Chapter IV

I see a city with a concourse vast Of gas-lit streets and buildings, and above, Its dear face buried in its cloudy hands, The Night bends over, weeping. In the street I see the face again I saw to-day.

I see him writing in a narrow room. I read the words: _To-night I end my life. The river says "Embrace, I offer rest." The world and I have grappled in fair fight, And I am beaten. Having found defeat, I long to go down to its lowest depths. I only ask, that those who find these words, Will send them to my people past the sea; To-night I cross a wider: so, adieu._ MICHAEL GIANNI.

This is his true name, And afterward he writes his wife's address. He leaves the paper foldless on a stand, And then goes forth; but not to end his life. He dreams that now his life is but begun. He sees my Grace in all his coming days; He sees the large old farm-house where she dwells, And therein hopes to happily pass the years, Living in peace and plenty till he dies.

Most human calculations end in loss, And every one who has a plan devised, Is like a foolish walker on a rope, First balancing on this side, then on that, Hazarding much to gain a paltry end; And if the rope of calculation breaks, Or if the foot slip, added to mishap Come the world's jeers and gibes; and so 'tis best. Should half men's schemings find success at last, I fear God's plans would have but narrow room.

(Michael Gianni, now I know your name, This premonition gives the hint to me To trip you in your studied subtleties. You will not win my Grace, who loves me still; You will not dare to kiss her hand again.)