Amours de Voyage [16]
Lucerne, for the summer. Was it wrong? and why, if it was, has it failed to bring him? Did he not think it worth while to come to Milan? He knew (you Told him) the house we should go to. Or may it, perhaps, have miscarried? Any way, now, I repent, and am heartily vexed that I wrote it.
There is a home on the shore of the Alpine sea, that upswelling High up the mountain-sides spreads in the hollow between; Wilderness, mountain, and snow from the land of the olive conceal it; Under Pilatus's hill low by the river it lies; Italy, utter the word, and the olive and vine will allure not,-- Wilderness, forest, and snow will not the passage impede; Italy, unto thy cities receding, the clue to recover, Hither, recovered the clue, shall not the traveller haste?
Canto V.
There is a city, upbuilt on the quays of the turbulent Arno, Under Fiesole's heights,--thither are we to return? There is a city that fringes the curve of the inflowing waters, Under the perilous hill fringes the beautiful bay,-- Parthenope, do they call thee?--the Siren, Neapolis, seated Under Vesevus's hill,--are we receding to thee?-- Sicily, Greece, will invite, and the Orient;--or are we turn to England, which may after all be for its children the best?
I. Mary Trevellyn, at Lucerne, to Miss Roper, at Florence.
So you are really free, and living in quiet at Florence; That is delightful news; you travelled slowly and safely; Mr. Claude got you out; took rooms at Florence before you; Wrote from Milan to say so; had left directly for Milan, Hoping to find us soon;--if he could, he would, you are certain.-- Dear Miss Roper, your letter has made me exceedingly happy. You are quite sure, you say, he asked you about our intentions; You had not heard as yet of Lucerne, but told him of Como.-- Well, perhaps he will come; however, I will not expect it. Though you say you are sure,--if he can, he will, you are certain. O my dear, many thanks from your ever affectionate Mary.
II. Claude to Eustace.
Florence. Action will furnish belief,--but will that belief be the true one? This is the point, you know. However, it doesn't much matter. What one wants, I suppose, is to predetermine the action, So as to make it entail, not a chance belief, but the true one. Out of the question, you say; if a thing isn't wrong we may do it. Ah! but this WRONG, you see--but I do not know that it matters. Eustace, the Ropers are gone, and no one can tell me about them.
Pisa. Pisa, they say they think, and so I follow to Pisa, Hither and thither inquiring. I weary of making inquiries. I am ashamed, I declare, of asking people about it.-- Who are your friends? You said you had friends who would certainly know them.
Florence. But it is idle, moping, and thinking, and trying to fix her Image once more and more in, to write the whole perfect inscription Over and over again upon every page of remembrance. I have settled to stay at Florence to wait for your answer. Who are your friends? Write quickly and tell me. I wait for your answer.
III. Mary Trevellyn to Miss Roper.--at Lucca Baths.
You are at Lucca baths, you tell me, to stay for the summer; Florence was quite too hot; you can't move further at present. Will you not come, do you think, before the summer is over? Mr. C. got you out with very considerable trouble; And he was useful and kind, and seemed so happy to serve you. Didn't stay with you long, but talked very openly to you; Made you almost his confessor, without appearing to know it,-- What about?--and you say you didn't need his confessions. O my dear Miss Roper, I dare not trust what you tell me! Will he come, do you think? I am really so sorry for him. They didn't give him my letter at Milan, I feel pretty certain. You had told him Bellaggio. We didn't go to Bellaggio; So he would miss our track, and perhaps never come to Lugano, Where we were written in full,
There is a home on the shore of the Alpine sea, that upswelling High up the mountain-sides spreads in the hollow between; Wilderness, mountain, and snow from the land of the olive conceal it; Under Pilatus's hill low by the river it lies; Italy, utter the word, and the olive and vine will allure not,-- Wilderness, forest, and snow will not the passage impede; Italy, unto thy cities receding, the clue to recover, Hither, recovered the clue, shall not the traveller haste?
Canto V.
There is a city, upbuilt on the quays of the turbulent Arno, Under Fiesole's heights,--thither are we to return? There is a city that fringes the curve of the inflowing waters, Under the perilous hill fringes the beautiful bay,-- Parthenope, do they call thee?--the Siren, Neapolis, seated Under Vesevus's hill,--are we receding to thee?-- Sicily, Greece, will invite, and the Orient;--or are we turn to England, which may after all be for its children the best?
I. Mary Trevellyn, at Lucerne, to Miss Roper, at Florence.
So you are really free, and living in quiet at Florence; That is delightful news; you travelled slowly and safely; Mr. Claude got you out; took rooms at Florence before you; Wrote from Milan to say so; had left directly for Milan, Hoping to find us soon;--if he could, he would, you are certain.-- Dear Miss Roper, your letter has made me exceedingly happy. You are quite sure, you say, he asked you about our intentions; You had not heard as yet of Lucerne, but told him of Como.-- Well, perhaps he will come; however, I will not expect it. Though you say you are sure,--if he can, he will, you are certain. O my dear, many thanks from your ever affectionate Mary.
II. Claude to Eustace.
Florence. Action will furnish belief,--but will that belief be the true one? This is the point, you know. However, it doesn't much matter. What one wants, I suppose, is to predetermine the action, So as to make it entail, not a chance belief, but the true one. Out of the question, you say; if a thing isn't wrong we may do it. Ah! but this WRONG, you see--but I do not know that it matters. Eustace, the Ropers are gone, and no one can tell me about them.
Pisa. Pisa, they say they think, and so I follow to Pisa, Hither and thither inquiring. I weary of making inquiries. I am ashamed, I declare, of asking people about it.-- Who are your friends? You said you had friends who would certainly know them.
Florence. But it is idle, moping, and thinking, and trying to fix her Image once more and more in, to write the whole perfect inscription Over and over again upon every page of remembrance. I have settled to stay at Florence to wait for your answer. Who are your friends? Write quickly and tell me. I wait for your answer.
III. Mary Trevellyn to Miss Roper.--at Lucca Baths.
You are at Lucca baths, you tell me, to stay for the summer; Florence was quite too hot; you can't move further at present. Will you not come, do you think, before the summer is over? Mr. C. got you out with very considerable trouble; And he was useful and kind, and seemed so happy to serve you. Didn't stay with you long, but talked very openly to you; Made you almost his confessor, without appearing to know it,-- What about?--and you say you didn't need his confessions. O my dear Miss Roper, I dare not trust what you tell me! Will he come, do you think? I am really so sorry for him. They didn't give him my letter at Milan, I feel pretty certain. You had told him Bellaggio. We didn't go to Bellaggio; So he would miss our track, and perhaps never come to Lugano, Where we were written in full,