyes 
 Dreamed back one moment to the forest-gloom, 
 And the farewells beneath the slumbrous pines ; 
 And the lips parted as to some sweet air 
 Peacefully, lost in visions far away ; 
 One moment only, then the' voice was firm 
 And recollected, and thrilled all the room : 
 ' God guard him safe from you ! God shelter him ! 
 Neither for life, nor death, nor any boon, 
 Nor any penalty that you can give, 
 Will we" give tidings of him.' Pale and mute 
 The Council sat astonished, but the Chief, 
 Struck dumb with sudden impotence of rage, 
 Gasped chokingly in a bewildered blank 
 Of silence, and at last looked up and knew 
 The stately figure and the noble face 
 That, travel-soiled, and buffeted, and faint 
 From fastings, and from wanderings, and from storms, 
 Before him stood with clear confronting eyes, 
 Glorious and grave, knowing the hour was come, 
 And now must God be glorified : and he, 
 Stung by intolerance of a voice like this, 
 Burst in redoubled fury, ' Who are you 
 That dare to answer me with insolence ? 
 I will have no more words ! You think perhaps 
 An Austrian barrack is a brigand's camp,
 
 UGO BASSr. 235 
 
 Where one makes speeches to the officers, 
 
 And bargains for the terms that one will take. 
 
 The Council is dismissed : send out the Posts, 
 
 And fetch the guard ; and you shall know at once 
 
 Whether I mean to be obeyed or no ; 
 
 For words were wasted on two mules like you.' 
 
 What followed I can not relate in full, 
 Because there were no friendly witnesses ; 
 If there had been, my heart would bleed so fast 
 At every word, I would not though I could. 
 For Christ can bear to look upon such things, 
 Having Himself endured the same for us ; 
 And martyrs can themselves endure the same 
 When their time comes, they having grace of God ; 
 But for us common flesh and blood, these deeds 
 Are only terrible, and ill to speak. 
 
 For then the Austrian (may the fiery claws 
 Of devils tear his soul in hell for it !) 
 Commanded them to seize, and bind, and scourge 
 Fra Ugo and Livraghi in his sight, 
 And show no mercy till they answered him ; 
 And to that chamber only entered in 
 Gorzhowski and his executioners. 
 And all night long he had his way, and worked 
 His worst upon them, yet had not his will. 
 For morning came, as it will come at last 
 To every sleepless night ; and all night .ong
 
 23 6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Hussars had scoured the country far and wide 
 Like hounds, and Garibaldi was not found, 
 Nor tidings heard of him, and not one word 
 Of his betrayal yet had crossed the lips 
 Of those two prisoners punished ; and both lay 
 At point of death, and none could hurt them more. 
 
 And now Gorzhowski, more infuriate still, 
 Seeing that time was lost and nothing gained, 
 Gave orders to his adjutant, at once 
 To have the execution carried out 
 In the court -yard below, with yet a hope 
 That at the sudden supreme touch of all, 
 The shock of the fresh air, the deadly files, 
 The pointing muzzles close against their eyes, 
 They in their weakness might be startled once 
 Into a momentary failing, which 
 Should lay the slender secret in his hands, 
 By which hung all the hope of Italy, 
 Which in each moment of delay he felt 
 Slipping away from him. But doubtfully 
 The adjutant replied, ' Sir, one of them 
 Being a monk, the military power 
 Has not authority to punish him 
 Without the sanction of the Church ; since we 
 Are here upon the footing of allies 
 Of the Pontifical Supremacy.' 
 
 On which Gorzhowski answered, with an oath :
 
 UGO BASSI. 237 
 
 ' It is too late for that ! But anyhow 
 
 The Holy Church shall give consent to it, 
 
 Before he dies. Pray, sir, do you suppose 
 
 They will presume to question anything 
 
 I choose to order ? I have taught them all 
 
 How I am to be treated. I am here 
 
 Civil and Military Governor, 
 
 The sole and sovereign representative 
 
 Of his Imperial Majesty. These priests 
 
 Have me to thank that they are back at all. 
 
 I brought them here, I keep them here ; and I 
 
 Intend that they shall know their proper place. 
 
 This Cardinal Bedini gives himself, 
 
 Being the Legate of the Pope, the airs 
 
 Of Governor, and turns and twists to find 
 
 Some way to circumvent me, and to get 
 
 The upper hand. Do you remember, sir, 
 
 What happened when we first reduced the place 
 
 To order, and the Legate was restored ? 
 
 As nobody appeared inclined to thank 
 
 The Lord for sending us, we piously 
 
 Thanked Him ourselves. We had a grand Te Deum, 
 
 There was a state procession, and the rest : 
 
 And then I found that it had been arranged 
 
 By Monsignor Bedini, that himself 
 
 Should take the lead, as the most eminent 
 
 Personage present. But I interposed, 
 
 Saying, "You understand me, Cardinal; 
 
 I in Bologna am the First, and I,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 On this occasion and all future ones, 
 
 Shall take my place accordingly." And he 
 
 In his most bland and condescending way 
 
 Said, " Certainly : as our distinguished guest, 
 
 All honour shall be paid His Excellency." 
 
 But I returned as promptly : " Not at all 
 
 You quite mistake me, I am neither guest 
 
 Nor friend of yours, but I am Master here ; 
 
 And I go first ;" and so His Eminence, 
 
 After much cogitating, found in vain, 
 
 Was forced to walk behind. His smile was sweet. 
 
 Since that submission I keep terms with him. 
 
 And he shall now give up his priest to me, 
 
 In his own writing. Take this note to him, 
 
 And bring me back his answer, and be quick ! ' 
 
 And while the messenger was on his way, 
 He ordered all to be in readiness 
 For the two prisoners to be put to death. 
 So the guard took them forth, and set them clown 
 Beside a pillar in the common hall, 
 The soldiers coming and going through the doors. 
 And they, being spent with torture, lifted not 
 Their heads again, nor uttered any word ; 
 And no one dared to succour them, or bring 
 A cup of water to them. 
 
 The slow time 
 Wore on, and still Gorzhowski chafed and chafed
 
 UGO BASSL j 3() 
 
 At the delay. And at this time, it were 
 As well to note down certain passages 
 Which had occurred a little while before, 
 And had some bearing upon Ugo's fate. 
 
 For, as it happened, two days previously, 
 Here in Bologna, in the 'Week's Gazette,' 1 
 Cardinal Oppizzoni, now restored, 
 (A very holy, charitable man, 
 Whose virtue counterbalanced to the Church 
 The far-from-edifying private life 
 Of Monsignor Bedini), had put forth 
 This much-admired archiepiscopal 
 Effusion, which is here subjoined entire : 
 ' Amidst the tribulations, and the floods 
 Of turbulence, that, in the year elapsed, 
 Afflicted these unhappy Provinces, 
 The horror of whose memory still is fresh 
 In the imagination, one great grief 
 Pierced to the very bottom of our heart, 
 (Second alone to that unspeakable 
 Anguish with which we listened to, and saw 
 The sacrilegiously-committed crimes 
 Against God and His Vicar) ; and that one 
 Was this, the cruel silence laid on us 
 By a severe and sad necessity. 
 Since above all things we desired the power 
 As Pastor and as parent to uplift 
 I See note B.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Our voice in speech, that we might roll away 
 
 Each stone of scandal and perdition hence ; 
 
 As also to let loose the simple ones 
 
 Out of the snares spread forth by certain men, 
 
 Such men as that are very few, thank God !- 
 
 But all the more audacious in their acts 
 
 Of evil, only too conspicuous by 
 
 Ecclesiastical habiliments, 
 
 And under obligation to a vow 
 
 Monastic, violating every law, 
 
 Contaminating consciences with free 
 
 And frantic declamations, publicly 
 
 Maintaining theories ridiculous, 
 
 As that the supreme power of government 
 
 Is a precarious gift, and held in trust 
 
 By rulers for the population, thus 
 
 Exciting general disparagement 
 
 Of all dominion, and, as says Saint Jude, 
 
 Blaspheming every majesty, (the text, 
 
 " Despise dominion, and speak evil of 
 
 Dignities"); and moreover setting light 
 
 By the most sacred, venerable rites 
 
 And doctrines of religion ; treating them 
 
 As superstitions and of no account ; 
 
 With manners at the least equivocal, 
 
 And impudently taking on themselves 
 
 To mend the Church's morals. Certainly 
 
 It was not any fear of private harm, 
 
 Nor any peril threatening our own life,
 
 UGO BASS I. 2, 
 
 (Already at its term) which held us back 
 From speaking, or which caused us to retire ; 
 (For well we know that the good Shepherd should 
 Devote himself a holocaust to save 
 The flock committed to his care) ; and you 
 Surely remember that we solemnly 
 Protested against all these infamies, 
 And that our exhortation was received 
 With impudent derision. We were bound 
 By two considerations, on one hand, 
 Mindful of that admonitory text 
 Fitting the times (Ecclesiasticus, 
 The twentieth chapter and the seventh verse) 
 Sapiens tacebit usque ad iempus, then 
 Upon the other hand too well aware 
 What prudence and what circumspection were 
 Required of us in such a crisis, nay 
 Enjoined upon us by His Holiness 
 The Supreme Pontiff, (until He Himself 
 By scandalous audacity was driven 
 An exile from the Apostolic See), 
 And that the urgent and reiterated 
 Appeals to duty met with no response 
 From those who should have been the first to give 
 Effect to them, nothing remained for us 
 But to stand far off, and weep bitter tears 
 Between the porch and the altar, comforted 
 Only, by thinking that we might exclaim 
 With great Tertullian, Father of the Church, 
 R
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 (In Apologia, chapter thirty-eight), 
 
 Nihil est Nobis cum insania circi. 
 
 But now that God once more has poured on us 
 
 The treasures of his mercy infinite, 
 
 And has replaced us in the plenitude 
 
 And exercise of our episcopal 
 
 Functions and ministry, once more we say, 
 
 Sapiens taecbit tisque ad tempus. Now 
 
 The time has come, and we shall duly speak. 
 
 ' And now, O most beloved sons, do we 
 Address these words to you, but not as though 
 They were required to reconduct your feet 
 Into the paths of rectitude and truth, 
 For most of you have never strayed away, 
 But to encourage you to follow on 
 Strong and magnanimous : Estate, says 
 The Scripture to us, speaking of these day?, 
 Fortes in bello. Truly it becomes 
 Us all to trample with heroic scorn 
 The fatal records of that impious war 
 The powers of darkness waged against your 
 
 souls ; 
 
 Satan himself transformed into a false 
 Similitude, an angel as it were 
 Of light, an aspect full of joy and peace, 
 And full of lying promises to you 
 Of treacherous felicity. Not here 
 Will we repeat, O cherished sons of ours, 
 The florid blasphemies with which the Name
 
 I/GO 3ASSS. 
 
 Most Holy of the Crucified was made 
 To serve as watchword to incite revolt 
 Against a Pontiff ever venerable. 
 Did they not even dare to represent 
 The holy Sacrament of Penitence 
 As in the hands of priests an instrument 
 Of fraud and of conspiracy ? were not 
 The blackest calumnies sown broadcast by 
 These ministers of Belial ? did they not 
 Openly publish doctrines tending to 
 Error, and even heresy, and schism ? 
 Did they not crucify afresh the Son 
 Of God, and put Him to an open shame ? 
 And, under cover of a warfare waged 
 Against hypocrisy and retrograde 
 Movement, stir up the fires of civil rage, 
 And seek to fling among our Clergy here 
 (Pacific, exemplary every way), 
 And among the misguided mob, the seeds 
 Of horrible and most pestiferous 
 Divisions ? 
 
 ' Now, Beloved, cast away 
 Far from you, and forget the very sound 
 Of horrid words like these, whose blasphemies 
 Offended even the least pious ears ; 
 Or recollect them only just so far 
 As to bring back a salutary thrill 
 Of pleasing horror, as if, saved yourselves, 
 You heard foul maledictions far away, 
 Or crying out of the Infernal Pit.
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 ' Nor should the fine conceits of patriotism 
 By which was sought to smooth the enormity 
 Of these excesses, and to lure away 
 The simple in a snare, and to inflame 
 The multitudes, awaken, O Beloved, 
 Any hallucination in your minds. 
 Beware lest any man spoil you, Saint Paul 
 Says, through philosophy and vain deceit, 
 After traditions, not of Christ but men. 
 (The Second of Colossians, and eighth verse). 
 The love of Country is a holy thing, 
 When in the first place, one accords to God 
 The love and honour that we owe to Him ; 
 And when we duly have observed His laws, 
 Which are all charity, and which are placed 
 Within the sacred custody alone 
 Of His Most Holy Vicar, Pope of Rome, 
 And of His Bishops ; but these holy things 
 Are not to be dragged sacrilegiously 
 Through taverns, market-places, public haunts, 
 With impious and profane apostasy, 
 Insulting to Saint Peter and the Church. 
 These laws command the rich to help the poor 
 And to give alms ; and also they command 
 The poor, by their hard labour to relieve 
 Their own distresses, or at least to bear 
 The allotted burdens without discontent. 
 But, O Eternal God ! what have we heard ! 
 What doctrines desolating, tending to
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 Destruction of all order, and all bonds 
 
 Civil and social, dinned into our ears 
 
 By truculent conspirators ! Instead 
 
 Of the mild precepts of the Gospel lore, 
 
 Compelled to listen to the blandishments 
 
 And wiles, addressed to baser passions, roused 
 
 And nattered, and excited to a pitch 
 
 Of wickedness, which (if it had not been 
 
 For God, and for the intercessory 
 
 Grace and beneficence of His Divine 
 
 Mother) was such that never has the world 
 
 In all its days, perhaps, beheld the like. 
 
 With every ancient barrier broken down 
 
 Of morals, decency, religion, Man 
 
 Would speedily degenerate to the state 
 
 Of brutes and savages ; with furthermore 
 
 This most unprecedented perfidy, 
 
 That the infuriated demagogues 
 
 Of this Peninsula, our native land 
 
 So fair and so unhappy, waging war 
 
 On all authority and all the rights 
 
 Of property, themselves were all the time 
 
 Rapacious and unscrupulous to seize 
 
 On all the public and the private funds, 
 
 And arrogated to themselves a rule 
 
 Of savage and unheard-of tyranny. 
 
 1 No more of them, Beloved ! nor of those 
 Who would have propped up such a state of things
 
 246 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 By sophistries, by snares, by violent speech. 
 
 Let us look to ourselves, and let us be 
 
 Sober and vigilant ; let us beware 
 
 Lest in our own minds should intrude some taint 
 
 Of this absurd and pestilent scepticism, 
 
 Which is the death of every principle, 
 
 Which snaps each curb, and leaves the mind a 
 
 prey 
 
 To every breath of chance, and hurls the soul 
 Downwards from depth to depth of the abyss, 
 Till it sends up at last the awful cry 
 There is no God. Never let us depart 
 From that philosophy of Gospel truth 
 Alone infallible : and let us be 
 True and good Catholics, then shall we be 
 True and good citizens ; let us fulfil 
 \Vith a clear conscience every duty here 
 Belonging to our station ; let us love 
 Our country with a reasonable love ; 
 Let us be zealous after all good works : 
 So shall we rise to all desirable 
 Felicity ; and let us vanquish all 
 111 -regulated passions, then shall we 
 Have vanquished our most fierce and impious foes. 
 
 4 For all these blessings, O Beloved, we pray 
 To God for you, and with all ferventness, 
 Our pastoral benediction we confer 
 Upon you, from the fulness of our heart.
 
 UGO BASSl. 247 
 
 ' Delivered from our archiepiscopal 
 Palace, Bologna, under our own hand, 
 The Third of August, Eighteen Forty Nine. 
 (Signed) Carlo Oppizzoni, Cardinal. 1 
 
 No one pretended not to recognise 
 Who was the special sinner pointed out 
 Therefore it was a clear coincidence 
 Of Providence, when now the news was brought 
 In private, to the Palace, just at dusk, 
 That Ugo Bassi, the man's very self, 
 Was taken, and alive, and in the hands 
 Of General Gorzhowski, news indeed 
 Almost too good to be believed by some : 
 But the Archbishop piously exclaimed, 
 ' Nunc Dimittis ! We have him safe at last. 
 
 And in the Legate's Palace, instantly 
 A secret council was convened, nine priests 
 Belonging to Bologna, and three more 
 Of Hungary ; and what was done and said 
 Is not exactly known ; but this is sure, 
 (Since the betrayer often is betrayed) 
 It was agreed that Ugo Bassi's death 
 Would be a pleasing and religious act, 
 And that the law ecclesiastical 
 Should not be put in force to interfere. 
 And all the nine priests of Bologna signed 
 A secret document to this effect ;
 
 24 3 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 (I know their names, I will not write them down 
 Here on this page that bears the name of him). 
 But the three priests of Hungary refused 
 To put their hands to it ; and they were seen 
 To pass out weeping. 
 
 Also be it known, 
 
 That the Archbishop took no part in these 
 Proceedings, neither gave consent, nor yet 
 Came forward with a protest ; spoke no word 
 To save him or destroy him ; but stayed still, 
 And waited patiently to see the end. 
 
 Now, to Gorzhowski's summons in due time 
 Arrived the answer of the Cardinal : 
 ' Accept, your Excellency, our best thanks 
 For your most courteous and most gracious note 
 Received, concerning the seditious monk 
 Called Ugo Bassi. In the Church's name, 
 Of Which unworthy representative 
 I here abide, I gratefully express 
 My satisfaction at delivering him 
 Without conditions over to the arm 
 Of military jurisdiction. More, 
 Under great obligation we shall feel 
 If you will only take upon yourself 
 The punishment which at our hands is due 
 To him. Not only has he joined himself 
 With Garibaldi, when he lately raised 
 Open revolt against the Papal See,
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 And is de facto excommunicate ; 
 
 But has been long obnoxious to us here, 
 
 As a disturber and a heretic, 
 
 And of the most pernicious sort of all, 
 
 Being not of those who merely vex the brains 
 
 Of common people by their arguments, 
 
 But one of those who win their hearts, by show 
 
 Of sympathy, and words they understand, 
 
 And succour to their bodies in distress, 
 
 With a severe simplicity of life ; 
 
 In a malicious contradiction set 
 
 For the sound doctrine that would save their souls, 
 
 With fatherly indulgence for their sins. 
 
 Had it not been for the perplexities 
 
 And troubles of the Church in these last years, 
 
 He would not have been left at large so long. 
 
 The Prior of his convent was a fool, 
 
 And knows it now, he has had that to learn 
 
 Unpleasantly, since order was restored, 
 
 In a safe corner of Saint Angelo, 
 
 And so encouraged him, he was a fool 
 
 And nothing worse, but this notorious man, 
 
 With his smooth face, and his officiousness, 
 
 And help among the poor, and talk of Christ, 
 
 Has been a thorn and scandal to the Church 
 
 This long time past, and in particular 
 
 Being born in it, this diocese of mine 
 
 He has infested like a croaking frog 
 
 \Yhen one would sleep at night, and been to me
 
 2S o THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 A perfect Plague of Egypt. I am glad 
 
 You have him now ; and for his punishment 
 
 We owe you many favours ; and be sure 
 
 The Church will ask no reckoning at your hands 
 
 For any blood of his ; do what you will. 
 
 The sooner done the better ; but take care 
 
 It be done quietly these dangerous times. 
 
 For in Bologna is his very name 
 
 A watchword, and the very stones would rise 
 
 To rescue, if they guessed at harm to him. 
 
 And as you know, though not so well as I, 
 
 (Who, meeting only with ingratitude, 
 
 Have laboured long among them for their good,) 
 
 The people of this city are perverse, 
 
 And deadly, not to be dealt lightly with, 
 
 The most stiff-necked, indomitable race 
 
 In Italy. But I have trust this time, 
 
 That with God's blessing all will yet go well, 
 
 And peaceably ; and most sincerely hope 
 
 No interruption nor unpleasantness 
 
 Is likely to occur, to interfere 
 
 With your most gracious visit promised me 
 
 This evening ; which I have looked forward to 
 
 With liveliest emotions of delight 
 
 Anticipated, and have spared no pains 
 
 To make my poor and unpretending house 
 
 Worthy the honour you confer on it. 
 
 My chief has promised to surpass himself 
 
 In beccaficos, which your Excellency
 
 UGO BASSL 25* 
 
 Was pleased to praise last time ; and I myself 
 
 Make it my own peculiar care to see 
 
 That the Lachryma Christi perfectly 
 
 Be in condition to ensure from you 
 
 A generous commendation. I may say, 
 
 Between ourselves, that that French company 
 
 Which you remember, which you said yourself 
 
 Was the best entertainment you have seen, 
 
 Have promised their most choice performances 
 
 At my particular and private place 
 
 Of residence (Saint Michael's Bower, outside 
 
 The gates, by the Certosa), where we two 
 
 Can retire later, and amuse ourselves, 
 
 And no one be the wiser. I remain 
 
 Your Excellency's humblest servant, and 
 
 Devoted friend, Bedini, Cardinal.' 
 
 Having impatiently glanced over this, 
 Gorzhowski growled, ' What do I care for all 
 His quarrels ? Heretic or orthodox, 
 It is all one to me. Italian priests 
 Are one as good as another. Of the two, 
 This stubborn fellow who hates me as well 
 As I hate him, each for our country's sake, 
 Is worth as much as this devoted friend, 
 Who would put poison in my wine to-night, 
 If he but dared. Why should I be the cloak 
 For his hypocrisy, and steal away 
 For his amusements ? I am not ashamed ;
 
 252 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 I have 110 character for holiness 
 To keep or lose ; and if I choose to have 
 His players practise in the public streets, 
 It shall be done. But I am glad to learn 
 That the good people of Bologna make 
 So great a favourite of this monk of theirs. 
 I have a grudge to pay them ; they shall have 
 The pleasure now of seeing how I serve 
 Such holy friars. But there shall be no time 
 For brewing mischief.' 
 
 On the instant then, 
 lie ordered out ten thousand infantry 
 To take possession of the gates and streets, 
 And keep the way ; and that the prisoners should 
 Be carried through the city to the place 
 Of execution, and all ignominy, 
 As felons and assassins, laid on them. 
 
 First, through the gates the Artillery rolled out, 
 And passing through the Porta Mamolo, 
 Along the streets heavily clangouring, 
 Was stationed in the corners of the squares, 
 The cannon pointing down the crowded lines ; 
 And then, along the middle of the streets, 
 The cavalry began to clear a way, 
 And took up their position, waiting there. 
 And on the hum and business of the town 
 An awful noontide stillness seemed to fall : 
 And all the dwellers from the arcades and courts
 
 UGO BASS I. 233 
 
 Began to gather on the line of march, 
 Uncertain what should happen, but prepared 
 For something evil, and expecting it. 
 For nothing was so dreadful in those days, 
 Or sad, or wonderful, as to seem strange ; 
 And every day brought some new tragedy. 
 The best walked gravely, knowing that themselves 
 Might be the next called out to play their part ; 
 And the most idle lived in doubt and dread. 
 
 Meanwhile, up in the Villa Spada, spoke 
 Gorzhowski : ' One last chance I give you now ; 
 Pardon, or death : make haste ; your hour has come. 
 And Ugo Bassi answered, ' We have chosen. 
 But grant to us, since we are dying this hour, 
 And this world's strifes are over, one last boon, 
 For love of Christ who died for thee and me. 
 As we forgive thee, so forgive thou us, 
 That we have thwarted thee and made thee sin : 
 And let us have the sacraments of death 
 Brought to us : that my friend, and I, and thou 
 May eat together, and then part in peace.' 
 
 The Austrian answered, ' What an impudent 
 Proposal ! You and I in peace, indeed ! 
 You think to cheat me so to save your soul. 
 Obstinate as you are, you shall not have 
 Mercy from me for that. Do you not know 
 The Cardinal-Legate has himself declared
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The Church has cast you out, and that you are 
 A heretic and excommunicate ? 
 Live, on my terms, but there is left you now 
 Only a few more moments : there shall be 
 Neither viaticum nor shrift for you. 
 And as my rods have ploughed your flesh, my balls 
 Shall crush your bones and batter out your brains, 
 And leave your bodies to the kites and crows, 
 And send your soul to hell ; and once got there, 
 The Devil is more than match for you or me ! ' 
 Then Ugo faintly smiled, and turned himself 
 Towards Livraghi, and reached hands to him ; 
 And said, ' My brother, we shall drink no more, 
 Of the fruit of the vine, until we drink it new ' 
 The voice failed, and the parched lips uttered not. 
 
 Then were the prisoners manacled with cords, 
 Placed in a cart, and carried from the doors 
 Of Villa Spada downwards to the town, 
 Between the squadrons of the cavalry ; 
 The muffled drums beating a funeral march 
 Before them ; and beside, Gorzhowski rode, 
 In wait for his last opportunity. 
 So they moved on, and traversing the town, 
 Went down one long street, and another one, 
 Strada Isala, towards the further gate ; 
 And Ugo Bassi's face, without the smile, 
 With the faint lips, and brows of agony, 
 Passed through the city j and the murmurs grew,
 
 UGO BASSf. 
 
 ' Not Garibaldi no but those who last 
 
 Were seen with him,' and still the rumours grew ; 
 
 Until at last a cry rose suddenly 
 
 Along the streets, ' It is himself ! our friend ; 
 
 Our townsman, Ugo Bassi ! ' and at once 
 
 The fiery quickness of the Romagnole 
 
 Darted upon the truth, and they knew all. 
 
 And when they saw the beautiful pure face, 
 
 Faithful unto the last for Italy, 
 
 Carried between them, with its sacred seal 
 
 Of silence through its last extremity, 
 
 Without an answer to the yearning eyes 
 
 Now, any more than to the cruel hands, 
 
 The passion of the people broke aloud 
 
 Hopeless, and helpless : they had got no arms, 
 
 (Gorzhowski searched the town two months before, 
 
 And carried forty thousand muskets off 
 
 To Mantua) ; and they had got no time, 
 
 Women and children, a defenceless crowd ; 
 
 But casting off all fear and all restraint, 
 
 Sobbings and imprecations filled the air, 
 
 Wild cries for vengeance rising over them ; 
 
 Until beneath the shrill and raving storm, 
 
 At last Gorzhowski shivered as he rode, 
 
 Hell-fire of hisses raking him all down 
 
 The long streets opening into longer ones, 
 
 Lined with the curses broken loose at last ; 
 
 Not one, not a thousand, but the whole great town, 
 
 Men, mothers, babes, a countless multitude,
 
 2 5 6 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 More terrible because the trampled hands 
 Had never a helper left them now but God. 
 Struck into silence, he rode pale and foiled, 
 And desperate in his impotent revenge. 
 
 But though the people gathered up, and streamed 
 Behind the cavalcade, it passed along 
 More quickly, and was out of reach, before 
 They well knew what it was had come to them. 
 
 About a mile outside the city-gate, 
 Porta Isaia, lies the felon's field ; 
 And close beside it lies the Cemetery, 
 Certosa, to the westward of the walls ; 
 The Mount of Guard above it, with its church 
 And portico to give the pilgrims' feet 
 Safe-conduct to our Lady of Saint Luke, 
 Stands for a landmark many miles away. 
 Bologna knows it well ; there is no child 
 Born in Bologna but shall know the place. 
 And there they halted, past the wailing throngs ; 
 And there they formed a square of infantry ; 
 And then there was a silence, very short ; 
 And then three volleys rang out, one by one, 
 Through the still, sultry air. Bologna heard, 
 And knew that all was over. 
 
 After that, 
 
 Gorzhowski cleared the streets, and suffered none 
 To show themselves abroad again that day.
 
 UGO BASSI. s 57 
 
 They dug a grave, and threw the bodies in, 
 Just where they fell, and hardly covered them. 
 But the next morn, as if by miracle, 
 The cruel mound had blossomed into wreaths, 
 Clusters of summer-snowing stars in heaps 
 On glossy trailing leaves, and roses red 
 As any Dorothea sent her friend. 
 And night by night the grave lay fresh in flowers, 
 In spite of all the Austrian arms could do. 
 
 But who shall utter of that day's despair, 
 Through all Bologna, as the hours went on ? 
 The cry rose up from all the populace ; 
 ' He saved others from the perishing : 
 Himself he did not save ! ' 
 
 Yea, didst not save 
 Thyself, O Ugo Bassi, from the cross 
 Of pain, and death, and man's last cruelty ! 
 But God did save thee, and did shelter thee 
 From all dishonour and from all despair, 
 From any falling off of faith in Him, 
 Or hope in man : and gave thee thy desire, 
 To die as thou hadst lived, for love of love. 
 
 What of the others, who that mournful day 
 Landed with Garibaldi ? Nothing more 
 Than this is known of most of them, that they 
 Were never seen again. The river-wastes 
 s
 
 2 5 S THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Engulfed them ; they were hunted on the hills, 
 Starved in the forests, slain by bloody hands, 
 Killed by wild beasts, devoured, or left to lie 
 Unburied ; they were scattered in the wilds ; 
 They perished : will not God remember them ? 
 
 And in those same days perished Angelo 
 Brunetti, and his two sons, cruelly 
 Slain by the Austrians ; tortured, as some say, 
 And after, murdered ; but I have met none 
 Who knew the very manner of their deaths. 
 Thou, Angelo the Roman, didst not miss 
 The palm of angels ; but they say in Rome, 
 Down the Ripetta, where he dwelt before, 
 Qceruacchio is not really dead, 
 But only lost : in prison, it may be, 
 The more the pity, but he will come back. 
 He did not say good-bye to them, his house 
 Is standing ready for him, and they come 
 Morning and evening there to look, and ask, 
 If in meantime he has arrived at home. 
 And when the floods rise, and the poor are driven 
 Out of their homes to gather shelterless, 
 Or in the winter when the meal is scarce, 
 They ask each other, Will Madonna send 
 Ciceruacchio back to us to-day? 
 And never have they given up hope of him. 
 But Garibaldi knows that he is dead, 
 And told me so
 
 UGO BASSr. 859 
 
 And on the eighth of August, the same day 
 And the same hour that Ugo Bassi died, 
 Anita died in childbirth, in the arms 
 Of Garibaldi, and her child with her. 
 And Garibaldi dug a grave himself, 
 And buried them, alone, within the depths 
 Of the pine-forest, near the murmuring sea. 
 
 Then Garibaldi, broken-hearted, passed 
 Across the rivers, and the forests, to 
 Ravenna : and this marvel came to pass, 
 That in those dreadful darkest days of all, 
 He, with the face that no man could mistake, 
 With a king's ransom set upon his head, 
 His own life forfeit, and each other life 
 Of whom should harbour him but for an hour, 
 Outlawed, and banned, and excommunicate, 
 With the whole forces of the Empire set 
 Upon each byway and each house for him, 
 Careless of life himself, and broken down, 
 Did single-handed and unharmed pass through 
 The utter breadth of Italy ; and passed 
 Again across the mountains by the way 
 Of Tuscany ; and into Genoa 
 Entered at last, a solitary man, 
 The only one of all that company 
 That had survived ; and there his countrymen 
 Received and welcomed him with one accord. 
 But no one ever saw him smile again.
 
 260 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 But at the time I came to Genoa, 
 The King of Piedmont's Government, hemmed round 
 By Powers that hated Freedom and the Name 
 Of Italy, dared harbour him no more. 
 So they commanded him and all of his 
 Out of their coasts and cities to depart. 
 Then, seeing that my native land no more 
 Would yield me any spot of hers whereon 
 I might have shelter, I, enforced to flee, 
 Sought Garibaldi for a counsellor. 
 And he directed me to find my way 
 To England, where he said I should be safe, 
 The only refuge left inviolate. 
 And he set me on board an English ship ; 
 But sailed himself out to America. 
 
 So I to London came, and have dwelt there 
 All the days since, the dark and doleful days. 
 And I have seen Mazzini since I came ; 
 But he is changed, and grey, only the eyes 
 Are glorious like the eyes that lighted Rome. 
 But little can he do to succour me, 
 And little can I do to help myself. 
 Here live I in a land that never knew 
 How fair the smiling of the sun can be ; 
 Alone, in squalid poverty and rags, 
 Amid the roaring of the dismal streets, 
 And fog, and dripping rain, and cold at nights : 
 And have but one hope left to live upon,
 
 UGO EASSI. a6i 
 
 That death will take me soon, and I shall see 
 Ugo once more. 
 
 (And here I will note down 
 Some things I have heard since at various times, 
 Concerning those who brought about his death.) 
 A few weeks after, Venice, too, had fallen, 
 And the last spark was trodden out, beneath 
 The iron heel of Austria, on our soil. 
 And then, for his distinguished services, 
 And signal merits, and heroic zeal, 
 Was General Gorzhowski lifted to 
 The place of honour over all his peers ; 
 And formally appointed to the post 
 He had been proved so worthy to adorn, 
 As Governor of Venice. His reward 
 And added dignity sit well on him, 
 Beloved as much as ever. Venice now 
 Lies very quiet underneath his hand, 
 As a Queen violated lives with him 
 That slew her lord. Eyes cannot kill, he thinks. 
 If he be happy, let him be, while yet 
 He may, the end is not yet come for him. 
 
 Cardinal Oppizzoni gives God thanks 
 That he has lived so long, and outlived all 
 His enemies, and seen the Church prevail ; 
 And unmolested in his dignities, 
 Remains as well as ever, taking care 
 To run no further risks of any sort,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 By anything approaching to a life 
 Of action. It is good, no doubt, to live ; 
 Especially when one is not quite sure 
 What may come after death. 
 
 That other one, 
 
 Bedini, has a look within his eyes 
 As if the wolves were after him ; and he, 
 For all his silk, and down, and costly wines, 
 And the fair chambers at Saint Michael's Bower, 
 Sleeps ill at nights they say, and frightens those 
 Who watch beside him. 
 
 But thou sleepest well, 
 Ugo, my Ugo ! 
 
 No one dares to speakj 
 There openly, but there is a report, 
 That on the day of Ugo Bassi's death, 
 Two officers at the head-quarters there 
 Were broken of their rank, and sent disgraced 
 To Mantua. Because, as it is said, 
 The one who should have given the word to fire 
 Would not, or could not do it ; and the next 
 In turn refused ; and they had need to find 
 A third. He was promoted speedily. 
 
 Also when the authorities perceived 
 That Ugo Bassi's grave became a shrine 
 Of pilgrimage, where thousands day by day 
 Came weeping, and in mourning, carrying wreaths ; 
 And likewise that they tried to bear away
 
 UGO BASST. 263 
 
 His body to some place of sepulture 
 
 Where no one should disturb them in their tears, 
 
 It was resolved to stop disturbances 
 
 By being beforehand with them. And one night 
 
 The bodies secretly were disinterred, 
 
 And buried in a place which no one knew, 
 
 In the Certosa. Various rumours rose, 
 
 But none were certain ; till a letter fell 
 
 Into some hands it was not meant for, from 
 
 The Cardinal Bedini to the Pope, 
 
 With pious satisfaction telling him 
 
 How things had been arranged, and adding that 
 
 The thing had been effected with all care 
 
 And circumspection ; and that it was thought 
 
 By most, that Ugo Bassi's friends themselves 
 
 Had come by night, and stolen him away ; 
 
 Which for the moment pacified their minds ; 
 
 And soon, he hoped, the subject might be dropped. 
 
 The same illustrious prelate, at the time 
 Of Ugo's execution and his friend's, 
 Wrote formally to notify the same 
 To the Commission of the Roman States, 
 Taking occasion to declare as well, 
 That neither he, nor the Most Eminent 
 Archbishop had had intimation given 
 Them previously of the deplorable 
 Occurrence. 
 
 Also I have heard it said
 
 264 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 That, underneath his garment, on his heart, 
 They found the poem I had seen him write, 
 Unfinished, pierced with balls, and soaked with blood ; 
 And some one took it, and delivered it 
 Secretly to his friends for payment given ; 
 And that they keep it hidden. But these things 
 Who knoweth ? There is silence of the grave 
 Throughout the length and breadth of Italy. 
 
 Yea, and I too have come unto my doom 
 
 For thy sake, Italy, and most for thine, 
 
 My master, who didst open me the way. 
 
 I, only following by a glorious face, 
 
 Found that it led through waters and through fires, 
 
 Through wildernesses, to the dark the dark ; 
 
 Who might have now been lying in the thyme 
 
 Unvexed by any trouble of the world, 
 
 Upon the sweetest of the Southern hills. 
 
 I left them : nothing now remains to me 
 
 But this, that I was once a son of thine, 
 
 O Italy, the land where Ugo lies. 
 
 Remember when thou countest up thy lost, 
 
 That I was one of them ! Nay, Italy, 
 
 Shouldst thou remember ? Have I not been told 
 
 That Italy is dead, is dead, at last ? 
 
 She has not breathed, or stirred since Ugo died. 
 
 He was the last whose blood was shed for her. 
 
 I have endured two winters in this land,
 
 UGO BASSI. 
 
 In hunger, and in hardship, and alone ; 
 And have not now much left in me of life. 
 I have met many exiles like myself, 
 But not another from the South, like me ; 
 And some of them have died since I came here. 
 
 Yet I have had some solace : for one night, 
 When I had tossed awake for many hours, 
 Alone within my dark and empty room, 
 Thinking in pity of his cruel end, 
 The vision of it haunted me, and rose 
 Too plain, too clear, the torn and bleeding flesh, 
 The mangled limbs, the bitter unslaked thirst, 
 The tender hands, so used to minister 
 To every need of others, bound and bruised, 
 And helpless in their agony : and I 
 Wept, and wept on, and felt my heart would break. 
 And then into my room there came a light, 
 And in the light a face was close to me, 
 And lo, it was my Ugo's very self. 
 And he himself was standing at my side ; 
 And smiled as if no pain had ever wrung 
 The lovely lips, and leant, and spake to me : 
 ' Why weepest thou for me, who lovest me ? 
 I trusted God : He gave me my desire ; 
 Listen, and I will show thee of my heart. 
 Christ laid a blessed yoke upon my youth, 
 To follow Him among his poor and sad, 
 And I was happy, but not utterly.
 
 =66 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Sometimes the way was weary to my feet, 
 
 Sometimes the world rang hollow to my voice, 
 
 And sometimes when I smiled my heart was sore ; 
 
 And the dull days and toilsome round became 
 
 A weariness and burden to my soul ; 
 
 And I thought of the Rose of Life, shut fast for me. 
 
 But in my dreams beheld another Rose 
 
 Fairer and redder, Rose of Martyrdom, 
 
 Set high above me, on the Tree of Life. 
 
 And when not daring to look up, I saw 
 
 That Christ Himself went up and gathered it, 
 
 And held it out to me, then I abashed 
 
 Drew back, replying, " Nay, Lord, not for me ? " 
 
 And yet that dream came to me many times. 
 
 God made a miracle, and gave to me 
 
 This flower for keeping, Garibaldi's life, 
 
 And Italy's deliverance ; and He said, 
 
 " Close fast thy hand upon it, while they tear 
 
 Body from soul ; " and I had my desire. 
 
 And for that passage which so hurts thy heart, 
 
 Because thou lov'st me over tenderly, 
 
 Believe me that I think no more of it 
 
 Than a mother, when she hears her babe's first cry 
 
 Thinks of her sorrow. Shall we wear our palms, 
 
 And pay no price for them ? I do not say 
 
 That it was nothing God help every soul 
 
 That comes to such an hour ! but I thank Him 
 
 For grace vouchsafed to me to hold fast my Rose 
 
 With all its thorns, through those tempestuous gates
 
 UGO BASS I. 
 
 Of mortal sorrow, drowning every sense 
 
 In seas of anguish driven wave on wave 
 
 Before a cold salt wind that on the cold 
 
 Faint brow and closed eyes still blew bitterly, 
 
 Out of the deeps of darkness, through the still 
 
 Faster o'ersweeping of the waterfloods, 
 
 Past sight or sound, past counting of the time, 
 
 Past all remembering, all forecasting sense, 
 
 Past prayer one hour for that, one hour for this, 
 
 This, that had come to me, "This is their hour 
 
 Now, and the power of darkness," so I held, 
 
 Clasping, as shipwrecked fingers clasp a spar 
 
 After all sense has swooned out of the brain, 
 
 This one sole word, Now never else but Now : 
 
 When lo ! the tossing ceased, and suddenly 
 
 I knew the harbour, and a golden light 
 
 Round me, and kind hands helping me to shore, 
 
 And my Rose safe. Nay, never weep for me ! 
 
 And if thou mournest any, mourn for her 
 
 Who died at the same hour for the same faith 
 
 In Garibaldi's arms, because her pain 
 
 Was more than mine, and she had loss besides. 
 
 ' Wait but a little ! I may tell thee not 
 The things that are before ; that thou and I 
 Did suffer not in vain for. Not in vain.' 
 
 And in the sooty dawn I woke alone ; 
 And every day I wake alone, and know
 
 268 
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 No joy oflife will come again. O Christ, 
 
 I cannot reach thee, I am ignorant ! 
 
 Thou sentest once Thy Saint to succour me 
 
 In my extremity ; and when he left 
 
 Me in this world, he left me in Thy charge : 
 
 Now therefore for his sake remember me, 
 
 And be Thyself my Friend that he is gone. 
 
 Though in this world I may not see Thy Face 
 
 This world that must be dark for me till death 
 
 Yet through the darkness hold me by the hand, 
 
 That when I meet him, I may meet Thee too !
 
 AGESILAO MILANO. 
 NAPLES, 1856. 
 
 T7OR the glory and the passion of this midnight, 
 
 J- I praise Thy name, I give Thee thanks, O Christ ! 
 
 Thou that hast neither failed me nor forsaken, 
 
 Through these hard hours with victory overpriced ; 
 Now that I too of Thy passion have partaken, 
 
 For the world's sake called, elected, sacrificed. 
 
 Thou wast alone through Thy redemption-vigil, 
 
 Thy friends had fled ; 
 The angel at the garden from Thee parted, 
 
 And solitude instead, 
 More than the scourge, or cross, O tender-hearted, 
 
 Under the crown of thorns bowed down Thy head. 
 
 But I, amid the torture, and the taunting, 
 
 I have had Thee ! 
 Thy hand was holding my hand fast and faster, 
 
 Thy voice was close to me, 
 And glorious eyes said, ' Follow me, thy Master, 
 
 Smile as I smile thy faithfulness to see.'
 
 270 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Thou hast not called me only, but enabled, 
 
 To do Thy will ; 
 Between the flesh and spirit put no severance, 
 
 That I might all fulfil ; 
 Given me grace to strike the land's deliverance, 
 
 Given me strength to suffer and be still. 
 
 Naples is glad because her king has fallen 
 
 By my hand first ; 
 Take home the lesson to thee, faithless warden, 
 
 The foremost and the worst, 
 Who makest of this lovely land, God's garden, 
 
 A nation violate, corrupt, accurst. 
 
 This right hand, wasted now by knife and furnace, 
 
 Struck home the blow ; 
 Whether he die to-night or he recover, 
 
 This and no more they know, 
 To follow me one hundred are sworn over, 
 
 Whose names they would tear from me ere I go. 
 
 Follow me all, and fear not, O my brothers, 
 
 For this ye see ; 
 I who passed first confirm you by this token, 
 
 Stronger than them are we ; 
 For cord, and fire, and steel to me have spoken, 
 
 And none have had an answer out of me.
 
 AGES f LAO MILANO. 371 
 
 Is not the air still sickened with the scorching 
 
 Of flesh from bone ? 
 Is not the blood from stripes on stripes unslackened 
 
 Still dripping to the stone ? 
 Loosened at last, each limb falls bruised and blackened 
 
 Into a stiffening weight of fire alone. 
 
 Master, our hearts can save us as thou spakest ! 
 
 Have they not spent 
 All night their uttermost on me unholpen ? 
 
 Behold my body rent 
 And broken ; but among the wounds wide open 
 
 Ye will not find a broken sacrament. 
 
 By the deed done, by torture overmastered, 
 
 And death outbraved, 
 For ever from denial and dishonour, 
 
 Soul, thou this night art saved ! 
 Italia, with the purple robe upon her, 
 
 Shall know me faithful by these scars engraved. 
 
 ' Spared but till sunrise ; else would Death forestall us, 
 
 Mercifullest. ' 
 Yea, all their worst is done, they cannot keep me 
 
 Now, should they do their best, 
 Back from the gates of Paradise, nor steep me 
 
 In any healing balm of earthly rest.
 
 2 7 a THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Sunrise ! and it is summer, and the morning 
 
 Waits glorified 
 An hour hence, when the cool clear rose-cloud gathers 
 
 About heaven's eastern side, 
 And down the azure grottoes where the bathers 
 
 Loose the tired limbs, a lovely light will glide. 
 
 Fold after fold the winding waves of opal 
 
 The sands will drown ; 
 And when the morning-star amid the pearly 
 
 Light of the east goes down, 
 Then my star shall arise, and late and early 
 
 Shine for a jewel in the Master's crown. 
 
 Mazzini, Master, singer of the sunrise ! 
 
 Knowest thou me ? 
 I held thy hand once, and the summer lightning 
 
 Still of thy smile I see ; 
 Me thou rememberest not amidst the heightening 
 
 Vision of God, and of God's Will to be. 
 
 But thou wilt hear of me, by noon to-morrow, 
 
 And henceforth I 
 Shall be to thee a memory and a token 
 
 Out of the starry sky ; 
 And when my soul unto thy soul hath spoken, 
 
 Enough, I shall not wholly pass nor die.
 
 AGESILAO MILANO. 273 
 
 Italia, when thou comest to thy kingdom, 
 
 Remember me ! 
 Me, who on this thy night of shame and sorrow 
 
 Was scourged and slain with thee ; 
 Me, who upon thy resurrection morrow 
 
 Shall stand among thy sons beside thy knee. 
 
 Shalt thou not be one day, indeed, O Mother, 
 
 Enthroned of all, 
 To the world's vision as to ours now only, 
 
 At Rome for festival ; 
 Around thee gathered all thy lost and lonely 
 
 And loyal ones, that failed not at thy call ; 
 
 With golden lyre, or violet robe of mourning, 
 
 Or battle-scar ; 
 And one shall stand more glorious than the others, 
 
 He of the Morning-Star, 
 Whose face lights all the faces of his brothers, 
 
 Out of the silvery northern land afar. 
 
 But grant to me there, unto all beholders, 
 
 Bare to the skies, 
 To stand with bleeding hands, and feet, and shoulders, 
 
 And rapt, unflinching eyes, 
 And locked lips, yielding to the question-holders 
 
 Nor meanings, nor beseechings, nor replies. 
 T
 
 274 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Is the hour hard ? Too soon it will be over, 
 
 Too sweet, too sore ; 
 The arms of Death fold over me with rapture, 
 
 Life knew not heretofore ; 
 Heaven will be peace, but I shall not recapture 
 
 The passion of this hour, for evermore.
 
 BARON GIOVANNI NICOTERA. 1 
 
 SALERNO, 1858. 
 
 SALERNO waits amid the heat 
 Of August, for the words of doom. 
 
 Nicotera and eighty men 
 Who followed him are here to meet 
 Award of justice : it has come. 
 
 Follow, and hear the judgment, then. 
 
 Ergastolo an evil name, 
 An evil thing, a hell on earth ; 
 
 Wherein no whisper evermore 
 Of hope shall enter ; nor the shame 
 
 Of stripes, and bonds, and brutal mirth, 
 Be loosed from life, till life is o'er. 
 
 The judge and prisoner, man to man, 
 Are met together ; silent one, 
 
 With fiery face that in its prime 
 Looks from the prison changed and wan ; 
 While speaks the other, having done 
 With life, and trembling at the time, 
 
 1 See note C.
 
 276 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 ' My time is past : some new time wakes : 
 I am an old man, I am weak, 
 
 I have not seen a face like yours ; 
 And, looking on it, my heart breaks 
 For such a doom as I must speak : 
 I know no heart of man endures 
 
 ' Such things as are before you now. 
 I pray you, ere it be too late, 
 
 To seek some mercy, for the sake 
 Of those that love you, and to bow 
 
 Unto the world, and kings, and fate : 
 You will not bend, but they can break. 
 
 ' You that are nelpless in their hands, 
 Keep your own heart, but speak some word 
 
 Of prayer for pardon, and submit 
 To that strong law which stays and stands 
 A rock above the waves unstirred, 
 While you are dashed to death on it, 
 
 ' In vain, in vain ; and lives of those 
 That followed you are cast away. 
 
 For them, for you, there yet is grace 
 If you will have it. ' The tears rose : 
 But answer made Nicotera, 
 
 Standing together face to face,
 
 BARON GIOVANNI NICOTERA. 277 
 
 'Domenico, I speak to you, 
 Not as the judge who serveth man, 
 
 But as the man who serveth God- 
 God who shall judge between us two : 
 I say, I will not, if I can, 
 
 Retrace one step my feet have trod. 
 
 You serve your King, and it is well ; 
 He hath not failed you at your need, 
 
 Not yet, and you have royal grace. 
 We serve our God and you can tell 
 Our wages : and if this indeed 
 Were all, you have the better place. 
 
 * But we have not been desolate 
 Of such divinest comfortings 
 
 As hitherto have borne us up ; 
 With one inspired Apostolate, 
 
 One trumpet-voice that round us rings, 
 One sanguine sacramental cup. 
 
 ' And having heard and drunk, nowise 
 Can we but triumph, since God's light 
 
 Hath opened to us Italy I 
 And hath unveiled before our eyes, 
 
 Far off, and unapproached, and bright, 
 His last dread angel, Liberty. 
 u
 
 S7 8 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 4 The unseen, unborn face of one 
 Even as a mother cherisheth, 
 
 Who knoweth she shall live to bear 
 A living and most lovely son, 
 
 And yet must die before his breath 
 Upon her lips makes soft the air, 
 
 ' Though now we suffer for her sake, 
 Her living face we shall not see ; 
 
 The throes are come, but not the birth. 
 For we no more shall writhe and wake, 
 And on our graves her foot shall be, 
 
 When she comes down to reign on earth.' 
 
 All day the hammers fast and hard 
 Have riveted on feet and hands 
 
 The weight of irons they shall wear 
 Through the long dying, and the yard 
 With fettered pairs is filled, and stands 
 Nicotera amongst them there. 
 
 ' For this that I have brought you to, 
 Children, forgive me ere we part ; 
 
 A font of fire, a whole life's loss : 
 And yet I know that none of you 
 Forgiveth me, but in his heart 
 Blesseth me rather, for this cross.
 
 BARON GIOVANNI NICOTERA. 
 
 1 Through every hour of painful breath, 
 Henceforth our souls must carve their price ; 
 
 Life's hope is past, life's purpose stays. 
 Better than life, better than death, 
 Is this the living sacrifice : 
 
 God keep us worthy all our days ! 
 
 ' The earliest martyrs, the unnamed 
 Saints, the forgotten rank and file 
 
 Of Christ's unconquered soldiery, 
 Under the same fierce suns that flamed 
 On the same bare and blasted isle, 
 Suffered in lifelong constancy. 
 
 4 The same rocks echo the same clank 
 Of chains, the same taskmaster's stroke, 
 And grind of stone, and anvil's roar : 
 Ye go to drink the cup they drank ; 
 And yet they live, their chains are broke, 
 Their martyrdom has long been o'er. 
 
 ' God be with you ! For me, they say, 
 I go, kept back for such a meed 
 
 As man's heart faileth him to see : 
 Therefore forget me not, but pray 
 The grace be greater than the need ; 
 What matter, if God go with me 1
 
 2 8o THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 ' No darkness is so deep, but white 
 Wings of the angels through can pierce ; 
 
 Nor any chain such heaps lies in 
 But God's own hand can hold it light ; 
 Nor is there any flame so fierce 
 But Christ Himself can stand therein.' 
 
 The sunset comes ; the guarded rank 
 
 Through thronging thousands of the town, 
 
 Gathered on window, roof, and door, 
 With heavy step, and ceaseless clank, 
 To the dark ship is passing down, 
 That waits to take them from the shore, 
 
 Ah Saints, the bare and bleeding feet ! 
 
 Ah Christ, the bruised and bleeding hands ! 
 
 Ah God, the pallid faces there ! 
 One low long sob goes through the street, 
 One passionate curse God understands^ 
 One bitter agony of prayer. 
 
 A dream of liquid colour ! lo, 
 The hills that slope into the sea 
 
 Range back from rose to violet, 
 And melting into indigo, 
 
 In farthest mountain mystery, 
 Upon the stainless East are set.
 
 BARON GIOVANNI NICOTERA. 
 
 The fishing-fleet at anchor-hold 
 Leans over, every purple barge, 
 
 Its purple shadow on the seas ; 
 In sweeps of silver outward rolled, 
 Till points of pearl upon the marge 
 Set sail for the Hesperides. 
 
 Midway the Sirens' Islands mark 
 The blue and glassy wave that flows 
 And ebbs within their cavern-line ; 
 Lying all cool and lovely -dark 
 Against the cloudless West that glows 
 Through depths of crimson crystalline. 
 
 But the black hull is closer moored 
 Against the white shore, motionless ; 
 
 All round, the opal flood of light, 
 Beneath the great black shape obscured, 
 Quivers intenser ; is not this 
 The very gate of Heaven in sight ? 
 
 Not yet, not yet ! Another day. 
 O, faithful hearts, take this for sign, 
 
 That as upon your agony, 
 With unmoved faces on their way, 
 Shine through the sunset the divine 
 Lights of Italia's shore and sea,
 
 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 Some day, hereafter, ye shall gaze 
 On them through other eyes than these 
 
 Of dry despair ; and happy tears 
 Suddenly break forth 'Are the days 
 Ended indeed ? The skies and seas 
 Are passing. Past, with all the years. 
 
 The night has fallen suddenly ; 
 
 A wind comes sighing from the seas ; 
 
 And they are passed beyond our sight. 
 And none Nicotera shall see 
 
 Henceforth, though he went not with these, 
 He who is shut from life and light. 
 
 For he who was their Chief and First, 
 Shall suffer chief and first of all. 
 
 Dark caverns of captivity 
 In many an isle they hold ; and worst 
 Of any, rumour can recall, 
 Is Favignana's, out at sea. 
 
 They say Tiberius hollowed it, 
 The year that Christ from Calvary 
 
 Looked down, and said ' Forgive them, Lord.' 
 It lieth under water, lit 
 
 By such faint daylight shadowy 
 As down four hundred steps is poured ;
 
 BARON GIOVANNI NICOTERA. 283 
 
 Down in the heart of naked rock, 
 Below the seas that evermore 
 
 Sound through the dank and oozing walls j 
 The chains are rusted in the lock, 
 And on the rotting crusted floor 
 The centipede and scorpion crawls. 
 
 This legend on the tower above 
 Is carved : * Si entra vivo, e 
 
 Si esce morto.' But Death waits : 
 And here Nicotera, for love 
 
 Of Italy, through night and day 
 Endures alone, and expiates. 
 
 O Master of the mighty hand 
 
 Who sealest sentence with a kiss, 
 
 So that thy doomsmen's hearts grow light, 
 Is the word true ? Shall the faith stand ? 
 Is the work worth such woe as this ? 
 Can the day recompense the night ? 
 
 Thou sendest forth, and dost not spare, 
 Thy best to meet the tyrant's worst ; 
 Thou sowest lives for Seed of Life. 
 O starry-stern through all despair, 
 Straight on thy course as at the first, 
 Where is thine anguish in this strife ?
 
 284 THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The live pain burneth like a lamp 
 Within thy dark eyes passionate, 
 
 It burneth to the soul away : 
 It saith, ' To me the dungeon-damp, 
 The last farewell, the felon's fate, 
 Were nothing : I know more, and stay. 
 
 ' Facing the foreseen doom ye know, 
 Through flesh and soul's extremity. 
 
 Fight on, and keep your hearts alive ! 
 I have gone through where ye must go, 
 I have seen past the agony, 
 I behold God in Heaven, and strive.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE A, page 16. 
 
 Jacopo Ruffini was the earliest and most beloved of Mazzini's 
 friends, and was associated with him in his first secret enterprise 
 for the unity of Italy. See ' Life and Works of Joseph Mazzini,' 
 vol. i. page 331. 
 
 NOTE B, page 239. 
 The following is the original text of this document : 
 
 NOTIFICAZIONE. 
 
 CARLO per Divlna Misericordia del Titolo di S. Lorenzo in 
 Lvcina della S. R. C. Prete Cardinale OPPIZZONI Arcives- 
 covo di Bologna. 
 
 In mezzo alle turbolenze, ed ai rivolgimenti che afflissero non ha 
 guari queste infelici Provincie, e la cui fresca memoria spaventa 
 ancora I' immaginazione, I" affanno che piu d" ogni altro ci punse net 
 profondo del cuore (dopo quello che sentimmo per le sacrileghe offese 
 contro Dio ed il suo Vicario) ci derivb dalla crudele e violenta neces- 
 sita del silenzio. Imperciocche avremmo pur sopratutto desiderato 
 di potere alzare la nostra voce di Padre e di Pastore, cosi per rom- 
 pere ogni pietra di perdizione e di scandalo come per rimuovere i 
 semplici di spirito da quelle insidie, onde alcuni uomini, pochi per 
 vero dire di numero, ma tanto piu audaci commettitori di male, 
 quanto insigniti pur troppo di ordine ecclesiastico, ed obbligati 
 altresl a voto claustra'e, v'.olavrmo ogni legge, e con pubbliche e 
 farnetiche declamazioni contaiuinavano le coscienze, e con teoriche
 
 s86 NOTES. 
 
 ridicole milantavano che ogni supremo potere non era che un dono 
 precario delle popolazioni, suscitando per tal modo il dispregio a 
 qualsivoglia dominazione e bestemmiando, come disse S. Giuda, 
 ogni maesta dominationetn spernitnt, tnajestatem blasphemant. 
 Tacciavano altresl di superstizioni le sacrosante ed inveterate mas- 
 sime religiose con costumi per lo meno equivoci, dichiarandosi con 
 impudenza maestri di morale. Ne certamente ci avrebbe ritenuto o 
 il timore di privato danno, o il pericolo della nostra vita giunta 
 ormai al suo termine : che ben sappiamo come il buon Pastore debba 
 offerire tutto se stesso in olocausto pel salvamento del gregge alle 
 sue cure affidato, e voi gia ricorderete come protestemmo solenne- 
 mente contro la baldanza de' tristi, e come le nostre parole fossero 
 accolte con impudente dileggio. Perlocche memori da un lato di 
 quell' ammonimento dell' Ecclesiastico (Cap. 20 v. 7) Sapiens face- 
 bit usque ad tempus, e scienti dall" altro, che le provvidenze da Noi 
 implorate a tanta jattura e gia ripetutamente prescritte dal Sommo 
 JPontefice (prima che fosse costretto con nefanda audacia ad esulare 
 dall' Apostolico Seggio) non si mandavano ad effetto da chi avrebbe 
 dovuto procacciarne 1'adempimento, non altro ci rimaneva che di 
 spargere amarissime lagrime tra il vestibolo e 1'altare, solo confortati 
 dal pensiero di potere noi pure esclamare con Tertulliano (z' apolog. 
 adv. gen. cap. -$i)nihil est Nobis cum insania circi. Ora perb, 
 che il pietoso Iddiociha apertii tesori delle sue infinite misericordie, 
 c ci ha rimessi nella pienezza di esercizio del nostro vescovile minis- 
 terio ripeteremo Sapiens tacebit usque ad tempus. E quindi v' in- 
 dirizziamo, o amatissimi figliuoli, le nostre parole, se non per ricon- 
 durvi a quella via di rettitudine e di verita, da cui non vi siete per la 
 maggior parte allontanati, almeno per incuorarvi a stare in essa forti 
 e magnanimi Estate fortes in bello. E certamente fa di mestieri 
 di calpestare con eroica sprezzatura i funesti ricordi di quella sorda 
 ed empia guerra, che fu mossa alle anime vostre con aspetto, direm- 
 mo quasi, di giocondita e di solazzo, e con promesse di una gloria e 
 di una felicita meniognera. Noi qui non ripeteremo, dilettissimi 
 figliuoli, le fiorite bestemmie colle quali nel nome Santissimo del 
 Crocifisso, si bandiva la rivolta all" Autorita di un venerando Ponte- 
 fice ; si dipingeva perfino come atto di fraude ed istrumento di 
 congiura il divino Sagramento della Penitenza, si spargevano dai
 
 NOTES. 287 
 
 ministri di Belial le piu nere calunnie, si proclamavano massime in- 
 ducenti all' errore, e quasi anche all' eresia, ed allo scisma, esi 
 gridava addosso la croce ai ministri di Cristo : e sotto velame di 
 combattere 1'ipocrisia, ed il regresso, si attirzava il fuoco delle 
 rabbie civili, e fra il nostro Clero, esemplarmente pacifico, ed il 
 minuto popolo, si volevano gittare i semi di orribili e pestifere 
 separazioni. 
 
 Ora, o Carissimi, dimenticate per sino il suono di quelle orrende 
 parole che offesero le orecchie anche dei meno pii, o ricordatele 
 soltanto per sentirne un salutar raccapriccio, come di una brutta 
 maledizione e di un grido d" Inferno. 
 
 Ne i bei concetti di patria carita, onde si volevano addolcire le 
 piu sfoggiate enormezze per cogliere alia rete i semplici, e per con- 
 citare le moltitudini, debbono, o carissimi, allucinare le vostre 
 menti. Videte, ne quis vos decipiat per philosophiam et inanetn 
 fallaciam, secundum traditionetu hominum, et non secundum 
 Christum. (Coloss. 2. 8). L'amore di Patria e santo quando in 
 prima si ami com e debito Iddio e si onori ; e le leggi di lui, che 
 sono tutto carita, si osservino, le quali poste alia sacra custodia del 
 Romano Pontefice e dei Vescovi non debbon esser tradotte a bordello 
 sacrilego nelle piazze, nelle taverne, e nei circoli apostatando empia- 
 inente, ed insultando a Pietro ed alia Chiesa. La quale mentre 
 comanda al ricco di soccorrere a' poverelli, comanda a questi di 
 alleviare colle fatiche le loro strettezze, e di portarne le pene con 
 generosa rassegnazione. Ma Dio eterno ! quali massime desolatrici, 
 anzi distruggitrici di ogni ordine civile e sociale non si volevano 
 invece insinuare e mantenere da trucolenti banditori ? Alia soave 
 legge dell' Evangelo era sostituito il solletico delle passioni lusingate, 
 adulate, sospinte (se Dio non era, e 1' intercessione delle divina sua 
 Madre) a tale stremo di scelleratezza che il Hondo forse non poteva 
 ricordare maggiore. Rotto ogni vincolo di morale, di pudicizia e di 
 religione, 1' Uomo sarebbe rimasto derelitto ad una vita bruta e 
 selvaggia ; con questa perfidia per soprassello, che i furibondi 
 demagoghi della bella ma misera Penisola, mentre combattevano 
 ogni autoritk ed ogni diritto di possesso, erano avidissimi usurpatori 
 delle pubbliche e delle private sostanze, e si arrogavano un dominio 
 di feroce ed inaudita tirannide.
 
 88 NOTES. 
 
 Ma non piu di essi, o Carissimi, ne di coloro che con sofismi, con 
 insidie, e con virolenti arringhe avrebbero voluto confortare il loro 
 regno. Guardiamo a Noi, dilettissimi, e stiamo vigilanti, che non 
 venga a intromettersi negli animi nostri quel pestifero ed assurdo 
 scetticismo, che distrugge ogni principle, rompe ogni freno, si lascia 
 andare in balia del caso, e precipitando di abisso in abisso, finisce per 
 mandare quel grido spaventevole che non ci e Dio. Non dipartia- 
 moci mai dalla filosofia del vangelo, che e la sola infallibile : siamo 
 veri e buoni cattolici, e saremo veri e buoni cittadini ; adempiamo 
 con netta coscienza i doveri del nostro stato, ed ameremo di vero e 
 proficuo amore la Patria : siamo zelanti operatori del bene, e potremo 
 allora salire ad ogni desiderabile felicita : vinciamo le nostre passioni 
 incomposte, ed i nostri piu fieri ed irreligiosi nemici saranno vinti. 
 
 Tutto questo, o Cari, Noi vi preghiamo da Dio, e con tutto il 
 fervore vi compartiamo la nostra pastorale Benedizione. 
 
 Dal Nostro Palazzo Arcivescovile di Bologna questo dl 3 
 agosto 1849. 
 
 CARLO Card. OPPIZZONI Arciv. 
 
 NOTE C, page 275. 
 
 The expedition of Baron Giovanni Nicotera was organised by 
 Mazzini for the liberation of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in 
 1857. The leaders of the expedition were Nicotera and Pisacane. 
 
 They sailed from Genoa with a company of 160 volunteers. They 
 landed at Ponza, where they were met by the Royal troops, and an 
 obstinate struggle ensued. Pisacane was killed on the field, and 
 Nicotera left senseless and almost mortally wounded. Half of their 
 followers were killed ; the other half taken prisoners with Nicotera. 
 They were kept in prison nine months before being brought to trial, 
 during which time the hardship and cruelty of their treatment excited 
 much popular indignation and sympathy. Much feeling was also 
 evoked by the firmness of Nicotera, who both before and during the 
 trial was exposed to every temptation to betray his confederates ; 
 and by the harshness of the sentence passed upon him in con- 
 sequence of the failure of these attempts.
 
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