POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2317, 7 September 1881, Page 4

POETRY.

NINA LA FIORAJA. A Neapolitan Stoey. You may meet me each day on the “ Ohiaia,” The “ Toledo,” and the “Europe I’m Nina! Nina la Fioraja, And I’m quite as well known as the Pope. Take a flower? “How much?” I don’t ask it, Bat 1 wait, with a smile on my face, And if a coin drop in my basket, I take it; and where’s the disgrace P All Naples knows Nina. I bring them Sweet flow’rs that they cherish and prize; In their laps, on their tables, I fling them, To gladden their noses and eyes. There are eight of us—hungry, forsaken, For God took our mamma away, And father to battle was taken, And died, like a soldier, one day. I’m tho eldest. There’s Peps—he’s lazy— Oaterina, Ginglelmo, and Rose, And Bianca— she’s white as a daisy— And the twins, in their tight swaddlingclothes. When Pepe aint lazy he fishes ; The rest beg—at three they begin ; All Naples bestows its good wishes, And sometimes a coin or two in, Kon’ro English ? I know it, and love you; One like you said he’d make mo his wife; He swore it by Heaven above you. He didn’t. So I took his life! “His name!” He was called William Marneaux, The son of an English milord. “Did he love me?” I thought so; but, ah, no! ’Twas a fair English maid be adored. He was handsome, hod lands, and had treasure; To Naples one winter he came ; He painted, but only for pleasure; Wo paint, sir, for glory and fame. I sat to him; daily he studied; I loved him much more than my life. Southern girls ore quick-hearted, hotblooded He swore that he’d make me his wife. , * # * * * A year passed, as lovely as flowers, I was happy from night-time till morn ; I sang and I danced through the hours Till our little bambino was bora. Then he seemed to grow colder and colder: At Oapri he’d paas many days ; I was sad, but a mother grows bolder Though she still loves the man who betrays. So I asked him, one day on the mountain, When he’d make his child’s mother his wife. He dabbled his hand in the fountain, And said : “He was weary of life ! “ That he loved me, but never could wed me, For his father, the arrogant Earl, If as wife to the altar he led me, Would curse him!” Tho cowardly churl ! I left him. He tried to detain me; I went to our cottage and cried, I prayed unto God to sustain me— And I would that that night I had died. Next morning a friend came and told me That William was going away, But wished once again to behold me, I said “ Yes ” —for what else could I say ? ***** The moon lit up softly and brightly Our barca, ourselves, and the bay, He told me—his voice trembled slightly— He was going to England next day. He was leaving our Naples—the sunny— Some cold Northern maiden to wed, I loved him! He offered me money. But I flung it back at bis head. Then a passionate fury came o’er me, For I saw, as I sat in the boat, The sad life and sorrow before me ; Then I rose, and sprang at his throat. I drew forth my knife and I slew him ; Overboard when his body I’d thrown— He sank, for the knife had gone through him— I rowed back to Naples, alone. ***** When I He on my bed in the night time I think of the light on bis face; I think of our happy and bright time, But I think of my shame and disgrace. They tried me: the kind-hearted jury Said that he’d worked tho ruin of me; That a crime done in passion and fury Was no crime; so they let me go free You may meet me each day on the “ Ohiaia,” The “Toledo,” and at the “Europe :” I’m Nina Nina la Fioraja, And I’m quite as well known as the Pope. Sydney Montagu Samuel,