Il Mercatore Italiano Della Clamma

For the Century Magazine

"Clam O! Fres' Clam!" How strange it sounds and sweet, The Dago's cry along the New York street! "Dago" we call him, like the thoughtless crowd; And yet this humble man may well be proud To hail from Petrarch's land, Boccaccio's home,-- Firenze, Gubbio, Venezia, Rome,-- From fair Italia, whose enchanted soil Transforms the lowly cotton-seed to olive-oil.

To me his chant, with alien accent sung, Brings back an echo of great Virgil's tongue: It seems to cry against the city's woe, In liquid Latin syllables,--Clamo! As thro' the crowded street his cart he jams And cries aloud, ah, think of more than clams! Receive his secret plaint with pity warm, And grant Italia's plea for Tenement-House Reform!