THE BROWNIES IN ITALY.

Ere long, in boats of queer design,

With curving bows and trimming fine,

The Brownies jumped, to sail around
Through water-streets that there abound.
Beneath the Bridge of Sighs they passed,
And wondering looks upon it cast.

Said one: “They built it to sustain

No doubt a rapid-transit train,

That prisoners might be hurried well
From palace court to prison cell.”
Another said: “’T will not compare
With Brooklyn’s Bridge so high in air,
Which, though perhaps no Bridge of Sighs,
For rushing crowds can take the prize.”
Said one: ‘We ll pause awhile to see

The place where prisoners used to be

 

Confined, perhaps, from boyhood’s prime
Until their heads were bowed with time,
Then after all these years of dread
Were forth to stake or scaffold led.”
They saw the chains by prisoners borne,

 

They saw the paths their feet had worn
In solid stone while pacing round -
Away from every sight and sound.
As stately ships in harbors wide,
Or open sea, ofttimes collide,
With captains in the service gray,
And all the steering gear in play,
It may not seem beyond belief

That Brownies sometimes come to grief.
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