SCENE II.—_The Public Garden.

_Di._ Assuredly, a lively scene! And, ah, how pleasant something green! With circling heavens one perfect rose Each smoother patch of water glows, Hence to where, o’er the full tide’s face, We see the Palace and the Place, And the white dome; beauteous, but hot. Where in the meantime is the spot— My favourite—where by masses blue, And white cloud-folds, I follow true The great Alps, rounding grandly o’er, Huge arc, to the Dalmatian shore?

_Sp._ This rather stupid place, to-day, It’s true, is most extremely gay; And rightly—the Assunzione Was always a _gran’ funzione_.

_Di._ What is this persecuting voice that haunts me? What? whence? of whom? How am I to detect? Myself or not myself? My own bad thoughts, Or some external agency at work, To lead me who knows whither?

_Sp._ Eh? We’re certainly in luck to-day: What crowds of boats before us plying— Gay parties, singing, shouting, crying— Saluting others past them flying! What numbers at the causeway lying! What lots of pretty girls, too, hieing Hither and thither—coming, going, And with what satisfaction showing Their dark exuberance of hair, Black eyes, rich tints, and sundry graces Of classic pure Italian faces!

_Di._ Ah me, me! Clear stars above, thou roseate westward sky, Take up my being into yours; assume My sense to know you only; steep my brain In your essential purity, or, great Alps, That wrapping round your heads in solemn clouds Seem sternly to sweep past our vanities, Lead me with you—take me away, preserve me!

O moon and stars, forgive! and thou, clear heaven, Look pureness back into me. Oh, great God! Why, why, in wisdom and in grace’s name, And in the name of saints and saintly thoughts, Of mothers, and of sisters, and chaste wives, And angel woman-faces we have seen, And angel woman-spirits we have guessed, And innocent sweet children, and pure love, Why did I ever one brief moment’s space But parley with this filthy Belial? ...Was it the fear Of being behind the world, which is the wicked?