Here are strange variances of judgment.  But how much more of interest and activity lives in the mind, both of writers and readers, when history is written with such divergent philosophies and comments!  Nobly, in both cases before us, have the writers done their work, and heartily do we render our tribute to them.

DRIFTING.

  My soul to-day
  Is far away,
  Sailing the Vesuvian Bay;
  My winged boat,
  A bird afloat,
  Swims round the purple peaks remote:—­

  Round purple peaks
  It sails, and seeks
  Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,
  Where high rocks throw,
  Through deeps below,
  A duplicated golden glow.

  Far, vague, and dim,
  The mountains swim;
  While on Vesuvius’ misty brim,
  With outstretched hands,
  The gray smoke stands
  O’erlooking the volcanic lands.

  Here Ischia smiles
  O’er liquid miles;
  And yonder, bluest of the isles,
  Calm Capri waits,
  Her sapphire gates
  Beguiling to her bright estates.

  I heed not, if
  My rippling skiff
  Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;—­
  With dreamful eyes
  My spirit lies
  Under the walls of Paradise.

  Under the walls
  Where swells and falls
  The Bay’s deep breast at intervals,
  At peace I lie,
  Blown softly by,
  A cloud upon this liquid sky.

  The day, so mild,
  Is Heaven’s own child,
  With Earth and Ocean reconciled;—­
  The airs I feel
  Around me steal
  Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.

  Over the rail
  My hand I trail
  Within the shadow of the sail,
  A joy intense,
  The cooling sense
  Glides down my drowsy indolence.

  With dreamful eyes
  My spirit lies
  Where Summer sings and never dies,—­
  O’erveiled with vines,
  She glows and shines
  Among her future oil and wines.

  Her children, hid
  The cliffs amid,
  Are gambolling with the gambolling kid;
  Or down the walls,
  With tipsy calls,
  Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls.

  The fisher’s child,
  With tresses wild,
  Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled,
  With glowing lips
  Sings as she skips,
  Or gazes at the far-off ships.

  Yon deep bark goes
  Where Traffic blows,
  From lands of sun to lands of snows;—­
  This happier one,
  Its course is run
  From lands of snow to lands of sun.

  Oh, happy ship,
  To rise and dip,
  With the blue crystal at your lip! 
  Oh, happy crew,
  My heart with you
  Sails, and sails, and sings anew!

  No more, no more
  The worldly shore
  Upbraids me with its loud uproar! 
  With dreamful eyes
  My spirit lies
  Under the walls of Paradise!

ROBA DI ROMA.