Under Fiesole's heights,--thither are we to return?
There is a city that fringes the curve of the inflowing waters,
Under the perilous hill fringes the beautiful bay,--
Parthenope do they call thee?--the Siren, Neapolis, seated
Under Vesevus's hill,--thither are we to proceed?--
Sicily, Greece, will invite, and the Orient;--or are we to turn to
England, which may after all be for its children the best?


I.--MARY TREVELLYN, _at Lucerne_, TO MISS ROPER, _at Florence_.

So you are really free, and living in quiet at Florence;
That is delightful news;--you travelled slowly and safely;
Mr. Claude got you out; took rooms at Florence before you;
Wrote from Milan to say so; had left directly for Milan,
Hoping to find us soon;--_if he could, he would, you are
certain._--
Dear Miss Roper, your letter has made me exceedingly happy.
You are quite sure, you say, he asked you about our intentions;
You had not heard of Lucerne as yet, but told him of Como.--
Well, perhaps he will come;--however, I will not expect it.
Though you say you are sure,--if he can, he will, _you are
certain._
O my dear, many thanks from your ever affectionate Mary.


II.--CLAUDE TO EUSTACE.

Florence.