NOWADAYS, we may journey north, south, east, or west,
Choose our route and conveyance, whiche'er we like best;
Up hill or down dale,
By coach or by rail,
Thro' marsh or thro' fen,
Thro' forest or glen,
Across Hounslow Heath, over Salisbury Plain-
From Old York to New York, and back again—
Without hearing those words at which folks used to shiver—
That terrible summons to "stand and deliver!"
Indeed, let us go where
We will, would we know where
The roads are unsafe-echo's answer is "Nowhere."
One could scarce come in sight of the Apennines, ere a
By no means sweet voice shouted " Faccia a terra !”
Yes, those days are over,
And each wealthy rover
May go where he will after crossing from Dover;
Without apprehension
Except at the Douanes, which I only mention
To show that he may,
He has nought contraband, yet is willing to pay
For the trouble the men have in standing all day,
Looking out for the carriages passing that way,
Find himself soon en route without further delay,
Ay, and hear the pleased officer whisper adagio,
"Bon voyage, Milor," or "Felice viagio !"
Yes, e'en Monselice-near Arquâ, you know—
Where the house and the tomb of Petrarca they show ;
And not far from the spot where, some five years ago,
(More or less) Albert Smith
Sundry rogues, who in ambush with savage intent lay,
And who seldom treated their prisoners gently,
Nor allowed them to publish their stories in Bentley-
Yes, e'en Monselice's a quiet post station,
Fast losing all trace of its bad reputation,
How changed from the time when its rocky cliffs were a
Snug haunt of Antonio, dit Barbenera.
He was a robber, brave and bold,
Fond of silver, but fonder of gold;
Strong and stout-full six feet high,
With bristly hair and a swivel eye,
And a voice like an owl's with a cold in its head,
And a beard as black as his nose was red.
Now, some have beards of a carrotty hue
Like Barbarossa, and some have blue,
(And they are not just the men to marry-
So writes Bayley, and so sings Parry,
Unless mammas wish their daughters undone,)
And some have long beards, like the "Lord of London ;"
And some have brown, and some have grey,
(Which most beards come to at last, by the way)
And some have none at all to show,
But not so the bold Antonia,
For a la jeune France, not wishing to lack beard,
He'd a barba nera, which means a black beard.
Full seventy men he had in his pay,
On condition that they
Should endeavour to lay
Their hands on whatever might fall in their way,
And thus pay themselves without giving him trouble;
Provided that he,
Their share of the booty, should come in for double.
He had a lieutenant, to him quite a jewel,
As ugly as he was, and almost as cruel;
The man of all others to step in his shoes,
Whenever the Fates, in their wisdom, might choose
To snip his life's thread;
Tho', if truth must be said,
He had rather they snipped the lieutenant's instead ;
For tho' life has its sorrows, he thought it too pleasant
To have any wish to resign it—at present.
Between them they ravaged the whole country round,
And the poor peasants found
Tho' they tilled the ground-
Dug, planted, and sowed,
Drained, watered, and mowed,
Yet, as soon as the Autumn
Their fruit and corn brought 'em,
It also brought men with long daggers and knives,
Who all swore like troopers, and threatened their lives,
If they didn't agree without more yea or nay
A tribute to pay,
What they fancied, as welcome as flowers in May.
Now they fancied corn, olives, wine, grapes, beans and peas;
They were partial to butter, and doated on cheese ;
To turnips and carrots they'd no great objection,
For new milk and eggs they expressed much affection;
In short, they liked every thing, oats, straw, and hay too,
Nor turned up their noses at a waxy potato;
But carried all off from the poor folks, and told them
That, what with the peas,
And the milk, and the cheese,
And the wine, and the oil,
And the rest of the spoil,
They (the robbers) could not
Take away such a lot
Of acceptable presents,
Unless they (the peasants)
Would lend them the loan of their waggons to hold them!
As may be surmised,
The police exercised
All their cunning and skill
With a hearty good will,
To get rid of these workers of mischief and ill,
But in vain, for Antonio bothered them still;
Tho' in plotting no Machiavelli could match them,
fly," and they never could match them.
In vain bribes were proffered,
And free pardons offered;
They couldn't find one
Just to blow from a gun,
By way of example-in short, they were done;
Tho', if they had caught them, there would have been slaughtering,
Torturing, hanging, and drawing, and quartering,
Thumbscrewing, racking, and scavenger's daughtering,
Which our good ancestors deemed in their blindness
Were methods more easy to check guilt than kindness ;
Tho' we, their wise "childre,"
And thinking the culprits by madness beguiled are,
We, priding ourselves on our modern humanity,
Sanction all crime on the plea of insanity.
Yet, in spite of his occupation,
And indifferent reputation,
And in spite of the church's ban,
Antonio was a moral man.
Never a day
Had passed away,
In which he neglected three times to pray,
And I don't know how many aves say:
Twenty-four when he first awoke,
Twenty more ere his fast he broke,
Praying to all the saints in turn,
All, whose names he chanced to learn:
San Lorenzo, San Gregorio,
San Francesco, San Onorio,
San Pietro, San Guistino,
San Ambrosio, San Martino,
San Antonio, San Ricardo,
San Hilario, San Bernardo,
San Guiseppe, San Enrico,
Last, not least, San Dominico:
On a weary steed, foot sore and lame,
Towards Monselice a horseman came,
And as a long hill he began to climb,
He looked around him from time to time,
And sprang off the saddle, his horse to lead,
And unsheathed his sword in case of need,
As if he'd a sort of instinctive suspicion,
He stood just then in an awkward position.
He stopped to rest in a shady spot,
For the hill was steep, and the day was hot;
When sudden, ere he could Jack Robinson say,
(Two words, by the way,
In pretto Toscano translate, for all we know,
By Giovanni, or Nanni Robinsonino ;)
A robber rushed out from a thicket hard by,
And quietly bade him "Deliver or die."
"Deliver," quoth he,
"My friend, do you see
Aught green in my eye, that you talk so to me?
Here's my answer, perhaps it may vex you, well let it,
My money's my own, and I wish you may get it;
I'd give you the same, that I would, no sham,
Were you Blackbeard himself."
To their swords they flew,
Thrusting, piercing,
Carte, and tiercing,
Never were men their strokes so fierce in ;
Cutting, slashing,
Maiming, gashing,
Trying to settle each other's hash in
As short, nay, shorter space of time
Than it takes for a trick in a pantomime ;
When, oh! that thrust, and, oh! that groan,
Down fell Antonio dead as a stone,
With a face as white as his beard was black,
And a sword thro' his heart coming out at his back !
The traveller wiped his blade in haste,
For he thought he hadn't much time to waste,
And he mounted his steed with great good-will,
And never looked back till he'd crossed the hill;
The strange sight before him-one glance, and he knew
That it was a body, but whose ? Once more
He scanned the features all stained with gore,
And uncovered the corpse, a short cloak wrapped in,
And cried, "I'm shot if it isn't the captain!"
The earth gave a crack, and the robber came out,
Glad enough to escape from such quarters, no doubt,
And, anxious all future return thither to shun,
Fell to the saint's feet, and besought absolution.
"Thou hast it," said he,
"From sin thou art free,
Because in thy prayers thou didst recollect me ;
And I'm not the saint, as thou soon shalt confess,
To leave a poor fellow alone in a mess ;
Other saints may forget, but my memory's better,
I know to a fraction how far I stand debtor,
And find to thy credit-Aves, five and twenty,
Just thirty-one Credos, and Paters in plenty;
So, friend Barbanera, to make matters straight,
Thou shalt now be let off at a very cheap rate,
For instead of ten years (the time fixed upon for ye all),
One year shall wind up thy woes purgatorial.
Stay, ere thou goest,
"Twere well that thou throwest
The earth back again in its place, for thou knowest
That people will talk, and it's likely some may,
If they find this great hole, shake their wise heads, and say,
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