The Italian in England by Robert Browning — Read

That second time they hunted me / From hill to plain, from shore to sea, / And Austria, hounding far and wide / Her blood-hounds through the country-side, / Breathed hot and instant on my trace, -- / I made six days a hiding-place / Of that dry green old aqueduct / Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked / The fire-flies from the roof above, / Bright creeping through the moss they love: / -- How long it seems since Charles was lost! / Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed / The country in my very sight; / And when that peril ceased at night, / The sky broke out in red dismay / With signal fires; well, there I lay / Close covered o'er in my recess, / Up to the neck in ferns and cress, / Thinking on Metternich our friend, / And Charles's miserable end, / And much beside, two days; the third, / Hunger o'ercame me when I heard / The peasants from the village go / To work among the maize; you know, / With us in Lombardy, they bring / Provisions packed on mules, a string / With little bells that cheer their task, / And casks, and boughs on every cask / To keep the sun's heat from the wine; / These I let pass in jingling line, / And, close on them, dear noisy crew, / The peasants from the village, too; / For at the very rear would troop / Their wives and sisters in a group / To help, I knew. When these had passed, / I threw my glove to strike the last, / Taking the chance: she did not start, / Much less cry out, but stooped apart, / One instant rapidly glanced round, / And saw me beckon from the ground; / A wild bush grows and hides my crypt; / She picked my glove up while she stripped / A branch off, then rejoined the rest / With that; my glove lay in her breast. / Then I drew breath: they disappeared: / It was for Italy I feared.

An hour, and she returned alone / Exactly where my glove was thrown. / Meanwhile came many thoughts; on me / Rested the hopes of Italy; / I had devised a certain tale / Which, when 't was told her, could not fail / Persuade a peasant of its truth; / I meant to call a freak of youth / This hiding, and give hopes of pay, / And no temptation to betray. / But when I saw that woman's face, / Its calm simplicity of grace, / Our Italy's own attitude / In which she walked thus far, and stood, / Planting each naked foot so firm, / To crush the snake and spare the worm -- / At first sight of her eyes, I said, / "I am that man upon whose head / They fix the price, because I hate / The Austrians over us: the State / Will give you gold -- oh, gold so much! -- / If you betray me to their clutch, / And be your death, for aught I know, / If once they find you saved their foe. / Now, you must bring me food and drink, / And also paper, pen and ink, / And carry safe what I shall write / To Padua, which you'll reach at night / Before the duomo shuts; go in, / And wait till Tenebre begin; / Walk to the third confessional, / Between the pillar and the wall, / And kneeling whisper, _Whence comes peace? _ / Say it a second time, then cease; / And if the voice inside returns, / _From Christ and Freedom; what concerns_ / _The cause of Peace? _ -- for answer, slip / My letter where you placed your lip; / Then come back happy we have done / Our mother service -- I, the son, / As you the daughter of our land!"