Dreams long forgotten, little in themselves—

Return to me—whatever may amuse me,
And earth seems in a truce with me, and heaven

Accords with me, all things suspend their strife,
The very cicale laugh 'There goes he, and there!
Feast him, the time is short; he is on his way
For the world's sake: feast him this once, our friend!'
And in return for all this, I can trip
Cheerfully up the scaffold-steps. I go
This evening, mother!

Mother. But mistrust yourself—
Mistrust the judgment you pronounce on him.

Luigi. Oh, there I feel—am sure that I am right!

Mother. Mistrust your judgment, then, of the mere means

Of this wild enterprise: say, you are right,—
How should one in your state e'er bring to pass
What would require a cool head, a cold heart,
And a calm hand? You never will escape.

Luigi. Escape—to even wish that, would spoil all!
The dying is best part of it. Too much

Have I enjoyed these fifteen years of mine,
To leave myself excuse for longer life—
Was not life pressed down, running o'er with joy,
That I might finish with it ere my fellows
Who, sparelier feasted, make a longer stay?
I was put at the board-head, helped to all
At first; I rise up happy and content.
God must be glad one loves His world so much!

I can give news of earth to all the dead
Who ask me:—last year's sunsets, and great stars
That had a right to come first and see ebb
The crimson wave that drifts the sun away—