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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19315-0.txt b/19315-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..348325c --- /dev/null +++ b/19315-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5035 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Poems of Giacomo Leopardi, by Giacomo Leopardi + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Poems of Giacomo Leopardi + +Author: Giacomo Leopardi + +Translator: Frederick Townsend + +Release Date: September 19, 2006 [EBook #19315] +[Most recently updated: March 17, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Daniel Emerson Griffith and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net and +Richard Tonsing + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF GIACOMO LEOPARDI *** + + + + +THE POEMS OF +GIACOMO LEOPARDI + +TRANSLATED BY +FREDERICK TOWNSEND + + + NEW YORK AND LONDON + G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS + The Knickerbocker Press + 1887 + + + COPYRIGHT BY + R. T. TOWNSEND + 1887 + + + Press of + G. P. Putnam’s Sons + New York + + + TO M. N. M. + SISTER OF THE TRANSLATOR + THESE POEMS + ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED + BY THE EDITOR + + + + +PREFACE. + + +Giacomo Leopardi is a great name in Italy among philosophers and +poets, but is quite unknown in this country, and Mr. Townsend +has the honor of introducing him, in the most captivating +way, to his countrymen. In Germany and France he has excited +attention. Translations have been made of his works; essays have +been written on his ideas. But in England his name is all but +unheard of. Six or seven years ago Mr. Charles Edwards published +a translation of the essays and dialogues, but no version of the +poems has appeared, so far as I know. Leopardi was substantially +a poet,—that is to say, he had imagination, sentiment, passion, +an intense love of beauty, a powerful impulse towards things +ideal. The sad tone of his speculations about the universe and +human destiny gave an impression of mournfulness to his lines, +but this rather deepened the pathos of his work. In the same +breath he sang of love and the grave, and the love was the more +eager for its brevity. He had the poetic temperament—sensitive, +ardent, aspiring. He possessed the poetic aspect—the broad white +brow, the large blue eyes. Some compared him to Byron, but the +resemblance was external merely. In ideas, purpose, feeling, +he was entirely unlike the Englishman; in the energy and fire +of his style only did he somewhat resemble him. Worshippers +have even ventured to class him with Dante, a comparison which +shows, at least, in what estimation the poet could be held at +home, and how largely the patriotic sentiment entered into the +conception of poetical compositions, how necessary it was that +the singer should be a bard. His verses ranged over a large field. +They were philosophic, patriotic, amorous. There are odes, lyrics, +satires, songs; many very beautiful and feeling; all noble and +earnest. His three poems, “All’ Italia,” “Sopra il Monumento +di Dante,” “A Angelo Mai,” gave him a national reputation. They +touch the chords to which he always responded—patriotism, poetry, +learning, a national idealism bearing aloft an enormous weight +of erudition and thought. + +Leopardi was born at Recanati, a small town about fifteen miles +from Ancona, in 1798. He was of noble parentage, though not +rich. His early disposition was joyous, but with the feverish joy +of a highly-strung, nervous organization. He was a great student +from boyhood; and severe application undermined a system that was +never robust, and that soon became hopelessly diseased. Illness, +accompanied with sharp pain, clipped the wings of his ambition, +obliged him to forego preferment, and deepened the hopelessness +that hung over his expectations. His hunger for love could +not be satisfied, for his physical infirmity rendered a union +undesirable, even if possible, while a craving ideality soon +transcended any visible object of affection. He had warm friends +of his own sex, one of whom, Antonio Ranieri, stayed by him +in all vicissitudes, took him to Naples, and closed his eyes, +June 14, 1837. + +To this acute sensibility of frame must be added the torture +of the heart arising from a difference with his father, who, +as a Catholic, was disturbed by the skeptical tendencies of his +son, and the perpetual irritation of a conflict with the large +majority of even philosophical minds. An early death might have +been anticipated. No amount of hopefulness, of zest for life, of +thirst for opportunity, of genius for intellectual productiveness +will counteract such predisposition to decay. The death of +the body, however, has but ensured a speedier immortality of +the soul; for many a thinker has since been busy in gathering +up the fragments of his mind and keeping his memory fresh. His +immense learning has been forgotten. His archæological knowledge, +which fascinated Niebuhr, is of small account to-day. But his +speculative and poetical genius is a permanent illumination. + +Mr. Townsend, the translator, well known in New York, where he +was born, lived ten years in Italy, and seven in Rome. He was a +studious, thoughtful man; quiet, secluded, scholarly; an eminent +student of Italian literature; a real sympathizer with Italian +progress. By the cast of his mind and the course of his inward +experience he was drawn towards Leopardi. His version adheres +as closely to the original as is compatible with elegance and +the preservation of metrical grace. He has not rendered into +English all Leopardi’s poems, but he has presented the best of +them, enough to give an idea of his author’s style of feeling +and expression. What he has done, has been performed faithfully. +It is worth remarking that he was attracted by the intense longing +of the poet for love and appreciation, and by keen sympathy +with his unhappy condition. It is needless to say that he did +not share the pessimism that imparts a melancholy hue to the +philosopher’s own doctrine, and that might have been modified +if not dispelled by a different experience. The translation +was finished at Siena, the summer of the earthquake, and was +the last work Mr. Townsend ever did, the commotion outside not +interrupting him, or causing him to suspend his application. + + O. B. Frothingham. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + Dedication xiii + To Italy 1 + On Dante’s Monument 7 + To Angelo Mai 15 + To His Sister Paolina 23 + To a Victor in the Game of _Pallone_ 27 + The Younger Brutus 30 + To the Spring 35 + Hymn to the Patriarchs 40 + The Last Song of Sappho 45 + First Love 48 + The Lonely Sparrow 53 + The Infinite 56 + The Evening of the Holiday 57 + To The Moon 59 + The Dream 60 + The Lonely Life 64 + Consalvo 68 + To the Beloved 74 + To Count Carlo Pepoli 77 + The Resurrection 84 + To Sylvia 92 + Recollections 95 + Night-Song of a Wandering Shepherd in Asia 102 + Calm after Storm 108 + The Village Saturday-Night 110 + The Ruling Thought 113 + Love and Death 119 + To Himself 124 + Aspasia 125 + On an Old Sepulchral Bas-Relief 130 + On the Portrait of a Beautiful Woman 135 + Palinodia 138 + The Setting of the Moon 149 + The Ginestra 152 + Imitation 165 + Scherzo 166 + Fragments 167 + + + + +Dedication. + +[From the first Florentine Edition of the Poems, in the year 1831.] + + +To my Friends in Tuscany: + +My dear Friends, I dedicate this book to you, in which, as is +oft the case with Poets, I have sought to illustrate my sorrow, +and with which I now—I cannot say it without tears—take leave +of Literature and of my studies. I hoped these dear studies would +have been the consolation of my old age, and thought, after having +lost all the other joys and blessings of childhood and of youth, +I had secured _one_, of which no power, no unhappiness could rob +me. But I was scarcely twenty years old, when that weakness of +nerves and of stomach, which has destroyed my life, and yet gives +me no hope of death, robbed that only blessing of more than half +its value, and, in my twenty-eighth year, has utterly deprived +me of it, and, as I _must_ think, forever. I have not been able +to read these pages, and have been compelled to entrust their +revision to other eyes and other hands. I will utter no more +complaints, my dear friends; the consciousness of the depth of my +affliction admits not of complaints and lamentations. I have lost +all; I am a withered branch, that feels and suffers still. _You_ +only have I won! Your society, which must compensate me for all +my studies, joys, and hopes, would almost outweigh my sorrows, +did not my very sickness prevent me from enjoying it as I could +wish, and did I not know that Fate will soon deprive me of this +benefit, also, and will compel me to spend the remainder of my +days, far from all the delights of civilized life, in a spot, +far better suited to the dead than to the living. Your love, +meanwhile, will ever follow me, and will yet cling to me, perhaps, +when this body, which, indeed, no longer lives, shall be turned +to ashes. Farewell! Your + + Leopardi. + + + + +TO ITALY. (1818.) + + + My country, I the walls, the arches see, + The columns, statues, and the towers + Deserted, of our ancestors; + But, ah, the glory I do not behold, + The laurel and the sword, that graced + Our sires of old. + Now, all unarmed, a naked brow, + A naked breast dost thou display. + Ah, me, how many wounds, what stains of blood! + Oh, what a sight art thou, + Most beautiful of women! I + To heaven cry aloud, and to the world: + “Who hath reduced her to this pass? + Say, say!” And worst of all, alas, + See, both her arms in chains are bound! + With hair dishevelled, and without a veil + She sits, disconsolate, upon the ground, + And hides her face between her knees, + As she bewails her miseries. + Oh, weep, my Italy, for thou hast cause; + Thou, who wast born the nations to subdue, + As victor, and as victim, too! + Oh, if thy eyes two living fountains were, + The volume of their tears could ne’er express + Thy utter helplessness, thy shame; + Thou, who wast once the haughty dame, + And, now, the wretched slave. + Who speaks, or writes of thee, + That must not bitterly exclaim: + “She once was great, but, oh, behold her now”? + Why hast thou fallen thus, oh, why? + Where is the ancient force? + Where are the arms, the valor, constancy? + Who hath deprived thee of thy sword? + What treachery, what skill, what labor vast, + Or what o’erwhelming horde + Whose fierce, invading tide, thou could’st not stem, + Hath robbed thee of thy robe and diadem? + From such a height how couldst thou fall so low? + Will none defend thee? No? + No son of thine? For arms, for arms, I call; + Alone I’ll fight for thee, alone will fall. + And from my blood, a votive offering, + May flames of fire in every bosom spring! + Where are thy sons? The sound of arms I hear, + Of chariots, of voices, and of drums; + From foreign lands it comes, + For which thy children fight. + Oh, hearken, hearken, Italy! I see,— + Or is it but a dream?— + A wavering of horse and foot, + And smoke, and dust, and flashing swords, + That like the lightning gleam. + Art thou not comforted? Dost turn away + Thy eyes, in horror, from the doubtful fray? + Ye gods, ye gods. Oh, can it be? + The youth of Italy + Their hireling swords for other lands have bared! + Oh, wretched he in war who falls, + Not for his native shores, + His loving wife and children dear, + But, fighting for another’s gain, + And by another’s foe is slain! + Nor can he say, as his last breath he draws, + “My mother-land, beloved, ah see, + The life thou gav’st, I render back to thee!” + Oh fortunate and dear and blessed, + The ancient days, when rushed to death the brave, + In crowds, their country’s life to save! + And you, forever glorious, + Thessalian straits, + Where Persia, Fate itself, could not withstand + The fiery zeal of that devoted band! + Do not the trees, the rocks, the waves, + The mountains, to each passer-by, + With low and plaintive voice tell + The wondrous tale of those who fell, + Heroes invincible who gave + Their lives, their Greece to save? + Then cowardly as fierce, + Xerxes across the Hellespont retired, + A laughing-stock to all succeeding time; + And up Anthela’s hill, where, e’en in death + The sacred Band immortal life obtained, + Simonides slow-climbing, thoughtfully, + Looked forth on sea and shore and sky. + And then, his cheeks with tears bedewed, + And heaving breast, and trembling foot, he stood, + His lyre in hand and sang: + “O ye, forever blessed, + Who bared your breasts unto the foeman’s lance, + For love of her, who gave you birth; + By Greece revered, and by the world admired, + What ardent love your youthful minds inspired, + To rush to arms, such perils dire to meet, + A fate so hard, with loving smiles to greet? + Her children, why so joyously, + Ran ye, that stern and rugged pass to guard? + As if unto a dance, + Or to some splendid feast, + Each one appeared to haste, + And not grim death Death to brave; + But Tartarus awaited ye, + And the cold Stygian wave; + Nor were your wives or children at your side, + When, on that rugged shore, + Without a kiss, without a tear, ye died. + But not without a fearful blow + To Persians dealt, and their undying shame. + As at a herd of bulls a lion glares, + Then, plunging in, upon the back + Of this one leaps, and with his claws + A passage all along his chine he tears, + And fiercely drives his teeth into his sides, + Such havoc Grecian wrath and valor made + Amongst the Persian ranks, dismayed. + Behold each prostrate rider and his steed; + Behold the chariots, and the fallen tents, + A tangled mass their flight impede; + And see, among the first to fly, + The tyrant, pale, and in disorder wild! + See, how the Grecian youths, + With blood barbaric dyed, + And dealing death on every side, + By slow degrees by their own wounds subdued, + The one upon the other fall. Farewell, + Ye heroes blessed, whose names shall live, + While tongue can speak, or pen your story tell! + Sooner the stars, torn from their spheres, shall hiss, + Extinguished in the bottom of the sea, + Than the dear memory, and love of you, + Shall suffer loss, or injury. + Your tomb an altar is; the mothers here + Shall come, unto their little ones to show + The lovely traces of your blood. Behold, + Ye blessed, myself upon the ground I throw, + And kiss these stones, these clods + Whose fame, unto the end of time, + Shall sacred be in every clime. + Oh, had I, too, been here with you, + And this dear earth had moistened with my blood! + But since stern Fate would not consent + That I for Greece my dying eyes should close, + In conflict with her foes, + Still may the gracious gods accept + The offering I bring, + And grant to me the precious boon, + Your Hymn of Praise to sing!” + + + + +ON DANTE’S MONUMENT, 1818. + +(THEN UNFINISHED.) + + + Though all the nations now + Peace gathers under her white wings, + The minds of Italy will ne’er be free + From the restraints of their old lethargy, + Till our ill-fated land cling fast + Unto the glorious memories of the Past. + Oh, lay it to thy heart, my Italy, + Fit honor to thy dead to pay; + For, ah, their like walk not thy streets to-day! + Nor is there one whom thou canst reverence! + Turn, turn, my country, and behold + That noble band of heroes old, + And weep, and on thyself thy anger vent, + For without anger, grief is impotent: + Oh, turn, and rouse thyself for shame, + Blush at the thought of sires so great, + Of children so degenerate! + + Alien in mien, in genius, and in speech, + The eager guest from far + Went searching through the Tuscan soil to find + Where he reposed, whose verse sublime + Might fitly rank with Homer’s lofty rhyme; + And oh! to our disgrace he heard + Not only that, e’er since his dying day, + In other soil his bones in exile lay, + But not a stone within thy walls was reared + To him, O Florence, whose renown + Caused thee to be by all the world revered. + Thanks to the brave, the generous band, + Whose timely labor from our land + Will this sad, shameful stain remove! + A noble task is yours, + And every breast with kindred zeal hath fired, + That is by love of Italy inspired. + + May love of Italy inspire you still, + Poor mother, sad and lone, + To whom no pity now + In any breast is shown, + Now, that to golden days the evil days succeed. + May pity still, ye children dear, + Your hearts unite, your labors crown, + And grief and anger at her cruel pain, + As on her cheeks and veil the hot tears rain! + But how can I, in speech or song, + Your praises fitly sing, + To whose mature and careful thought, + The work superb, in your proud task achieved, + Will fame immortal bring? + What notes of cheer can I now send to you, + That may unto your ardent souls appeal, + And add new fervor to your zeal? + + Your lofty theme will inspiration give, + And its sharp thorns within your bosoms lodge. + Who can describe the whirlwind and the storm + Of your deep anger, and your deeper love? + Who can your wonder-stricken looks portray, + The lightning in your eyes that gleams? + What mortal tongue can such celestial themes + In language fit describe? + Away ye souls, profane, away! + What tears will o’er this marble stone be shed! + How can it fall? How fall your fame sublime, + A victim to the envious tooth of Time? + O ye, that can alleviate our woes, + Sole comfort of this wretched land, + Live ever, ye dear Arts divine, + Amid the ruins of our fallen state, + The glories of the past to celebrate! + I, too, who wish to pay + Due honor to our grieving mother, bring + Of song my humble offering, + As here I sit, and listen, where + Your chisel life unto the marble gives. + O thou, illustrious sire of Tuscan song, + If tidings e’er of earthly things, + Of _her_, whom thou hast placed so high, + Could reach your mansions in the sky, + I know, thou for thyself no joy wouldst feel, + For, with thy fame compared, + Renowned in every land, + Our bronze and marble are as wax and sand; + If thee we _have_ forgotten, _can_ forget, + May suffering still follow suffering, + And may thy race to all the world unknown, + In endless sorrows weep and moan. + + Thou for thyself no joy wouldst feel, + But for thy native land, + If the example of their sires + Could in the cold and sluggish sons + Renew once more the ancient fires, + That they might lift their heads in pride again. + Alas, with what protracted sufferings + Thou seest her afflicted, that, e’en then + Did seem to know no end, + When thou anew didst unto Paradise ascend! + Reduced so low, that, as thou seest her now, + She then a happy Queen appeared. + Such misery her heart doth grieve, + As, seeing, thou canst not thy eyes believe. + And oh, the last, most bitter blow of all, + When on the ground, as she in anguish lay, + It seemed, indeed, thy country’s dying day! + + O happy thou, whom Fate did not condemn + To live amid such horrors; who + Italian wives didst not behold + By ruffian troops embraced; + Nor cities plundered, fields laid waste + By hostile spear, and foreign rage; + Nor works divine of genius borne away + In sad captivity, beyond the Alps, + The roads encumbered with the precious prey; + Nor foreign rulers’ insolence and pride; + Nor didst insulting voices hear, + Amidst the sound of chains and whips, + The sacred name of Liberty deride. + Who suffers not? Oh! at these wretches’ hands, + What have we not endured? + From what unholy deed have they refrained? + What temple, altar, have they not profaned? + Why have we fallen on such evil times? + Why didst thou give us birth, or why + No sooner suffer us to die, + O cruel Fate? We, who have seen + Our wretched country so betrayed, + The handmaid, slave of impious strangers made, + And of her ancient virtues all bereft; + Yet could no aid or comfort give. + Or ray of hope, that might relieve + The anguish of her soul. + Alas, my blood has not been shed for thee, + My country dear! Nor have I died + That thou mightst live! + My heart with anger and with pity bleeds. + Ah, bitter thought! Thy children fought and fell; + But not for dying Italy, ah, no, + But in the service of her cruel foe! + + Father, if this enrage thee not, + How changed art thou from what thou wast on earth! + On Russia’s plains, so bleak and desolate, + They died, the sons of Italy; + Ah, well deserving of a better fate! + In cruel war with men, with beasts, + The elements! In heaps they strewed the ground; + Half-clad, emaciated, stained with blood, + A bed of ice for their sick frames they found. + Then, when the parting hour drew near, + In fond remembrance of that mother dear, + They cried: “Oh had we fallen by the foeman’s hand, + And not the victims of the clouds and storms, + And for _thy_ good, our native land! + Now, far from thee, and in the bloom of youth, + Unknown to all, we yield our parting breath, + And die for _her_, who caused our country’s death!” + + The northern desert and the whispering groves, + Sole witnesses of their lament, + As thus they passed away! + And their neglected corpses, as they lay + Upon that horrid sea of snow exposed, + Were by the beasts consumed; + The memories of the brave and good, + And of the coward and the vile, + Unto the same oblivion doomed! + Dear souls, though infinite your wretchedness, + Rest, rest in peace! And yet what peace is yours, + Who can no comfort ever know + While Time endures! + Rest in the depths of your unmeasured woe, + O ye, _her_ children true, + Whose fate alone with hers may vie, + In endless, hopeless misery! + + But she rebukes you not, + Ah, no, but these alone, + Who forced you with her to contend; + And still her bitter tears she blends with yours, + In wretchedness that knows no end. + Oh that some pity in the heart were born, + For her, who hath all other glories won, + Of one, who from this dark, profound abyss, + Her weak and weary feet could guide! + Thou glorious shade, oh! say, + Does no one love thy Italy? + Say, is the flame that kindled thee extinct? + And will that myrtle never bloom again, + That hath so long consoled us in our pain? + Must all our garlands wither in the dust? + And shall we a redeemer never see, + Who may, in part, at least, resemble thee? + + Are we forever lost? + Is there no limit to our shame? + I, while I live, will never cease to cry: + “Degenerate race, think of thy ancestry! + Behold these ruins vast, + These pictures, statues, temples, poems grand! + Think of the glories of thy native land! + If they thy soul cannot inspire or warn, + Why linger here? Arise! Begone! + This holy ground must not be thus defiled, + And must no shelter give + Unto the coward and the slave! + Far better were the silence of the grave!” + + + + +TO ANGELO MAI, + +ON HIS DISCOVERY OF THE LOST BOOKS OF CICERO, +“DE REPUBLICA.” + + + Italian bold, why wilt thou never cease + The fathers from their tombs to summon forth? + Why bring them, with this dead age to converse, + That stifled is by enemies and by sloth? + And why dost thou, voice of our ancestors, + That hast so long been mute, + Resound so loud and frequent in our ears? + Why all these grand discoveries? + As in a flash the fruitful pages come, + What hath this wretched age deserved, + That dusty cloisters have for it reserved + These hidden treasures of the wise and brave? + Illustrious man, with what strange power + Does Fate thy ardent zeal befriend? + Or does Fate vainly with man’s will contend? + + Without the lofty counsel of the gods, + It surely could not be, that now, + When we were never sunk so low, + In desperate oblivion of the Past, + Each moment, comes a cry renewed, + From our great sires, to shake our souls, at last! + Heaven still some pity shows for Italy; + Some god hath still our happiness at heart: + Since this, or else no other, is the hour, + Italian virtue to redeem, + And its old lustre once more to impart, + These pleading voices from the grave we hear; + Forgotten heroes rise from earth again, + To see, my country, if at this late day, + Thou still art pleased the coward’s part to play. + + And do ye cherish still, + Illustrious shades, some hope of us? + Have we not perished utterly? + To you, perhaps, it is allowed, to read + The book of destiny. _I_ am dismayed, + And have no refuge from my grief; + For dark to me the future is, and all + That I discern is such, as makes hope seem + A fable and a dream. To your old homes + A wretched crew succeed; to noble act or word, + They pay no heed; for your eternal fame + They know no envy, feel no blush of shame. + A filthy mob your monuments defile: + To ages yet unborn, + We have become a by-word and a scorn. + + Thou noble spirit, if no others care + For our great Fathers’ fame, oh, care thou still, + Thou, to whom Fate hath so benignant been, + That those old days appear again, + When, roused from dire oblivion’s tomb, + Came forth, with all the treasures of their lore, + Those ancient bards, divine, with whom + Great Nature spake, but still behind her veil, + And with her mysteries graced + The holidays of Athens and of Rome. + O times, now buried in eternal sleep! + Our country’s ruin was not then complete; + We then a life of wretched sloth disdained; + Still from our native soil were borne afar, + Some sparks of genius by the passing air. + + Thy holy ashes still were warm, + Whom hostile fortune ne’er unmanned; + Unto whose anger and whose grief, + Hell was more grateful than thy native land. + Ah, what, but hell, has Italy become? + And thy sweet cords + Still trembled at the touch of thy right hand, + Unhappy bard of love. + Alas, Italian song is still the child + Of sorrow born. + And yet, less hard to bear, + Consuming grief than dull vacuity! + O blessed thou, whose life was one lament! + Disgust and nothingness are still our doom, + And by our cradle sit, and on our tomb. + + But thy life, then, was with the stars and sea, + Liguria’s hardy son, + When thou, beyond the columns and the shores, + Where oft, at set of sun, + The waves are heard to hiss, + As he into their depths has plunged, + Committed to the boundless deep, + Didst find again the sun’s declining ray, + The new-born day didst find, + When it from us had passed away; + Defying Nature’s every obstacle, + A land unknown didst win, the glorious spoils + Of all thy perils, all thy toils. + And yet, when known, the world seems smaller still; + And earth and ocean, and the heavenly sphere + More vast unto the child, than to the sage appear. + + Where now are all the charming dreams + Of the mysterious retreats + Of dwellers unto us unknown, + Or where, by day, the stars to rest have gone, + Or of the couch remote of Eos bright, + Or of the sun’s mysterious sleep at night? + They, in an instant, vanished all; + A little chart portrays this earthly ball. + Lo, all things are alike; discovery + But proves the way for dull vacuity. + Farewell to thee, O Fancy, dear, + If plain, unvarnished truth appear! + Thought more and more is still estranged from thee; + Thy power so mighty once, will soon be gone, + And our poor, wounded hearts be left forlorn. + + But thou for these sweet dreams wast born, + And the _old_ sun upon thee shone, + Delightful singer of the arms, and loves, + That in an age far happier than our own, + Men’s lives with pleasing errors filled. + New hope of Italy! O towers, O caves, + O ladies, cavaliers, + O gardens, palaces! Amenites, + At thought of which, the mind + Is lost in thousand splendid reveries! + Ye lovely fables, and ye thoughts grotesque, + Now banished! And what to us remains? + Now that the bloom from all things is removed? + Alas, the sole, the certain thought, + That all except our wretchedness, is nought. + + Torquato, O Torquato, heaven to us + The rich gift of thy genius gave, to thee + Nought else but misery. + Ill-starred Torquato, whom thy song, + So sweet, could not console, + Nor melt the ice, to which + The genial current of thy soul + Was turned, by private envy, princely hate; + And then, by Love abandoned, life’s last dream! + To thee, nought real seemed but nothingness, + The world a dreary wilderness. + Too late the honors came, so long deferred; + And yet, to die was unto thee a gain. + Who knows the evils of our mortal state, + Demands but death, no garland asks, of Fate. + + Return, return to us, + Rise from thy silent, dreary tomb, + And feast thine eyes on our distress, + O thou, whose life was crowned with wretchedness! + Far worse than what appeared to thee so sad + And infamous, have all our lives become. + Dear friend, who now would pity thee, + When none save for himself hath thought or care? + Who would not thy keen anguish folly call, + When all things great and rare the name of folly bear? + When envy, no, but worse than envy, far, + Indifference pervades our rulers all? + Ah, who would now, when we all think + Of song so little, and so much of gain, + A laurel for thy brow prepare again? + + Ah, since thy day, there has appeared but one, + Who has the fame of Italy redeemed: + Too good for his vile age, he stands alone; + One of the fierce Allobroges, + Whose manly virtue was derived + Direct from heavenly powers, + Not from this dry, unfruitful earth of ours; + Whence he alone, unarmed,— + O matchless courage!—from the stage, + Did war upon the ruthless tyrants wage; + The only war, the only weapon left, + Against the crimes and follies of the age. + First, and alone, he took the field: + None followed him; all else were cowards tame, + Lost to all sense of honor, or of shame. + + Devoured by anger and by grief, + His spotless life he passed, + Till from worse scenes released by death, at last. + O my Victorio, this was not for thee + The fitting age, or land. + Great souls congenial times and climes demand. + In mere repose we live content, + And vulgar mediocrity; + The wise man sinks, the mob ascends, + Till all at last in one dread level ends. + Go on, thou great discoverer! + Revive the dead, since all the living sleep! + Dead tongues of ancient heroes arm anew; + Till this vile age a new life strive to win + By noble deeds, or perish in its sin! + + + + +TO HIS SISTER PAOLINA, + +ON HER APPROACHING MARRIAGE. + + + Since now thou art about to leave + Thy father’s quiet house, + And all the phantoms and illusions dear, + That heaven-born fancies round it weave, + And to this lonely region lend their charm, + Unto the dust and noise of life condemned, + By destiny, soon wilt thou learn to see + Our wretchedness and infamy, + My sister dear, who, in these mournful times, + Alas, wilt more unhappy souls bestow + On our unhappy Italy! + With strong examples strengthen thou their minds; + For cruel fate propitious gales + Hath e’er to virtue’s course denied, + Nor in weak souls can purity reside. + + Thy sons must either poor, or cowards be. + Prefer them poor. It is the custom still. + Desert and fortune never yet were friends; + The strife between them never ends. + Unhappy they, who in these evil days + Are born when all things totter to their fall! + But that we must to heaven leave. + Be this, above all things, thy care, + Thy children still to rear, + As those who court not Fortune’s smiles, + Nor playthings are of idle hope, or fear: + And so the future age will call them blessed; + For, in this slothful and deceitful world, + The living virtue ever we despise, + The dead we load with eulogies. + + Women, to you our country looks, + For the redemption of her fame: + Ah, not unto our injury and shame, + On the soft lustre of your eyes + A power far mightier was conferred + Than that of fire or sword! + The wise and strong, in thought and act, are by + Your judgment led; nay all who live + Beneath the sun, to you still bend the knee. + On you I call, then; answer me! + Have _you_ youth’s holy aspirations quenched? + And are our natures broken, crushed by _you_? + These sluggish minds, these low desires, + These nerveless arms, these feeble knees. + Say, say, are you to blame for these? + + Love is the spur to noble deeds, + To him its worth who knows; + And beauty still to lofty love inspires. + Love never in his spirit glows, + Whose heart exults not in his breast, + When angry winds in fight descend, + And heaven gathers all its clouds, + And mountain crests the lightnings rend. + O wives, O maidens, he + Who shrinks from danger, turns his back upon + His country in her need, and only seeks + His base desires and appetites to feed, + Excites your hatred and your scorn; + If ye for men, and not for milk-sops, feel + The glow of love o’er your soft bosoms steal. + + The mothers of unwarlike sons + O may ye ne’er be called! + Your children still inure + For virtue’s sake all trials to endure; + To scorn the vices of this wretched age; + To cherish loyal thoughts, and high desires; + And learn how much they owe unto their sires. + The sons of Sparta thus became, + Amid the memories of heroes old, + Deserving of the Grecian name; + While the young spouse the trusty sword + Upon the loved one’s side would gird, + And, afterwards, with her black locks, + The bloodless, naked corpse concealed, + When homeward borne upon the faithful shield. + + Virginia, thy soft cheek + In Beauty’s finest mould was framed; + But thy disdain Rome’s haughty lord inflamed. + How lovely wast thou, in thy youth’s sweet prime, + When the rough dagger of thy sire + Thy snowy breast did smite, + And thou, a willing victim, didst descend + Into realms of night! + “May old age wither and consume my frame, + O father,”—thus she said; + “And may they now for me the tomb prepare, + E’er I the impious bed + Of that foul tyrant share: + And if my blood new life and liberty + May give to Rome, by thy hand let me die!” + + Ah, in those better days + When more propitious shone the sun than now, + Thy tomb, dear child, was not left comfortless, + But honored with the tears of all. + Behold, around thy lovely corpse, the sons + Of Romulus with holy wrath inflamed; + Behold the tyrants locks with dust besmeared; + In sluggish breasts once more + The sacred name of Liberty revered; + Behold o’er all the subjugated earth, + The troops of Latium march triumphant forth, + From torrid desert to the gloomy pole. + And thus eternal Rome, + That had so long in sloth oblivious lain, + A daughter’s sacrifice revives again. + + + + +TO A VICTOR IN THE GAME OF PALLONE. + + + The face of glory and her pleasant voice, + O fortunate youth, now recognize, + And how much nobler than effeminate sloth + Are manhood’s tested energies. + Take heed, O generous champion, take heed, + If thou thy name by worthy thought or deed, + From Time’s all-sweeping current couldst redeem; + Take heed, and lift thy heart to high desires! + The amphitheatre’s applause, the public voice, + Now summon thee to deeds illustrious; + Exulting in thy lusty youth. + In thee, to-day, thy country dear + Beholds her heroes old again appear. + + _His_ hand was ne’er with blood barbaric stained, + At Marathon, + Who on the plain of Elis could behold + The naked athletes, and the wrestlers bold, + And feel no glow of emulous zeal within, + The laurel wreath of victory to win. + And he, who in Alphēus stream did wash + The dusty manes and foaming flanks + Of his victorious mares, _he_ best could lead + The Grecian banners and the Grecian swords + Against the flying, panic-stricken ranks + Of Medes, who, dying, Asia’s shore + And great Euphrates will behold no more. + + And will you call that vain, which seeks + The latent sparks of virtue to evolve, + Or animate anew to high resolve, + The drooping fervor of our weary souls? + What but a game have mortal works e’er been, + Since Phoebus first his weary wheels did urge? + And is not truth, no less than falsehood, vain? + And yet, with pleasing phantoms, fleeting shows, + Nature herself to our relief has come; + And custom, aiding nature, still must strive + These strong illusions to revive; + Or else all thirst for noble deeds is gone, + Is lost in sloth, and blind oblivion. + + The time may come, perchance, when midst + The ruins of Italian palaces, + Will herds of cattle graze, + And all the seven hills the plough will feel; + Not many years will have elapsed, perchance, + E’er all the towns of Italy + Will the abode of foxes be, + And dark groves murmur ’mid the lofty walls; + Unless the Fates from our perverted minds + Remove this sad oblivion of the Past; + And heaven by grateful memories appeased, + Relenting, in the hour of our despair, + The abject nations, ripe for slaughter, spare. + + But thou, O worthy youth, wouldst grieve, + Thy wretched country to survive. + Thou once through her mightst have acquired renown, + When on her brow she wore the glittering crown, + Now lost! Our fault, and Fate’s! That time is o’er; + Ah, such a mother who could honor, more? + But for thyself, O lift thy thoughts on high! + What is our life? A thing to be despised: + Least wretched, when with perils so beset, + It must, perforce, its wretched self forget, + Nor heed the flight of slow-paced, worthless hours; + Or, when, to Lethe’s dismal shore impelled, + It hath once more the light of day beheld. + + + + +THE YOUNGER BRUTUS. + + + When in the Thracian dust uprooted lay, + In ruin vast, the strength of Italy, + And Fate had doomed Hesperia’s valleys green, + And Tiber’s shores, + The trampling of barbarian steeds to feel, + And from the leafless groves, + On which the Northern Bear looks down, + Had called the Gothic hordes, + That Rome’s proud walls might fall before their swords; + Exhausted, wet with brothers’ blood, + Alone sat Brutus, in the dismal night; + Resolved on death, the gods implacable + Of heaven and hell he chides, + And smites the listless, drowsy air + With his fierce cries of anger and despair. + + “O foolish virtue, empty mists, + The realms of shadows, are thy schools, + And at thy heels repentance follows fast. + To you, ye marble gods + (If ye in Phlegethon reside, or dwell + Above the clouds), a mockery and scorn + Is the unhappy race, + Of whom you temples ask, + And fraudulent the law that you impose. + Say, then, does earthly piety provoke + The anger of the gods? + O Jove, dost thou protect the impious? + And when the storm-cloud rushes through the air, + And thou thy thunderbolts dost aim, + Against the _just_ dost thou impel the sacred flame? + Unconquered Fate and stern necessity + Oppress the feeble slaves of Death: + Unable to avert their injuries, + The common herd endure them patiently. + But is the ill less hard to bear, + Because it has no remedy? + Does he who knows no hope no sorrow feel? + The hero wages war with thee, + Eternal deadly war, ungracious Fate, + And knows not how to yield; and thy right hand, + Imperious, proudly shaking off, + E’en when it weighs upon him most, + Though conquered, is triumphant still, + When his sharp sword inflicts the fatal blow; + And seeks with haughty smile the shades below. + + “Who storms the gates of Tartarus, + Offends the gods. + Such valor does not suit, forsooth, + Their soft, eternal bosoms; no? + Or are our toils and miseries, + And all the anguish of our hearts, + A pleasant sport, their leisure to beguile? + Yet no such life of crime and wretchedness, + But pure and free as her own woods and fields, + Nature to us prescribed; a queen + And goddess once. Since impious custom, now, + Her happy realm hath scattered to the winds, + And other laws on this poor life imposed, + Will Nature of fool-hardiness accuse + The manly souls, who such a life refuse? + + “Of crime, and their own sufferings ignorant, + Serene old age the beasts conducts + Unto the death they ne’er foresee. + But if, by misery impelled, they sought + To dash their heads against the rugged tree, + Or, plunging headlong from the lofty rock, + Their limbs to scatter to the winds. + No law mysterious, misconception dark, + Would the sad wish refuse to grant. + Of all that breathe the breath of life, + You, only, children of Prometheus, feel + That life a burden hard to bear; + Yet, would you seek the silent shores of death, + If sluggish fate the boon delay, + To you, alone, stern Jove forbids the way. + + “And thou, white moon, art rising from the sea, + That with our blood is stained; + The troubled night dost thou survey, + And field, so fatal unto Italy. + On brothers’ breasts the conqueror treads; + The hills with fear are thrilled; + From her proud heights Rome totters to her fall. + And smilest thou upon the dismal scene? + Lavinia’s children from their birth, + And all their prosperous years, + And well-earned laurels, hast thou seen; + And thou _wilt_ smile, with ray unchanged, + Upon the Alps, when, bowed with grief and shame, + The haughty city, desolate and lone, + Beneath the tread of Gothic hordes shall groan. + + “Behold, amid the naked rocks, + Or on the verdant bough, the beast and bird, + Whose breasts are ne’er by thought or memory stirred, + Of the vast ruin take no heed, + Or of the altered fortunes of the world; + And when the humble herdsman’s cot + Is tinted with the earliest rays of dawn, + The one will wake the valleys with his song, + The other, o’er the cliffs, the frightened throng + Of smaller beasts before him drive. + O foolish race! Most wretched we, of all! + Nor are these blood-stained fields, + These caverns, that our groans have heard, + Regardful of our misery; + Nor shines one star less brightly in the sky. + Not the deaf kings of heaven or hell, + Or the unworthy earth, + Or night, do I in death invoke, + Or thee, last gleam the dying hour that cheers, + The voice of coming ages. I no tomb + Desire, to be with sobs disturbed, or with + The words and gifts of wretched fools adorned. + The times grow worse and worse; + And who, unto a vile posterity, + The honor of great souls would trust, + Or fit atonement for their wrongs? + Then let the birds of prey around me wheel: + And let my wretched corpse + The lightning blast, the wild beast tear; + And let my name and memory melt in air!” + + + + +TO THE SPRING. + +OR OF THE FABLES OF THE ANCIENTS. + + + Now that the sun the faded charms + Of heaven again restores, + And gentle zephyr the sick air revives, + And the dark shadows of the clouds + Are put to flight, + And birds their naked breasts confide + Unto the wind, and the soft light, + With new desire of love, and with new hope, + The conscious beasts, in the deep woods, + Amid the melting frosts, inspires; + May not to you, poor human souls, + Weary, and overborne with grief, + The happy age return, which misery, + And truth’s dark torch, before its time, consumed? + Have not the golden rays + Of Phoebus vanished from your gaze + Forever? Say, O gentle Spring, + Canst thou this icy heart inspire, and melt, + That in the bloom of youth, the frost of age hath felt? + + O holy Nature, art thou still alive? + Alive? And does the unaccustomed ear + Of thy maternal voice the accents hear? + Of white nymphs once, the streams were the abode. + And in the clear founts mirrored were their forms. + Mysterious dances of immortal feet + The mountain tops and lofty forests shook,— + To-day the lonely mansions of the winds;— + And when the shepherd-boy the noontide shade + Would seek, or bring his thirsty lambs + Unto the flowery margin of the stream, + Along the banks the clear song would he hear, + And pipe of rustic Fauns; + Would see the waters move, + And stand amazed, when, hidden from the view, + The quiver-bearing goddess would descend + Into the genial waves, + And from her snow-white arms efface + The dust and blood of the exciting chase. + + The flowers, the herbs _once_ lived, + The groves with life were filled: + Soft airs, and clouds, and every shining light + Were with the human race in sympathy, + When thee, fair star of Venus, o’er + The hills and dales, + The traveller, in the lonely night, + Pursuing with his earnest gaze, + The sweet companion of his path, + The loving friend of mortals deemed: + When he, who, fleeing from the impious strife + Of cities filled with mutiny and shame, + In depths of woods remote, + The rough trees clasping to his breast, + The vital flame seemed in their veins to feel, + The breathing leaves of Daphne, or of Phyllis sad; + And seemed the sisters’ tears to see, still shed + For him who, smitten by the lightning’s blast, + Into the swift Eridanus was cast. + + Nor were ye deaf, ye rigid rocks, + To human sorrow’s plaintive tones, + While in your dark recesses Echo dwelt, + No idle plaything of the winds, + But spirit sad of hapless nymph, + Whom unrequited love, and cruel fate, + Of her soft limbs deprived. She o’er the grots, + The naked rocks, and mansions desolate, + Unto the depths of all-embracing air, + Our sorrows, not to her unknown, + Our broken, loud laments conveyed. + And _thou_, if fame belie thee not, + Didst sound the depths of human woe, + Sweet bird, that comest to the leafy grove, + The new-born Spring to greet, + And when the fields are hushed in sleep, + To chant into the dark and silent air, + The ancient wrongs, and cruel treachery, + That stirred the pity of the gods, to see. + But, no, thy race is not akin to ours; + No sorrow framed thy melodies; + Thy voice of crime unconscious, pleases less, + Along the dusky valley heard. + Ah, since the mansions of Olympus all + Are desolate, and without guide, the bolt, + That, wandering o’er the cloud-capped mountain-tops, + In horror cold dissolves alike + The guilty and the innocent; + Since this, our earthly home, + A stranger to her children has become, + And brings them up, to misery; + Lend thou an ear, dear Nature, to the woes + And wretched fate of mortals, and revive + The ancient spark within my breast; + If thou, indeed, dost live, if aught there is, + In heaven, or on the sun-lit earth, + Or in the bosom of the sea, + That pities? No; but _sees_ our misery. + + + + +HYMN TO THE PATRIARCHS. + +OR OF THE BEGINNINGS OF THE HUMAN RACE. + + + Illustrious fathers of the human race, + Of you, the song of your afflicted sons + Will chant the praise; of you, more dear, by far, + Unto the Great Disposer of the stars, + Who were not born to wretchedness, like ours. + Immedicable woes, a life of tears, + The silent tomb, eternal night, to find + More sweet, by far, than the ethereal light, + These things were not by heaven’s gracious law + Imposed on you. If ancient legends speak + Of sins of yours, that brought calamity + Upon the human race, and fell disease, + Alas, the sins more terrible, by far, + Committed by your children, and their souls + More restless, and with mad ambition fixed, + Against them roused the wrath of angry gods, + The hand of all-sustaining Nature armed, + By them so long neglected and despised. + Then life became a burden and a curse, + And every new-born babe a thing abhorred, + And hell and chaos reigned upon the earth. + + Thou first the day, and thou the shining lights + Of the revolving stars didst see, the fields, + And their new flocks and herds, O leader old + And father of the human family! + The wandering air that o’er the meadows played, + When smote the rocks, and the deserted vales, + The torrent, rustling headlong from the Alps, + With sound, till then, unheard; and o’er the sites + Of future nations, noisy cities, yet unknown + To fame, a peace profound, mysterious reigned; + And o’er the unploughed hills, in silence, rose + The ray of Phoebus, and the golden moon. + O world, how happy in thy loneliness, + Of crimes and of disasters ignorant! + Oh, how much wretchedness Fate had in store + For thy poor race, unhappy father, what + A series vast of terrible events! + Behold, the fields, scarce tilled, with blood are stained, + A brother’s blood, in sudden frenzy shed; + And now, alas, first hears the gentle air + The whirring of the fearful wings of Death. + The trembling fratricide, a fugitive, + The lonely shades avoids; in every blast + That sweeps the groves, a voice of wrath he hears. + _He_ the first city builds, abode and realm + Of wasting cares; repentance desperate, + Heart-sick, and groaning, thus unites and binds + Together blind and sinful souls, and first + A refuge offers unto mutual guilt. + The wicked hand now scorns the crooked plough; + The sweat of honest labor is despised; + Now sloth possession of the threshold takes; + The sluggish frames their native vigor lose; + The minds in hopeless indolence are sunk; + And slavery, the crowning curse of all, + Degrades and crushes poor humanity. + + And thou from heaven’s wrath, and ocean’s waves, + That bellowed round the cloud-capped mountain-tops, + The sinful brood didst save; thou, unto whom, + From the dark air and wave-encumbered hills, + The white dove brought the sign of hope renewed, + And sinking in the west, the shipwrecked sun, + His bright rays darting through the angry clouds, + The dark sky painted with the lovely bow. + The race restored, to earth returned, begins anew + The same career of wickedness and lust, + With their attendant ills. Audacious man + Defies the threats of the avenging sea, + And to new shores and to new stars repeats + The same sad tale of infamy and woe. + + And now of thee I think, the just and brave, + The Father of the faithful, and the sons + Thy honored name that bore. Of thee I speak, + Whom, sitting, thoughtful, in the noontide shade, + Before thy humble cottage, near the banks, + That gave thy flocks both rest and nourishment, + The minds ethereal of celestial guests + With blessings greeted; and of thee, O son + Of wise Rebecca, how at eventide, + In Aran’s valley sweet, and by the well, + Where happy swains in friendly converse met, + Thou didst with Laban’s daughter fall in love; + Love, that to exile long, and suffering, + And to the odious yoke of servitude, + Thy patient soul a willing martyr led. + + Oh, surely once,—for not with idle tales + And shadows, the Aonian song, and voice + Of Fame, the eager list’ners feed,—once was + This wretched earth more friendly to our race, + Was more beloved and dear, and golden flew + The days, that now so laden are with care. + Not that the milk, in waves of purest white, + Gushed from the rocks, and flowed along the vales; + Or that the tigers mingled with the sheep, + To the same fold were led; or shepherd-boys + With playful wolves would frolic at the spring; + But of its own lot ignorant, and all + The sufferings that were in store, devoid + Of care it lived: a soft, illusive veil + Of error hid the stern realities, + The cruel laws of heaven and of fate. + Life glided on, with cheerful hope content; + And tranquil, sought the haven of its rest. + + So lives, in California’s forests vast, + A happy race, whose life-blood is not drained + By pallid care, whose limbs are not by fierce + Disease consumed: the woods their food, their homes + The hollow rock, the streamlet of the vale + Its waters furnishes, and, unforeseen, + Dark death upon them steals. Ah, how unarmed, + Wise Nature’s happy votaries, are ye, + Against our impious audacity! + Our fierce, indomitable love of gain + Your shores, your caves, your quiet woods invades; + Your minds corrupts, your bodies enervates; + And happiness, a naked fugitive, + Before it drives, to earth’s remotest bounds. + + + + +THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO. + + + Thou tranquil night, and thou, O gentle ray + Of the declining moon; and thou, that o’er + The rock appearest, ’mid the silent grove, + The messenger of day; how dear ye were, + And how delightful to these eyes, while yet + Unknown the furies, and grim Fate! But now, + No gentle sight can soothe this wounded soul. + Then, only, can forgotten joy revive, + When through the air, and o’er the trembling fields + The raging south wind whirls its clouds of dust; + And when the car, the pondrous car of Jove, + Omnipotent, high-thundering o’er our heads, + A pathway cleaves athwart the dusky sky. + Then would I love with storm-charged clouds to fly + Along the cliffs, along the valleys deep, + The headlong flight of frightened flocks to watch, + Or hear, upon some swollen river’s shore + The angry billows’ loud, triumphant roar. + + How beautiful thou art, O heaven divine, + And thou, O dewy earth! Alas no part + Of all this beauty infinite, the gods + And cruel fate to wretched Sappho gave! + To thy proud realms, O Nature, I, a poor, + Unwelcome guest, rejected lover, come; + To all thy varied forms of loveliness, + My heart and eyes, a suppliant, lift in vain. + The sun-lit shore hath smiles no more for me, + Nor radiant morning light at heaven’s gate; + The birds no longer greet me with their songs, + Nor whispering trees with gracious messages; + And where, beneath the bending willows’ shade, + The limpid stream its bosom pure displays, + As I, with trembling and uncertain foot, + Oppressed with grief, upon its margin pause, + The dimpled waves recoil, as in disdain, + And urge their flight along the flowery plain. + + What fearful crime, what hideous excess + Have so defiled me, e’en before my birth, + That heaven and fortune frown upon me thus? + Wherein have I offended, as a child, + When we of evil deeds are ignorant, + That thus disfigured, of the bloom of youth + Bereft, my little thread of life has from + The spindle of the unrelenting Fate + Been drawn? Alas, incautious are thy words! + Mysterious counsels all events control, + And all, except our grief, is mystery. + Deserted children, we were born to weep; + But why, is known to those above, alone. + O vain the cares, the hopes of earlier years! + To idle shows Jove gives eternal sway + O’er human hearts. Unless in shining robes arrayed, + All manly deeds in arms, or art, or song, + Appeal in vain unto the vulgar throng. + + I die! This wretched veil to earth I cast, + And for my naked soul a refuge seek + Below, and for the cruel faults atone + Of gods, the blind dispensers of events. + And thou, to whom I have been bound so long, + By hopeless love, and lasting faith, and by + The frenzy vain of unappeased desire, + Live, live, and if thou canst, be happy here! + My cup o’erflows with bitterness, and Jove + Has from his vase no drop of sweetness shed, + For all my childhood’s hopes and dreams have fled. + The happiest day the soonest fades away; + And then succeed disease, old age, the shade + Of icy death. Behold, alas! Of all + My longed-for laurels, my illusions dear, + The end,—the gulf of hell! My spirit proud + Must to the realm of Proserpine descend, + The Stygian shore, the night that knows no end. + + + + +FIRST LOVE. + + + Ah, well can I the day recall, when first + The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said: + If _this_ be love, how hard it is to bear! + + With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground, + I saw but _her_, whose artless innocence, + Triumphant took possession of this heart. + + Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me! + Why should affection so sincere and pure, + Bring with it such desire, such suffering? + + Why not serene, and full, and free from guile + But sorrow-laden, and lamenting sore, + Should joy so great into my heart descend? + + O tell me, tender heart, that sufferest so, + Why with that thought such anguish should be blent, + Compared with which, all other thoughts were naught? + + That thought, that ever present in the day, + That in the night more vivid still appeared, + When all things round in sweet sleep seemed to rest: + + Thou, restless, both with joy and misery + Didst with thy constant throbbings weary so + My breast, as panting in my bed I lay. + + And when worn out with grief and weariness, + In sleep my eyes I closed, ah, no relief + It gave, so broken and so feverish! + + How brightly from the depths of darkness, then, + The lovely image rose, and my closed eyes, + Beneath their lids, their gaze upon it fed! + + O what delicious impulses, diffused, + My weary frame with sweet emotion filled! + What myriad thoughts, unstable and confused, + + Were floating in my mind! As through the leaves + Of some old grove, the west wind, wandering, + A long, mysterious murmur leaves behind. + + And as I, silent, to their influence yield, + What saidst thou, heart, when she departed, who + Had caused thee all thy throbs, and suffering? + + No sooner had I felt within, the heat + Of love’s first flame, than with it flew away + The gentle breeze, that fanned it into life. + + Sleepless I lay, until the dawn of day; + The steeds, that were to leave me desolate, + Their hoofs were beating at my father’s gate. + + And I, in mute suspense, poor timid fool, + With eye that vainly would the darkness pierce, + And eager ear intent, lay, listening, + + That voice to hear, if, for the last time, I + Might catch the accents from those lovely lips; + The voice alone; all else forever lost! + + How many vulgar tones my doubtful ear + Would smite, with deep disgust inspiring me, + With doubt tormented, holding hard my breath! + + And when, at last, that voice into my heart + Descended, passing sweet, and when the sound + Of horses and of wheels had died away; + + In utter desolation, then, my head + I in my pillow buried, closed my eyes, + And pressed my hand against my heart, and sighed. + + Then, listlessly, my trembling knees across + The silent chamber dragging, I exclaimed, + “Nothing on earth can interest me more!” + + The bitter recollection cherishing + Within my breast, to every voice my heart, + To every face, insensible remained. + + Long I remained in hopeless sorrow drowned; + As when the heavens far and wide their showers + Incessant pour upon the fields around. + + Nor had I, Love, thy cruel power known, + A boy of eighteen summers flown, until + That day, when I thy bitter lesson learned; + + When I each pleasure held in scorn, nor cared + The shining stars to see, or meadows green, + Or felt the charm of holy morning light; + + The love of glory, too, no longer found + An echo in my irresponsive breast, + That, once, the love of beauty with it shared. + + My favorite studies I neglected quite; + And those things vain appeared, compared with which, + I used to think all other pleasures vain. + + Ah! how could I have changed so utterly? + How could one passion all the rest destroy? + Indeed, what helpless mortals are we all! + + My heart my only comfort was, and with + That heart, in conference perpetual, + A constant watch upon my grief to keep. + + My eye still sought the ground, or in itself + Absorbed, shrank from encountering the glance + Of lovely or unlovely countenance; + + The stainless image fearing to disturb, + So faithfully reflected in my breast; + As winds disturb the mirror of the lake. + + And that regret, that I could not enjoy + Such happiness, which weighs upon the mind, + And turns to poison pleasure that has passed, + + Did still its thorn within my bosom lodge, + As I the past recalled; but shame, indeed, + Left not its cruel sting within this heart. + + To heaven, to you, ye gentle souls, I swear, + No base desire intruded on my thought; + But with a pure and sacred flame I burned. + + That flame still lives, and that affection pure; + Still in my thought that lovely image breathes, + From which, save heavenly, I no other joy, + + Have ever known; my only comfort, now! + + + + +THE LONELY SPARROW. + + + Thou from the top of yonder antique tower, + O lonely sparrow, wandering, hast gone, + Thy song repeating till the day is done, + And through this valley strays the harmony. + How Spring rejoices in the fields around, + And fills the air with light, + So that the heart is melted at the sight! + Hark to the bleating flocks, the lowing herds! + In sweet content, the other birds + Through the free sky in emulous circles wheel, + In pure enjoyment of their happy time: + Thou, pensive, gazest on the scene apart, + Nor wilt thou join them in the merry round; + Shy playmate, thou for mirth hast little heart; + And with thy plaintive music, dost consume + Both of the year, and of thy life, the bloom. + + Alas, how much my ways + Resemble thine! The laughter and the sport, + That fill with glee our youthful days, + And thee, O love, who art youth’s brother still, + Too oft the bitter sigh of later years, + I care not for; I know not why, + But from them ever distant fly: + Here in my native place, + As if of alien race, + My spring of life I like a hermit pass. + This day, that to the evening now gives way, + Is in our town an ancient holiday. + Hark, through the air, that voice of festal bell, + While rustic guns in frequent thunders sound, + Reverberated from the hills around. + In festal robes arrayed, + The neighboring youth, + Their houses leaving, o’er the roads are spread; + They pleasant looks exchange, and in their hearts + Rejoice. I, lonely, in this distant spot, + Along the country wandering, + Postpone all pleasure and delight + To some more genial time: meanwhile, + As through the sunny air around I gaze, + My brow is smitten by his rays, + As after such a day serene, + Dropping behind yon distant hills, + He vanishes, and seems to say, + That thus all happy youth must pass away. + + Thou, lonely little bird, when thou + Hast reached the evening of the days + Thy stars assign to thee, + Wilt surely not regret thy ways; + For all thy wishes are + Obedient to Nature’s law. But ah! + If I, in spite of all my prayers, + Am doomed the hateful threshold of old age + To cross, when these dull eyes will give + No response to another’s heart, + The world to them a void will be, + Each day become more full of misery, + How then, will this, my wish appear + In those dark hours, that dungeon drear? + My blighted youth, my sore distress, + Alas, will _then_ seem happiness! + + + + +THE INFINITE. + + + This lonely hill to me was ever dear, + This hedge, which shuts from view so large a part + Of the remote horizon. As I sit + And gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceive + The boundless spaces that beyond it range, + The silence supernatural, and rest + Profound; and for a moment I am calm. + And as I listen to the wind, that through + These trees is murmuring, its plaintive voice + I with that infinite compare; + And things eternal I recall, and all + The seasons dead, and this, that round me lives, + And utters its complaint. Thus wandering + My thought in this immensity is drowned; + And sweet to me is shipwreck on this sea. + + + + +THE EVENING OF THE HOLIDAY. + + + The night is mild and clear, and without wind, + And o’er the roofs, and o’er the gardens round + The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals + Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine, + Hushed now is every path, and few and dim + The lamps that glimmer through the balconies. + Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light + And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart + Consumes; and little dost thou know or think, + How deep a wound thou in my heart hast made. + Thou sleepest; I to yonder heaven turn, + That seems to greet me with a loving smile, + And to that Nature old, omnipotent, + That doomed me still to suffer. “I to thee + All hope deny,” she said, “e’en hope; nor may + Those eyes of thine e’er shine, save through their tears.” + + This was a holiday; its pleasures o’er, + Thou seek’st repose; and happy in thy dreams + Recallest those whom thou hast pleased to-day, + And those who have pleased thee: not I, indeed,— + I hoped it not,—unto thy thoughts occur. + Meanwhile, I ask, how much of life remains + To me; and on the earth I cast myself, + And cry, and groan. How wretched are my days, + And still so young! Hark, on the road I hear, + Not far away, the solitary song + Of workman, who returns at this late hour, + In merry mood, unto his humble home; + And in my heart a cruel pang I feel, + At thought, how all things earthly pass away, + And leave no trace behind. This festal day + Hath fled; a working-day now follows it, + And all, alike, are swept away by Time. + Where is the glory of the antique nations now? + Where now the fame of our great ancestors? + The empire vast of Rome, the clash of arms? + Now all is peace and silence, all the world + At rest; their very names are heard no more. + E’en from my earliest years, when we + Expect so eagerly a holiday, + The moment it was past, I sought my couch, + Wakeful and sad; and at the midnight hour, + When I the song heard of some passer-by, + That slowly in the distance died away, + The same deep anguish felt I in my heart. + + + + +TO THE MOON. + + + O lovely moon, how well do I recall + The time,—’tis just a year—when up this hill + I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee: + And thou suspended wast o’er yonder grove, + As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill. + But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared + Thy countenance to me, because my eyes + Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed; + For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome, + And _is_ so still, unchanged, belovèd moon! + And yet this recollection pleases me, + This computation of my sorrow’s age. + How pleasant is it, in the days of youth, + When hope a long career before it hath, + And memories are few, upon the past + To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last! + + + + +THE DREAM. + + + It was the morning; through the shutters closed, + Along the balcony, the earliest rays + Of sunlight my dark room were entering; + When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes + Its softest and most grateful shadows casts, + There stood beside me, looking in my face, + The image dear of her, who taught me first + To love, then left me to lament her loss. + To me she seemed not dead, but sad, with such + A countenance as the unhappy wear. + Her right hand near my head she sighing placed; + “Dost thou still live,” she said to me, “and dost + Thou still remember what we _were_ and are?” + And I replied: “Whence comest thou, and how, + Beloved and beautiful? Oh how, how I + Have grieved, still grieve for thee! Nor did I think + Thou e’er couldst know it more; and oh, that thought + My sorrow rendered more disconsolate! + But art thou now again to leave me? + I fear so. Say, what hath befallen thee? + Art thou the same? What preys upon thee thus?” + “Oblivion weighs upon thy thoughts, and sleep + Envelops them,” she answered; “I am dead, + And many months have passed, since last we met.” + What grief oppressed me, as these words I heard! + And she continued: “In the flower of youth + Cut off, when life is sweetest, and before + The heart that lesson sad and sure hath learnt, + The utter vanity of human hope! + The sick man may e’en covet, as a boon, + That which withdraws him from all suffering; + But to the young, Death comes, disconsolate; + And hard the fate of hope, that in the grave + Is quenched! And yet, how vain that knowledge is, + That Nature from the inexperienced hides! + And a blind sorrow is to be preferred + To wisdom premature!”—“Hush, hush!” I cried, + “Unhappy one, and dear! My heart is crushed + With these thy words! And art thou dead, indeed, + O my beloved? and am I still alive? + And was it, then, in heaven decreed, that this, + Thy tender body the last damps of death + Should feel, and my poor, wretched frame remain + Unharmed? Oh, often, often as I think + That thou no longer livest, and that I + Shall never see thee on the earth again, + Incredible it seems! Alas, alas! + What _is_ this thing, that they call death? Oh, would + That I, this day, the mystery could solve, + And my defenceless head withdraw from Fate’s + Relentless hate! I still am young, and still + Feel all the blight and misery of age, + Which I so dread; and distant far it seems; + But, ah, how little different from age, + The flower of my years!”—“We both were born,” + She said, “to weep; unhappy were our lives, + And heaven took pleasure in our sufferings.” + “Oh if my eyes with tears,” I added, “then, + My face with pallor veiled thou seest, for loss + Of thee, and anguish weighing on my heart; + Tell me, was any spark of pity or of love + For the poor lover kindled in thy heart, + While thou didst live? I, then, between my hope + And my despair, passed weary nights and days; + And now, my mind is with vain doubts oppressed. + Oh if but once compassion smote thee for + My darkened life, conceal it not from me, + I pray thee; let the memory console me, + Since of their future our young days were robbed!” + And she: “Be comforted, unhappy one! + I was not churlish of my pity whilst + I lived, and am not now, myself so wretched! + Oh, do not chide this most unhappy child!” + “By all our sufferings, and by the love + Which preys upon me,” I exclaimed, “and by + Our youth, and by the hope that faded from + Our lives, O let me, dearest, touch thy hand!” + And sweetly, sadly, she extended it. + And while I covered it with kisses, while + With sorrow and with rapture quivering, + I to my panting bosom fondly pressed it, + With fervent passion glowed my face and breast, + My trembling voice refused its utterance, + And all things swam before my sight; when she, + Her eyes fixed tenderly on mine, replied: + “And dost thou, then, forget, dear friend, that I + Am of my beauty utterly deprived? + And vainly thou, unhappy one, dost yield + To passion’s transports. Now, a last farewell! + Our wretched minds, our feeble bodies, too, + Eternally are parted. Thou to me + No longer livest, nevermore shall live. + Fate hath annulled the faith that thou hast sworn.” + Then, in my anguish as I seemed to cry + Aloud, convulsed, my eyes o’erflowing with + The tears of utter, helpless misery, + I started from my sleep. The image still + Was seen, and in the sun’s uncertain light + Above my couch she seemed to linger still. + + + + +THE LONELY LIFE. + + + The morning rain, when, from her coop released, + The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from + The balcony the husbandman looks forth, + And when the rising sun his trembling rays + Darts through the falling drops, against my roof + And windows gently beating, wakens me. + I rise, and grateful, bless the flying clouds, + The cheerful twitter of the early birds, + The smiling fields, and the refreshing air. + For I of you, unhappy city walls, + Enough have seen and known; where hatred still + Companion is to grief; and grieving still + I live, and so shall die, and that, how soon! + But here some pity Nature shows, though small, + Once in this spot to me so courteous! + Thou, too, O Nature, turn’st away thy gaze + From misery; thou, too, thy sympathy + Withholding from the suffering and the sad, + Dost homage pay to royal happiness. + No friend in heaven, on earth, the wretched hath, + No refuge, save his trusty dagger’s edge. + Sometimes I sit in perfect solitude, + Upon a hill, that overlooks a lake, + That is encircled quite with silent trees. + There, when the sun his mid-day course hath reached, + His tranquil face he in a mirror sees: + Nor grass nor leaf is shaken by the wind; + There is no ripple on the wave, no chirp + Of cricket, rustling wing of bird in bush, + Nor hum of butterfly; no motion, voice, + Or far or near, is either seen or heard. + Its shores are locked in quiet most profound; + So that myself, the world I quite forget, + As motionless I sit; my limbs appear + To lie dissolved, of breath and sense deprived; + As if, in immemorial rest, they seemed + Confounded with the silent scene around. + + O love, O love, long since, thou from this breast + Hast flown, that was so warm, so ardent, once. + Misfortune in her cold and cruel grasp + Has held it fast, and it to ice has turned, + E’en in the flower of my youth. The time + I well recall, when thou this heart didst fill; + That sweet, irrevocable time it was, + When this unhappy scene of life unto + The ardent gaze of youth reveals itself, + Expands, and wears the smile of Paradise. + How throbs the heart within the boyish breast, + By virgin hope and fond desire impelled! + The wretched dupe for life’s hard work prepares, + As if it were a dance, or merry game. + But when _I_ first, O love, thy presence felt, + Misfortune had already crushed my life, + And these poor eyes with constant tears were filled. + Yet if, at times, upon the sun-lit slopes, + At silent dawn, or when, in broad noonday, + The roofs and hills and fields are shining bright, + I of some lonely maiden meet the gaze; + Or when, in silence of the summer night, + My wandering steps arresting, I before + The houses of the village pause, to gaze + Upon the lonely scene, and hear the voice, + So clear and cheerful, of the maiden, who, + Her ditty chanting, in her quiet room, + Her daily task protracts into the night, + Ah, then this stony heart will throb once more; + But soon, alas, its lethargy returns, + For all things sweet are strangers to this breast! + + Belovèd moon, beneath whose tranquil rays + The hares dance in the groves, and at the dawn + The huntsman, vexed at heart, beholds the tracks + Confused and intricate, that from their forms + His steps mislead; hail, thou benignant Queen + Of Night! How unpropitious fall thy rays, + Among the cliffs and thickets, or within + Deserted buildings, on the gleaming steel + Of robber pale, who with attentive ear + Unto the distant noise of horses and + Of wheels, is listening, or the tramp of feet + Upon the silent road; then, suddenly, + With sound of arms, and hoarse, harsh voice, and look + Of death, the traveller’s heart doth chill, + Whom he half-dead, and naked, shortly leaves + Among the rocks. How unpropitious, too, + Is thy bright light along the city streets, + Unto the worthless paramour, who picks + His way, close to the walls, in anxious search + Of friendly shade, and halts, and dreads the sight + Of blazing lamps, and open balconies. + To evil spirits unpropitious still, + To _me_ thy face will ever seem benign, + Along these heights, where nought save smiling hills, + And spacious fields, thou offer’st to my view. + And yet it was my wayward custom once, + Though I was innocent, thy gracious ray + To chide, amid the haunts of men, whene’er + It would my face to them betray, and when + It would their faces unto me reveal. + Now will I, grateful, sing its constant praise, + When I behold thee, sailing through the clouds, + Or when, mild sovereign of the realms of air, + Thou lookest down on this, our vale of tears. + Me wilt thou oft behold, mute wanderer + Among the groves, along the verdant banks, + Or seated on the grass, content enough, + If heart and breath are left me, for a sigh! + + + + +CONSALVO. + + + Approaching now the end of his abode + On earth, Consalvo lay; complaining once, + Of his hard fate, but now quite reconciled, + When, in the midst of his fifth lustre, o’er + His head oblivion, so longed-for, hung. + As for some time, so, on his dying day, + He lay, abandoned by his dearest friends: + For in the world, few friends to _him_ will cling, + Who shows that he is weary of the world. + Yet _she_ was at his side, by pity led, + In his lone wretchedness to comfort him, + Who was alone and ever in his thought; + Elvira, for her loveliness renowned; + And knowing well her power; that a look, + A single sweet and gracious word from _her_, + A thousand-fold repeated in the heart, + Devoted, of her hapless lover, still + His consolation and support had been, + Although no word of love had she from him + E’er heard. For ever in his soul the power + Of great desire had been rebuked and crushed + By sovereign fear. So great a child and slave + Had he become, through his excess of love! + But death at last the cruel silence broke; + For being by sure signs convinced, that now + The day of his deliverance had come, + Her white hand taking, as she was about + To leave, and gently pressing it, he said: + “Thou goest; it is time for thee to go; + Farewell, Elvira! I shall never see + Thee more; too well I know it; so, farewell! + I thank thee for thy gentle sympathy, + So far as my poor lips my thanks can speak. + _He_ will reward thee, who alone has power, + If heaven e’er rewards the merciful.” + Pale turned the fair one at these words; a sigh + Her bosom heaved; for e’en a stranger’s heart + A throb responsive feels, when she departs, + And says farewell forever. Fain would she + Have contradicted him, the near approach + Of fate concealing from the dying man. + But he, her thought anticipating, said: + “Ah, much desired, as well thou knowest, death, + Much prayed for, and not dreaded, comes to me; + Nay, joyful seems to me this fatal day, + Save for the thought of losing thee forever; + Alas, forever do I part from thee! + In saying this my heart is rent in twain. + Those eyes I shall no more behold, nor hear + Thy voice. But, O Elvira, say, before + Thou leavest me forever, wilt thou not + One kiss bestow? A single kiss, in all + My life? A favor asked, who can deny + Unto a dying man? Of the sweet gift + I ne’er can boast, so near my end, whose lips + To-day will by a stranger’s hand be closed + Forever.” Saying this, with a deep sigh, + Her hand beloved he with his cold lips pressed. + + The lovely woman stood irresolute, + And thoughtful, for a moment, with her look, + In which a thousand charms were radiant, + Intent on that of the unhappy man, + Where the last tear was glittering. Nor would + Her heart permit her to refuse with scorn + His wish, and by refusal, make more sad + The sad farewell; but she compassion took + Upon his love, which she had known so long; + And that celestial face, that mouth, which he + So long had coveted, which had, for years, + The burden been of all his dreams and sighs, + Close bringing unto his, so sad and wan, + Discolored by his mortal agony, + Kiss after kiss, all goodness, with a look + Of deep compassion, on the trembling lips + Of the enraptured lover she impressed. + + What didst thou then become? How in thy eyes + Appeared life, death, and all thy suffering, + Consalvo, in thy flight now pausing? He + The hand, which still he held, of his beloved + Elvira, placing on his heart, whose last + Pulsations love with death was sharing, said: + “Elvira, my Elvira, am I still + On earth? Those lips, were they thy lips? O, say! + And do I press thy hand? Alas, it seems + A dead man’s vision, or a dream, or thing + Incredible! How much, Elvira, O, + How much I owe to death! Long has my love + Been known to thee, and unto others, for + True love cannot be hidden on the earth. + Too manifest it was to thee, in looks, + In acts, in my unhappy countenance, + But never in my words. For then, and now, + Forever would the passion infinite, + That rules my heart, be silent, had not death + With courage filled it. I shall die content; + Henceforth, with destiny, no more regret + That I e’er saw the light. I have not lived + In vain, now that my lips have been allowed + Thy lips to press. Nay, happy I esteem + My lot. Two precious things the world still gives + To mortals, Love and Death. To one, heaven guides + Me now, in youth; and in the other, I + Am fortunate. Ah, hadst thou once, but once, + Responded to my long-enduring love, + To my changed eyes this earth for evermore + Had been transformed into a Paradise. + E’en to old age, detestable old age, + Could I have been resigned and reconciled. + To bear its heavy load, the memory + Of one transcendent moment had sufficed, + When I was happier than the happiest, + But, ah, such bliss supreme the envious gods + To earthly natures ne’er have given! Love + In such excess ne’er leads to happiness. + And yet, thy love to win, I would have borne + The tortures of the executioner; + Have faced the rack and fagot, dauntlessly; + Would from thy loving arms have rushed into + The fearful flames of hell, with cheerfulness. + + “Elvira, O Elvira, happy he, + Beyond all mortal happiness, on whom + Thou dost the smile of love bestow! And next + Is he, who can lay down his life for thee! + It _is_ permitted, it is not a dream, + As I, alas, have always fancied it, + To man, on earth true happiness to find. + I knew it well, the day I looked on thee. + That look to me, indeed, has fatal been: + And yet, I could not bring myself, midst all + My sufferings, that cruel day to blame. + + “Now live, Elvira, happy, and adorn + The world with thy fair countenance. None e’er + Will love thee as I loved thee. Such a love + Will ne’er be seen on earth. How much, alas, + How long a time by poor Consalvo hast + Thou been with sighs and bitter tears invoked! + How, when I heard thy name, have I turned pale! + How have I trembled, and been sick at heart, + As timidly thy threshold I approached, + At that angelic voice, at sight of that + Fair brow, I, who now tremble not at death! + But breath and life no longer will respond + Unto the voice of love. The time has passed; + Nor can I e’er this happy day recall. + Farewell, Elvira! With its vital spark + Thy image so beloved is from my heart + Forever fading. Oh, farewell! If this, + My love offend thee not, to-morrow eve + One sigh wilt thou bestow upon my bier.” + He ceased; and soon he lost his consciousness: + Ere evening came, his first, his only day + Of happiness had faded from his sight. + + + + +TO THE BELOVED. + + + Beauty beloved, who hast my heart inspired, + Seen from afar, or with thy face concealed, + Save, when in visions of the night revealed, + Or seen in daydreams bright, + When all the fields are filled with light, + And Nature’s smile is sweet, + Say, hast thou blessed + Some golden age of innocence, + And floatest, now, a shadow, o’er the earth? + Or hath Fate’s envious doom + Reserved thee for some happier day to come? + + To see thee e’er alive, + No hope remains to me; + Unless perchance, when from this body free, + My wandering spirit, lone, + O’er some new path, to some new world hath flown. + E’en here, at first, I, at the dawn + Of this, my day, so dreary and forlorn, + Sought thee, to guide me on my weary way: + But none on earth resembles thee. E’en if + One were in looks and acts and words thy peer, + Though like thee, she less lovely would appear. + + Amidst the deepest grief + That fate hath e’er to human lot assigned, + Could one but love thee on this earth, + Alive, and such as my thought painteth thee, + He would be happy in his misery: + And I most clearly see, how, still, + As in my earliest days, + Thy love would make me cling to virtue’s ways. + Unto _my_ grief heaven hath no comfort brought; + And yet with thee, this mortal life would seem + Like that in heaven, of which we fondly dream. + + Along the valleys where is heard + The song of the laborious husbandman, + And where I sit and moan + O’er youth’s illusions gone; + Along the hills, where I recall with tears, + The vanished joys and hopes of earlier years, + At thought of thee, my heart revives again. + O could I still thy image dear retain, + In this dark age, and in this baleful air! + To loss of thee, O let me be resigned, + And in thy image still some comfort find! + + If thou art one of those + Ideas eternal, which the Eternal Mind + Refused in earthly form to clothe, + Nor would subject unto the pain and strife + Of this, our frail and dreary life; + Or if thou hast a mansion fair, + Amid the boundless realms of space, + That lighted is by a more genial sun, + And breathest there a more benignant air; + From here, where brief and wretched are our days, + Receive thy humble lover’s hymn of praise! + + + + +TO COUNT CARLO PEPOLI. + + + This wearisome and this distressing sleep + That we call life, O how dost thou support, + My Pepoli? With what hopes feedest thou + Thy heart? Say in what thoughts, and in what deeds, + Agreeable or sad, dost thou invest + The idleness thy ancestors bequeathed + To thee, a dull and heavy heritage? + All life, indeed, in every walk of life, + Is idleness, if we may give that name + To every work achieved, or effort made, + That has no worthy aim in view, or fails + That aim to reach. And if you idle call + The busy crew, that daily we behold, + From tranquil morn unto the dewy eve, + Behind the plough, or tending plants and flocks, + Because they live simply to keep alive, + And life is worthless for itself alone, + The honest truth you speak. His nights and days + The pilot spends in idleness; the toil + And sweat in workshops are but idleness; + The soldier’s vigils, perils of the field, + The eager merchant’s cares are idle all; + Because true happiness, for which alone + Our mortal nature longs and strives, no man, + Or for himself, or others, e’er acquires + Through toil or sweat, through peril, or through care. + Yet for this fierce desire, which mortals still + From the beginning of the world have felt, + But ever felt in vain, for happiness, + By way of soothing remedy devised, + Nature, in this unhappy life of ours, + Had manifold necessities prepared, + Not without thought or labor satisfied; + So that the days, though ever sad, less dull + Might seem unto the human family; + And this desire, bewildered and confused, + Might have less power to agitate the heart. + So, too, the various families of brutes, + Who have, no less than we, and vainly, too, + Desire for happiness; but they, intent + On that which is essential to their life, + Consume their days more pleasantly, by far, + Nor chide, with us, the dulness of the hours. + But _we_, who unto other hands commit + The furnishing of our immediate wants, + Have a necessity more grave to meet, + For which no other ever can provide, + With ennui laden, and with suffering; + The stern necessity of killing time; + That cruel, obstinate necessity, + From which, nor hoarded gold, nor wealth of flocks, + Nor fertile fields, nor sumptuous palaces, + Nor purple robes, the race of man can save. + And if one, scorning such a barren life, + And hating to behold the light of day, + Turns not a homicidal hand upon + Himself, anticipating sluggish Fate, + For the sharp sting of unappeased desire, + That vainly calls for happiness, he seeks, + In desperate chase, on every side, in vain, + A thousand inefficient remedies, + In lieu of that, which Nature gives to all. + + One to his dress devotes himself, and hair, + His gait and gesture and the learned lore + Of horses, carriages, to crowded halls, + To thronged piazzas, and to gardens gay; + Another gives his nights and days to games, + And feasts, and dances with the reigning belles: + A smile perpetual is on his lips; + But in his breast, alas, stern and severe, + Like adamantine column motionless, + Eternal ennui sits, against whose might + Avail not vigorous youth, nor prattle fond + That falls from rosy lips, nor tender glance + That trembles in two dark and lustrous eyes; + The most bewildering of mortal things, + Most precious gift of heaven unto man. + + Another, as if hoping to escape + Sad destiny, in changing lands and climes + His days consuming, wandering o’er sea + And hills, the whole earth traverses; each spot + That Nature, in her infinite domain, + To restless man hath made accessible, + He visits in his wanderings. Alas, + Black care is seated on the lofty prow; + Beneath each clime, each sky, he asks in vain + For happiness; sadness still lives and reigns. + + Another in the cruel deeds of war + Prefers to pass his hours, and dips his hand, + For his diversion, in his brother’s blood: + Another in his neighbor’s misery + His comfort finds, and artfully contrives + To kill the time, in making others sad. + _This_ man still walks in wisdom’s ways, or art + Pursues; _that_ tramples on the people’s rights, + At home, abroad; the ancient rest disturbs + Of distant shores, on fraudful gain intent, + With cruel war, or sharp diplomacy; + And so his destined part of life consumes. + + Thee a more gentle wish, a care more sweet + Leads and controls, still in the flower of youth, + In the fair April of thy days, to most + A time so pleasant, heaven’s choicest gift; + But heavy, bitter, wearisome to _him_ + Who has no country. Thee the love of song + Impels, and of portraying in thy speech + The beauty, that so seldom in the world + Appears and fades so soon, and _that_, more rare + Which fond imagination, kinder far + Than Nature, or than heaven, so bounteously + For our entranced, deluded souls provides. + Oh, fortunate a thousand-fold is he, + Who loses not his fancy’s freshness as + The years roll by; whom envious Fate permits + To keep eternal sunshine in his heart, + Who, in his ripe and his declining years, + As was his custom in his glorious youth, + In his deep thought enhances Nature’s charms, + Gives life to death, and to the desert, bloom. + May heaven this fortune give to thee; and may + The spark that now so warms thy breast, make thee + In thy old age a votary of song! + _I_ feel no more the sweet illusions of + That happy time; those charming images + Have faded from my eyes, that I so loved, + And which, unto my latest hour, will be + Remembered still, with hopeless sighs and tears. + And when this breast to all things has become + Insensible and cold, nor the sweet smile + And rest profound of lonely sun-lit plains, + Nor cheerful morning song of birds in spring, + Nor moonlight soft, that rests on hills and fields, + Beneath the limpid sky, will move my heart; + When every beauty, both of Nature, and + Of Art, to me will be inanimate + And mute; each tender feeling, lofty thought, + Unknown and strange; my only comfort, then, + Poor beggar, must I find in studies more + Severe; to them, thenceforward, must devote + The wretched remnant of unhappy life: + The bitter truth must I investigate, + The destinies mysterious, alike + Of mortal and immortal things; + For what was suffering humanity, + Bowed down beneath the weight of misery, + Created; to what final goal are Fate + And Nature urging it; to whom can our + Great sorrow any pleasure, profit give; + Beneath what laws and orders, to what end, + The mighty Universe revolves—the theme + Of wise men’s praise, to _me_ a mystery? + + I in these speculations will consume + My idleness; because the truth, when known, + Though sad, has yet its charms. And if, at times, + The truth discussing, my opinions should + Unwelcome be, or not be understood, + I shall not grieve, indeed, because in me + The love of fame will be extinguished quite; + Of fame, that idol frivolous and blind; + More blind by far than Fortune, or than Love. + + + + +THE RESURRECTION. + + + I thought I had forever lost, + Alas, though still so young, + The tender joys and sorrows all, + That unto youth belong; + + The sufferings sweet, the impulses + Our inmost hearts that warm; + Whatever gives this life of ours + Its value and its charm. + + What sore laments, what bitter tears + O’er my sad state I shed, + When first I felt from my cold heart + Its gentle pains had fled! + + Its throbs I felt no more; my love + Within me seemed to die; + Nor from my frozen, senseless breast + Escaped a single sigh! + + I wept o’er my sad, hapless lot; + The life of life seemed lost; + The earth an arid wilderness, + Locked in eternal frost; + + The day how dreary, and the night + How dull, and dark, and lone! + The moon for me no brightness had, + No star in heaven shone. + + And yet the old love was the cause + Of all the tears I shed; + Still in my inmost breast I felt + The heart was not yet dead. + + My weary fancy still would crave + The images it loved, + And its capricious longings still + A source of sorrow proved. + + But e’en that lingering spark of grief + Was soon within me spent, + And I the strength no longer had + To utter a lament. + + And there I lay, stunned, stupefied, + Nor asked for comfort more; + My heart to hopeless, blank despair + Itself had given o’er. + + How changed, alas, was I from him + Who once with passion thrilled, + Whose ardent soul was ever, once, + With sweet illusions filled! + + The swallow to my window, still, + Would come, to greet the dawn; + But his sweet song no echo found + In my poor heart, forlorn. + + Nor pleased me more, in autumn gray, + Upon the hill-side lone, + The cheerful vesper-bell, or light + Of the departing sun. + + In vain the evening star I saw + Above the silent vale, + And vainly warbled in the grove + The plaintive nightingale. + + And you, ye furtive glances, bright, + From gentle eyes that rove, + The sweet, the gracious messages + Of first immortal Love; + + The soft, white hand, that tenderly + My own hand seemed to woo; + All, all your magic spells were vain, + My torpor to subdue. + + Of every pleasure quite bereft, + Sad but of tranquil mien; + A state of perfect littleness, + Yet with a face serene; + + Save for the lingering wish, indeed, + In death to sink to rest, + The force of all desire was spent + In my exhausted breast. + + As some poor, feeble wanderer, + With age and sorrow bent, + The April of my years, alas, + Thus listlessly I spent; + + Thus listlessly, thus wearily, + Didst thou consume, O heart, + Those golden days, ineffable, + So swiftly that depart. + + _Who_, from this heavy, heedless rest + Awakens me again? + What new, what magic power is this, + I feel within me reign? + + Ye motions sweet, ye images, + Ye throbs, illusions blest, + Ah, no,—ye are not then shut out + Forever from this breast? + + The glorious light of golden days + Do ye again unfold? + The old affections that I lost, + Do I once more behold? + + Now, as I gaze upon the sky, + Or on the verdant fields, + Each thing with sorrow me inspires, + And each a pleasure yields. + + The mountain, forest, and the shore + Once more my heart rejoice; + The fountain speaks to me once more, + The sea hath found a voice. + + Who, after all this apathy, + Restores to me my tears? + Each moment, as I look around, + How changed the world appears! + + Hath hope, perchance, O my poor heart, + Beguiled thee of thy pain? + Ah, no, the gracious smile of hope + I ne’er shall see again. + + Nature bestowed these impulses, + And these illusions blest; + Their inborn influence, in me, + By suffering was suppressed; + + But not annulled, not overcome + By cruel blows of Fate; + Nor by the inauspicious frown + Of Truth, importunate! + + I know she has no sympathy + For fond imaginings; + I know that Nature, too, is deaf, + Nor heeds our sufferings; + + That for our _good_ she nothing cares, + Our _being_, only heeds; + And with the sight of our distress + Her wild caprices feeds. + + I know the poor man pleads in vain, + For others’ sympathy; + That scornfully, or heedlessly, + All from his presence flee; + + That both for genius and for worth, + This age has no respect; + That all who cherish lofty aims + Are left to cold neglect. + + And you, ye eyes so tremulous + With lustre all divine, + I know how false your splendors are, + Where no true love doth shine. + + No love mysterious and profound + Illumes you with its glow; + Nor gleams one spark of genial fire + Beneath that breast of snow. + + Nay, it is wont to laugh to scorn + Another’s tender pain; + The fervent flame of heavenly love + To treat with cold disdain. + + Yet I with thankfulness once more + The old illusions greet, + And feel, with shock of pleased surprise, + The heart within me beat. + + To thee alone this force renewed, + This vital power I owe; + From thee alone, my faithful heart, + My only comforts flow. + + I feel it is the destiny + Of every noble mind, + In Fate, in Fortune, Beauty, and the World, + An enemy to find: + + But while thou liv’st, nor yield’st to Fate, + Contending without fear, + I will not tax with cruelty + The power that placed me here. + + + + +TO SYLVIA. + + + O Sylvia, dost thou remember still + That period of thy mortal life, + When beauty so bewildering + Shone in thy laughing, glancing eyes, + As thou, so merry, yet so wise, + Youth’s threshold then wast entering? + + How did the quiet rooms, + And all the paths around, + With thy perpetual song resound, + As thou didst sit, on woman’s work intent, + Abundantly content + With the vague future, floating on thy mind! + Thy custom thus to spend the day + In that sweet time of youth and May! + + How could I, then, at times, + In those fair days of youth, + The only happy days I ever knew, + My hard tasks dropping, or my careless rhymes, + My station take, on father’s balcony, + And listen to thy voice’s melody, + And watch thy hands, as they would deftly fly + O’er thy embroidery! + I gazed upon the heaven serene, + The sun-lit paths, the orchards green, + The distant mountain here, + And there, the far-off sea. + Ah, mortal tongue cannot express + What then I felt of happiness! + + What gentle thoughts, what hopes divine, + What loving hearts, O Sylvia mine! + In what bright colors then portrayed + Were human life and fate! + Oh, when I think of such fond hopes betrayed, + A feeling seizes me + Of bitterness and misery, + And tenfold is my grief renewed! + O Nature, why this treachery? + Why thus, with broken promises, + Thy children’s hearts delude? + + Thou, ere the grass was touched with winter’s frost, + By fell disease attacked and overcome, + O tender plant, didst die! + The flower of thy days thou ne’er didst see; + Nor did thy soft heart move + Now of thy raven locks the tender praise, + Now of thy eyes, so loving and so shy; + Nor with thee, on the holidays, + Did thy companions talk of love. + + So perished, too, erelong, + My own sweet hope; + So too, unto my years + Did Fate their youth deny. + Alas, alas the day, + Lamented hope, companion dear, + How hast thou passed away! + Is _this_ that world? These the delights, + The love, the labors, the events, + Of which we once so fondly spoke? + And must _all_ mortals wear this weary yoke? + Ah, when the truth appeared, + It better seemed to die! + Cold death, the barren tomb, didst thou prefer + To harsh reality. + + + + +RECOLLECTIONS. + + + Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think + I should again be turning, as I used, + To see you over father’s garden shine, + And from the windows talk with you again + Of this old house, where as a child I dwelt, + And where I saw the end of all my joys. + What charming images, what fables, once, + The sight of you created in my thought, + And of the lights that bear you company! + Silent upon the verdant clod I sat, + My evening thus consuming, as I gazed + Upon the heavens, and listened to the chant + Of frogs that in the distant marshes croaked; + While o’er the hedges, ditches, fire-flies roamed, + And the green avenues and cypresses + In yonder grove were murmuring to the wind; + While in the house were heard, at intervals, + The voices of the servants at their work. + What thoughts immense in me the sight inspired + Of that far sea, and of the mountains blue, + That yonder I behold, and which I thought + One day to cross, mysterious worlds and joys + Mysterious in the future fancying! + Of my hard fate unconscious, and how oft + This sorrowful and barren life of mine + I willingly would have for death exchanged! + + Nor did my heart e’er tell me, I should be + Condemned the flower of my youth to spend + In this wild native region, and amongst + A wretched, clownish crew, to whom the names + Of wisdom, learning, are but empty sounds, + Or arguments of laughter and of scorn; + Who hate, avoid me; not from envy, no; + For they do not esteem me better than + Themselves, but fancy that I, in my heart, + That feeling cherish; though I strive, indeed, + No token of such feeling to display. + And here I pass my years, abandoned, lost, + Of love deprived, of life; and rendered fierce, + ’Mid such a crowd of evil-minded ones, + My pity and my courtesy I lose, + And I become a scorner of my race, + By such a herd surrounded; meanwhile, fly + The precious hours of youth, more precious far + Than fame, or laurel, or the light of day, + Or breath of life: thus uselessly, without + One joy, I lose thee, in this rough abode, + Whose only guests are care and suffering, + O thou, the only flower of barren life! + + The wind now from the tower of the town + The deep sound of the bell is bringing. Oh, + What comfort was that sound to me, a child, + When in my dark and silent room I lay, + Besieged by terrors, longing for the dawn! + Whate’er I see or hear, recalls to mind + Some vivid image, recollection sweet; + Sweet in itself, but O how bitter made + By painful sense of present suffering, + By idle longing for the past, though sad, + And by the still recurring thought, “_I was_”! + Yon gallery that looks upon the west; + Those frescoed walls, these painted herds, the sun + Just rising o’er the solitary plain, + My idle hours with thousand pleasures filled, + While busy Fancy, at my side, still spread + Her bright illusions, wheresoe’er I went. + In these old halls, when gleamed the snow without, + And round these ample windows howled the wind, + My sports resounded, and my merry words, + In those bright days, when all the mysteries + And miseries of things an aspect wear, + So full of sweetness; when the ardent youth + Sees in his untried life a world of charms, + And, like an unexperienced lover, dotes + On heavenly beauty, creature of his dreams! + + O hopes, illusions of my early days!— + Of you I still must speak, to you return; + For neither flight of time, nor change of thoughts, + Or feelings, can efface you from my mind. + Full well I know that honor and renown + Are phantoms; pleasures but an idle dream; + That life, a useless misery, has not + One solid fruit to show; and though my days + Are empty, wearisome, my mortal state + Obscure and desolate, I clearly see + That Fortune robs me but of little. Yet, + Alas! as often as I dwell on you, + Ye ancient hopes, and youthful fancy’s dreams, + And then look at the blank reality, + A life of ennui and of wretchedness; + And think, that of so vast a fund of hope, + Death is, to-day, the only relic left, + I feel oppressed at heart, I feel myself + Of every comfort utterly bereft. + And when the death, that I have long invoked, + Shall be at hand, the end be reached of all + My sufferings; when this vale of tears shall be + To me a stranger, and the future fade, + Fade from sight forever; even then, shall I + Recall you; and your images will make + Me sigh; the thought of having lived in vain, + Will then intrude, with bitterness to taint + The sweetness of that day of destiny. + + Nay, in the first tumultuous days of youth, + With all its joys, desires, and sufferings, + I often called on death, and long would sit + By yonder fountain, longing, in its waves + To put an end alike to hope and grief. + And afterwards, by lingering sickness brought + Unto the borders of the grave, I wept + O’er my lost youth, the flower of my days, + So prematurely fading; often, too, + At late hours sitting on my conscious bed, + Composing, by the dim light of the lamp, + I with the silence and the night would moan + O’er my departing soul, and to myself + In languid tones would sing my funeral-song. + + Who can remember you without a sigh, + First entrance into manhood, O ye days + Bewitching, inexpressible, when first + On the enchanted mortal smiles the maid, + And all things round in emulation smile; + And envy holds its peace, not yet awake, + Or else in a benignant mood; and when, + —O marvel rare!—the world a helping hand + To him extends, his faults excuses, greets + His entrance into life, with bows and smiles + Acknowledges his claims to its respect? + O fleeting days! How like the lightning’s flash, + They vanish! And what mortal can escape + Unhappiness, who has already passed + That golden period, his own _good_ time, + That comes, alas, so soon to disappear? + + And thou, Nerina, does not every spot + Thy memory recall? And couldst thou e’er + Be absent from my thought? Where art thou gone, + That here I find the memory alone, + Of thee, my sweet one? Thee thy native place + Beholds no more; that window, whence thou oft + Wouldst talk with me, which sadly now reflects + The light of yonder stars, is desolate. + Where art thou, that I can no longer hear + Thy gentle voice, as in those days of old, + When every faintest accent from thy lips + Was wont to turn me pale? Those days have gone. + They _have been_, my sweet love! And thou with them + Hast passed. To others now it is assigned + To journey to and fro upon the earth, + And others dwell amid these fragrant hills. + How quickly thou hast passed! Thy life was like + A dream. While dancing there, joy on thy brow + Resplendent shone, anticipations bright + Shone in thy eyes, the light of youth, when Fate + Extinguished them, and thou didst prostrate lie. + Nerina, in my heart the old love reigns. + If I at times still go unto some feast, + Or social gathering, unto myself + I say: “Nerina, thou no more to feast + Dost go, nor for the ball thyself adorn.” + If May returns, when lovers offerings + Of flowers and of songs to maidens bring, + I say: “Nerina mine, to thee spring ne’er + Returns, and love no more its tribute brings.” + Each pleasant day, each flowery field that I + Behold, each pleasure that I taste, the thought + Suggest: “Nerina pleasure knows no more, + The face of heaven and earth no more beholds.” + Ah, thou hast passed, for whom I ever sigh! + Hast passed; and still the memory of thee + Remains, and with each thought and fancy blends + Each varying emotion of the heart; + And _will_ remain, so bitter, yet so sweet! + + + + +NIGHT SONG OF A WANDERING SHEPHERD IN ASIA. + + + What doest thou in heaven, O moon? + Say, silent moon, what doest thou? + Thou risest in the evening; thoughtfully + Thou wanderest o’er the plain, + Then sinkest to thy rest again. + And art thou never satisfied + With going o’er and o’er the selfsame ways? + Art never wearied? Dost thou still + Upon these valleys love to gaze? + How much thy life is like + The shepherd’s life, forlorn! + He rises in the early dawn, + He moves his flock along the plain; + The selfsame flocks, and streams, and herbs + He sees again; + Then drops to rest, the day’s work o’er; + And hopes for nothing more. + Tell me, O moon, what signifies his life + To him, thy life to thee? Say, whither tend + My weary, short-lived pilgrimage, + Thy course, that knows no end? + + And old man, gray, infirm, + Half-clad, and barefoot, he, + Beneath his burden bending wearily, + O’er mountain and o’er vale, + Sharp rocks, and briars, and burning sand, + In wind, and storm, alike in sultry heat + And in the winter’s cold, + His constant course doth hold; + On, on, he, panting, goes, + Nor pause, nor rest he knows; + Through rushing torrents, over watery wastes; + He falls, gets up again, + And ever more and more he hastes, + Torn, bleeding, and arrives at last + Where ends the path, + Where all his troubles end; + A vast abyss and horrible, + Where plunging headlong, he forgets them all. + Such scene of suffering, and of strife, + O moon, is this our mortal life. + In travail man is born; + His birth too oft the cause of death, + And with his earliest breath + He pain and torment feels: e’en from the first, + His parents fondly strive + To comfort him in his distress; + And if he lives and grows, + They struggle hard, as best they may, + With pleasant words and deeds to cheer him up, + And seek with kindly care, + To strengthen him his cruel lot to bear. + This is the best that they can do + For the poor child, however fond and true. + But wherefore give him life? + Why bring him up at all, + If _this_ be all? + If life is nought but pain and care, + Why, why should we the burden bear? + O spotless moon, such _is_ + Our mortal life, indeed; + But thou immortal art, + Nor wilt, perhaps, unto my words give heed. + + Yet thou, eternal, lonely wanderer, + Who, thoughtful, lookest on this earthly scene, + Must surely understand + What all our sighs and sufferings mean; + What means this death, + This color from our cheeks that fades, + This passing from the earth, and losing sight + Of every dear, familiar scene. + Well must thou comprehend + The reason of these things; must see + The good the morning and the evening bring: + Thou knowest, thou, what love it is + That brings sweet smiles unto the face of spring; + The meaning of the Summer’s glow, + And of the Winter’s frost and snow, + And of the silent, endless flight of Time. + A thousand things to thee their secrets yield, + That from the simple shepherd are concealed. + Oft as I gaze at thee, + In silence resting o’er the desert plain, + Which in the distance borders on the sky, + Or following me, as I, by slow degrees, + My flocks before me drive; + And when I gaze upon the stars at night, + In thought I ask myself, + “Why all these torches bright? + What mean these depths of air, + This vast, this silent sky, + This nightly solitude? And what am I?” + Thus to myself I talk; and of this grand, + Magnificent expanse, + And its untold inhabitants, + And all this mighty motion, and this stir + Of things above, and things below, + No rest that ever know, + But as they still revolve, must still return + Unto the place from which they came,— + Of this, alas, I find nor end nor aim! + But thou, immortal, surely knowest all. + _This_ I well know, and feel; + From these eternal rounds, + And from my being frail, + Others, perchance, may pleasure, profit gain; + To _me_ life is but pain. + + My flock, now resting there, how happy thou, + That knowest not, I think, thy misery! + O how I envy thee! + Not only that from suffering + Thou seemingly art free; + That every trouble, every loss, + Each sudden fear, thou canst so soon forget; + But more because thou sufferest + No weariness of mind. + When in the shade, upon the grass reclined, + Thou seemest happy and content, + And great part of the year by thee + In sweet release from care is spent. + But when _I_ sit upon the grass + And in the friendly shade, upon my mind + A weight I feel, a sense of weariness, + That, as I sit, doth still increase + And rob me of all rest and peace. + And yet I wish for nought, + And have, till now, no reason to complain. + What joy, how much I cannot say; + But thou _some_ pleasure dost obtain. + My joys are few enough; + But not for that do I lament. + Ah, couldst thou speak, I would inquire: + Tell me, dear flock, the reason why + Each weary breast can rest at ease, + While all things round him seem to please; + And yet, if _I_ lie down to rest, + I am by anxious thoughts oppressed? + + Perhaps, if I had wings + Above the clouds to fly, + And could the stars all number, one by one, + Or like the lightning leap from rock to rock, + I might be happier, my dear flock, + I might be happier, gentle moon! + Perhaps my thought still wanders from the truth, + When I at others’ fortunes look: + Perhaps in every state beneath the sun, + Or high, or low, in cradle or in stall, + The day of birth is fatal to us all. + + + + +CALM AFTER STORM. + + + The storm hath passed; + I hear the birds rejoice; the hen, + Returned into the road again, + Her cheerful notes repeats. The sky serene + Is, in the west, upon the mountain seen: + The country smiles; bright runs the silver stream. + Each heart is cheered; on every side revive + The sounds, the labors of the busy hive. + The workman gazes at the watery sky, + As standing at the door he sings, + His work in hand; the little wife goes forth, + And in her pail the gathered rain-drops brings; + The vendor of his wares, from lane to lane, + Begins his daily cry again. + The sun returns, and with his smile illumes + The villas on the neighboring hills; + Through open terraces and balconies, + The genial light pervades the cheerful rooms; + And, on the highway, from afar are heard + The tinkling of the bells, the creaking wheels + Of waggoner, his journey who resumes. + + Cheered is each heart. + Whene’er, as now, doth life appear + A thing so pleasant and so dear? + When, with such love, + Does man unto his books or work return? + Or on himself new tasks impose? + When is he less regardful of his woes? + O pleasure, born of pain! + O idle joy, and vain, + Fruit of the fear just passed, which shook + The wretch who life abhorred, yet dreaded death! + With which each neighbor held his breath, + Silent, and cold, and wan, + Affrighted sore to see + The lightnings, clouds, and winds arrayed, + To do us injury! + + O Nature courteous! + These are thy boons to us, + These the delights to mortals given! + Escape from pain, best gift of heaven! + Thou scatterest sorrows with a bounteous hand; + Grief springs spontaneous; + If, by some monstrous growth, miraculous, + Pleasure at times is born of pain, + It is a precious gain! + O human race, unto the gods so dear! + Too happy, in a respite brief + From any grief! + Then only blessed, + When Death releases thee unto thy rest! + + + + +THE VILLAGE SATURDAY NIGHT. + + + The damsel from the field returns, + The sun is sinking in the west; + Her bundle on her head she sets, + And in her hand she bears + A bunch of roses and of violets. + To-morrow is a holiday, + And she, as usual, must them wear + Upon her bodice, in her hair. + The old crone sits among her mates, + Upon the stairs, and spins; + And, looking at the fading light, + Of good old-fashioned times she prates, + When she, too, dressed for holidays, + And with light heart, and limb as light, + Would dance at night + With the companions of her merry days. + The twilight shades around us close, + The sky to deepest blue is turned; + From hills and roofs the shadows fall, + And the new moon her face of silver shows. + And now the cheerful bell + Proclaims the coming festival. + By its familiar voice + How every heart is cheered! + The children all in troops, + Around the little square + Go, leaping here and there, + And make a joyful sound. + Meanwhile the ploughman, whistling, returns + Unto his humble nest, + And thinks with pleasure of his day of rest. + + Then, when all other lights are out, + And all is silent round, + The hammer’s stroke we hear, + We hear the saw of carpenter, + Who with closed doors his vigil keeps, + Toils o’er his lamp and strives so hard, + His work to finish ere the dawn appear. + + The dearest day of all the week + Is this, of hope and joy so full; + To-morrow, sad and dull, + The hours will bring, for each must in his thought + His customary task-work seek. + + Thou little, sportive boy, + This blooming age of thine + Is like to-day, so full of joy; + And is the day, indeed, + That must the sabbath of thy life precede. + + Enjoy, it, then, my darling child, + Nor speed the flying hours! + I say to thee no more: + Alas, in this sad world of ours, + How far exceeds the holiday, + The day that goes before! + + + + +THE RULING THOUGHT. + + + Most sweet, most powerful, + Controller of my inmost soul; + The terrible, yet precious gift + Of heaven, companion kind + Of all my days of misery, + O thought, that ever dost recur to me; + + Of thy mysterious power + Who speaketh not? Who hath not felt + Its subtle influence? + Yet, when one is by feeling deep impelled + Its secret joys and sorrows to unfold, + The theme seems ever new however old. + + How isolated is my mind, + Since thou in it hast come to dwell! + As by some magic spell, + My other thoughts have all, + Like lightning, disappeared; + And thou, alone, like some huge tower, + In a deserted plain, + Gigantic, solitary, dost remain. + + How worthless quite, + Save but for thee, have in my sight + All earthly things, and life itself become! + How wearisome its days; + And all its works, and all its plays, + A vain pursuit of pleasures vain, + Compared with the felicity, + The heavenly joy, that springs from thee! + + As from the naked rocks + Of the rough Apennine, + The weary pilgrim turns his longing eyes + To the bright plain that in the distance lies; + So from the rough and barren intercourse + Of worldly men, to thee I gladly turn, + As to a Paradise, my weary mind, + And sweet refreshment for my senses find. + + It seems to me incredible, that I + This dreary world, this wretched life, + So full of folly and of strife, + Without thy aid, could have so long endured; + Nor can I well conceive, + How one’s desires _could_ cling + To other joys than those which thou dost bring. + + Never, since first I knew + By hard experience what life is, + Could fear of death my soul subdue. + To-day, a jest to me appears, + That which the silly world, + Praising at times, yet ever hates and fears, + The last extremity! + If danger comes, I, with undaunted mien, + Its threats encounter with a smile serene. + + I always hated coward souls, + And meanness held in scorn. + _Now_, each unworthy act + At once through all my senses thrills; + Each instance vile of human worthlessness, + My soul with holy anger fills. + This arrogant, this foolish age, + Which feeds itself on empty hopes, + Absorbed in trifles, virtue’s enemy, + Which idly clamors for utility, + And has not sense enough to see + How _useless_ all life thenceforth must become, + I feel _beneath_ me, and its judgments laugh + To scorn. The motley crew, + The foes of every lofty thought, + Who laugh at _thee_, I trample under foot. + + To that, which thee inspires, + What passion yieldeth not? + What other, save this one, + Controls our hearts’ desires? + Ambition, avarice, disdain, and hate, + The love of power, love of fame, + What are they but an empty name, + Compared with it? And this, + The source, the spring of all, + That sovereign reigns within the breast, + Eternal laws have on our hearts impressed. + + Life hath no value, meaning hath, + Save but for thee, our only hope and stay; + The sole excuse for Fate, + That cruelly hath placed us here, + To undergo such useless misery; + For thee alone, the wise man, not the fool, + To life still fondly clings, + Nor calls on death to end his sufferings. + + Thy joys to gather, thou sweet thought, + Long years of sorrow I endure, + And bear of weary life the strain; + But not in vain! + And I would still return, + In spite of all my sad experience, + Towards such a goal, my course to recommence; + For through the sands, and through the viper-brood + Of this, our mortal wilderness, + My steps I ne’er so wearily have dragged + To thee, that all the danger and distress + Were not repaid by such pure happiness. + + O what a world, what new immensity, + What paradise is that, + To which, so oft, by thy stupendous charm + Impelled, I seem to soar! Where I + Beneath a brighter light am wandering, + And my poor earthly state, + And all life’s bitter truths forget! + Such are, I ween, the dreams + Of the Immortals. Ah, what _but_ a dream, + Art thou, sweet thought, + The truth, that thus embellished? + A dream, an error manifest! + But of a nature, still divine, + An error brave and strong, + That will with truth the fight prolong, + And oft for truth doth compensate; + Nor leave us e’er, till summoned hence by Fate. + And surely thou, my thought, + Thou sole sustainer of my days, + The cause beloved of sorrows infinite, + In Death alone wilt be extinguished quite; + For by sure signs within my soul I feel + Thy sovereign sway, perpetual. + All other fancies sweet + The aspect of the truth + Hath weakened ever. But whene’er I turn + To gaze again on her, of whom with thee + To speak, is all I live for, ah, + That great delight increases still, + That frenzy fine, the breath of life, to me! + + Angelic beauty! Every lovely face, + On which I gaze, + A phantom seems to me, + That vainly strives to copy thee, + Of all the graces that our souls inthral, + Sole fount, divine original! + + Since first I thee beheld, + Of what most anxious care of mine, + Hast thou not been the end and aim? + What day has ever passed, what hour, + When I thought not of thee? What dream of mine + Has not been haunted by thy face divine? + Angelic countenance, that we + In dreams, alas, alone may see, + What else on earth, what in the universe, + Do I e’er ask, or hope for, more, + Than those dear eyes forever to behold? + Than thy sweet thought still in my heart to hold? + + + + +LOVE AND DEATH. + + + Children of Fate, in the same breath + Created were they, Love and Death. + Such fair creations ne’er were seen, + Or here below, or in the heaven serene. + The first, the source of happiness, + The fount whence flows the greatest bliss + That in the sea of being e’er is found; + The last each sorrow gently lulls, + Each harsh decree of Fate annuls. + Fair child with beauty crowned, + Sweet to behold, not such + As cowards paint her in their fright, + She in young Love’s companionship + Doth often take delight, + As they o’er mortal paths together fly, + Chief comforters of every loyal heart. + Nor ever is the heart more wise + Than when Love smites it, nor defies + More scornfully life’s misery, + And for no other lord + Will it all dangers face so readily. + When thou thy aid dost lend, + O Love, is courage born, or it revives; + And wise in deeds the race of man becomes, + And not, as it is prone, + In fruitless thought alone. + + And when first in our being’s depth + This passion deep is born, + Though happy, we are still forlorn; + A languor strange doth o’er us steal; + A strange desire of death we feel. + I know not why, but such we ever prove + The first effect of true and potent love. + It may be, that this wilderness + Then first appals our sight; + And earth henceforth to us a dreary waste + Appears, without that new, supreme delight, + That in our thought is fondly traced; + And yet our hearts, foreboding, feel the storm + Within, that it may cause, the misery. + We long for rest, we long to flee, + Hoping some friendly haven may be found + Of refuge from the fierce desire, + That raging, roaring, darkens all around. + + And when this formidable power + Hath his whole soul possessed, + And raging care will give his heart no rest, + How many times implored + With most intense desire, + Art thou, O Death, by the poor wretch, forlorn! + How oft at eve, how oft at dawn, + His weary frame upon the couch he throws, + Too happy, if he never rose, + In hopeless conflict with his pain, + Nor e’er beheld the bitter light again! + And oft, at sound of funeral bell, + And solemn chant, that guides + Departed souls unto eternal rest, + With sighs most ardent from his inmost breast, + How hath he envied him, + Who with the dead has gone to dwell! + The very humblest of his kind, + The simple, rustic hind, who knows + No charm that knowledge gives; + The lowliest country lass that lives, + Who, at the very thought of death, + Doth feel her hair in horror rise, + Will calmly face its agonies, + Upon the terrors of the tomb will gaze + With fixed, undaunted look, + Will o’er the steel and poison brood, + In meditative mood, + And in her narrow mind, + The kindly charm of dying comprehend: + So much the discipline of Love + Hath unto Death all hearts inclined! + Full often when this inward woe + Such pass has reached as mortal strength + No longer can endure, + The feeble body yields at length, + To its fierce blows, and timely, then, + Benignant Death her friendly power doth show: + Or else Love drives her hapless victims so, + Alike the simple clown, + And tender country lass, + That on themselves their desperate hands they lay, + And so are borne unto the shades below. + The world but laughs at their distress, + Whom heaven with peace and length of days doth bless. + To fervid, happy, restless souls + May fate the one or other still concede, + Sweet sovereigns, friendly to our race, + Whose power, throughout the universe, + Such miracles hath wrought, + As naught resembles, nor can aught, + Save that of Fate itself, exceed. + And thou, whom from my earliest years, + Still honored I invoke, + O lovely Death! the only friend + Of sufferers in this vale of tears, + If I have ever sought + Thy princely state to vindicate + From the affronts of the ungrateful crowd, + Do not delay, incline thy ear + Unto thy weary suppliant here! + These sad eyes close forever to the light, + And let me rest in peace serene, + O thou, of all the ages Queen! + Me surely wilt thou find, whate’er the hour, + When thou thy wings unfoldest to my prayer, + With front erect, the cruel power + Defying still, of Fate; + Nor will I praise, in fulsome mood, + The scourging hand, that with my blood, + The blood of innocence, is stained. + Nor bless it, as the human race + Is wont, through custom old and base: + Each empty hope, with which the world + Itself and children would beguile, + I’ll cast aside, each comfort false and vile; + In thee alone my hope I’ll place, + Thou welcome minister of grace! + In that sole thought supremely blest, + That day, when my unconscious head + May on thy virgin bosom rest. + + + + +TO HIMSELF. + + + Nor wilt thou rest forever, weary heart. + The last illusion is destroyed, + That I eternal thought. Destroyed! + I feel all hope and all desire depart, + For life and its deceitful joys. + Forever rest! Enough! Thy throbbings cease! + Naught can requite thy miseries; + Nor is earth worthy of thy sighs. + Life is a bitter, weary load, + The world a slough. And now, repose! + Despair no more, but find in Death + The only boon Fate on our race bestows! + Still, Nature, art thou doomed to fall, + The victim scorned of that blind, brutal power + That rules and ruins all. + + + + +ASPASIA. + + + At times thy image to my mind returns, + Aspasia. In the crowded streets it gleams + Upon me, for an instant, as I pass, + In other faces; or in lonely fields, + At noon-tide bright, beneath the silent stars, + With sudden and with startling vividness, + As if awakened by sweet harmony, + The splendid vision rises in my soul. + How worshipped once, ye gods, what a delight + To me, what torture, too! Nor do I e’er + The odor of the flowery fields inhale, + Or perfume of the gardens of the town, + That I recall thee not, as on that day, + When in thy sumptuous rooms, so redolent + Of all the fragrant flowers of the spring, + Arrayed in robe of violet hue, thy form + Angelic I beheld, as it reclined + On dainty cushions languidly, and by + An atmosphere voluptuous surrounded; + When thou, a skilful Syren, didst imprint + Upon thy children’s round and rosy lips + Resounding, fervent kisses, stretching forth + Thy neck of snow, and with thy lovely hand, + The little, unsuspecting innocents + Didst to thy hidden, tempting bosom press. + The earth, the heavens transfigured seemed to me, + A ray divine to penetrate my soul. + Then in my side, not unprotected quite, + Deep driven by thy hand, the shaft I bore, + Lamenting sore; and not to be removed, + Till twice the sun his annual round had made. + + A ray divine, O lady! to my thought + Thy beauty seemed. A like effect is oft + By beauty caused, and harmony, that seem + The mystery of Elysium to reveal. + The stricken mortal fondly worships, then, + His own ideal, creature of his mind, + Which of his heaven the greater part contains. + Alike in looks, in manners, and in speech, + The real and ideal seem to him, + In his confused and passion-guided soul. + But not the woman, but the dream it is, + That in his fond caresses, he adores. + At last his error finding, and the sad exchange, + He is enraged, and most unjustly, oft, + The woman chides. For rarely does the mind + Of woman to that high ideal rise; + And that which her own beauty oft inspires + In generous lovers, she imagines not, + Nor could she comprehend. Those narrow brows, + Cannot such great conceptions hold. The man, + Deceived, builds false hopes on those lustrous eyes, + And feelings deep, ineffable, nay, more + Than manly, vainly seeks in her, who is + By nature so inferior to man. + For as her limbs more soft and slender are, + So is her mind less capable and strong. + + Nor hast thou ever known, Aspasia, + Or couldst thou comprehend the thoughts that once + Thou didst inspire in me. Thou knowest not + What boundless love, what sufferings intense, + What ravings wild, what savage impulses, + Thou didst arouse in me; nor will the time + E’er come when thou could’st understand them. So, + Musicians, too, are often ignorant + Of the effects they with the hand and voice + Produce on him that listens. Dead is _that_ + Aspasia, that I so loved, aye, dead + Forever, who was once sole object of + My life; save as a phantom, ever dear, + That comes from time to time, and disappears. + Thou livest still, not only beautiful, + But in thy beauty still surpassing all; + But oh, the flame thou didst enkindle once, + Long since has been extinguished; _thee_, indeed, + I never loved, but that Divinity, + Once living, buried now within my heart. + Her, long time, I adored; and was so pleased + With her celestial beauty, that, although + I from the first thy nature knew full well, + And all thy artful and coquettish ways, + Yet _her_ fair eyes beholding still in _thine_, + I followed thee, delighted, while she lived; + Deceived? Ah, no! But by the pleasure led, + Of that sweet likeness, that allured me so, + A long and heavy servitude to bear. + + Now boast; thou can’st! Say, that to thee alone + Of all thy sex, my haughty head I bowed, + To thee alone, of my unconquered heart + An offering made. Say, that thou wast the first— + And surely wast the last—that in my eye + A suppliant look beheld, and me before + Thee stand, timid and trembling (how I blush, + In saying it, with anger and with shame), + Of my own self deprived, thy every wish, + Thy every word submissively observing, + At every proud caprice becoming pale, + At every sign of favor brightening, + And changing color at each look of thine. + The charm is over, and, with it, the yoke + Lies broken, scattered on the ground; and I + Rejoice. ’Tis true my days are laden with + Ennui; yet after such long servitude, + And such infatuation, I am glad + My judgment, freedom to resume. For though + A life bereft of love’s illusions sweet, + Is like a starless night, in winter’s midst, + Yet some revenge, some comfort can I find + For my hard fate, that here upon the grass, + Outstretched in indolence I lie, and gaze + Upon the earth and sea and sky, and smile. + + + + +ON AN OLD SEPULCHRAL BAS-RELIEF. + +WHERE IS SEEN A YOUNG MAIDEN, DEAD, IN THE ACT OF DEPARTING, +TAKING LEAVE OF HER FAMILY. + + + Where goest thou? Who calls + Thee from my dear ones far away? + Most lovely maiden, say! + Alone, a wanderer, dost thou leave + Thy father’s roof so soon? + Wilt thou unto its threshold e’er return? + Wilt thou make glad one day, + Those, who now round thee, weeping, mourn? + + Fearless thine eye, and spirited thy act; + And yet thou, too, art sad. + If pleasant or unpleasant be the road, + If gay or gloomy be the new abode, + To which thou journeyest, indeed, + In that grave face, how difficult to read! + Ah, hard to me the problem still hath seemed; + Not hath the world, perhaps, yet understood, + If thou beloved, or hated by the gods, + If happy, or unhappy shouldst be deemed. + + Death calls thee; in thy morn of life, + Its latest breath. Unto the nest + Thou leavest, thou wilt ne’er return; wilt ne’er + The faces of thy kindred more behold; + And under ground, + The place to which thou goest will be found; + And for all time will be thy sojourn there. + Happy, perhaps, thou art: but he must sigh + Who, thoughtful, contemplates thy destiny. + + Ne’er to have seen the light, e’en at the time, + I think; but, born, e’en at the time, + When regal beauty all her charms displays, + Alike in form and face, + And at her feet the admiring world + Its distant homage pays; + When every hope is in its flower, + Long, long ere dreary winter flash + His baleful gleams against the joyous brow; + Like vapor gathered in the summer cloud, + That melting in the evening sky is seen + To disappear, as if one ne’er had been; + And to exchange the brilliant days to come, + For the dark silence of the tomb; + The intellect, indeed, + May call this, happiness; but still + It may the stoutest breasts with pity fill. + + Thou mother, dreaded and deplored + From birth, by all the world that lives, + Nature, ungracious miracle, + That bringest forth and nourishest, to kill, + If death untimely be an evil thing, + Why on these innocent heads + Wilt thou that evil bring? + If good, why, why, + Beyond all other misery, + To him who goes, to him who must remain, + Hast thou such parting crowned with hopeless pain? + + Wretched, where’er we look, + Whichever way we turn, + Thy suffering children are! + Thee it hath pleased, that youthful hope + Should ever be by life beguiled; + The current of our years with woes be filled, + And death against all ills the only shield: + And this inevitable seal, + And this immutable decree, + Hast thou assigned to human destiny, + Why, after such a painful race, + Should not the goal, at least, + Present to us a cheerful face? + Why that, which we in constant view, + Must, while we live, forever bear, + Sole comfort in our hour of need, + Thus dress in weeds of woe, + And gird with shadows so, + And make the friendly port to us appear + More frightful than the tempest drear? + + If death, indeed, be a calamity, + Which thou intendest for us all, + Whom thou, against our knowledge and our will, + Hast forced to draw this mortal breath, + Then, surely, he who dies, + A lot more enviable hath + Then he who feels his loved one’s death. + But, if the truth it be, + As I most firmly think, + That life is the calamity, + And death the boon, alas! who ever _could_, + What yet he _should_, + Desire the dying day of those so dear, + That he may linger here, + Of his best self deprived, + May see across his threshold borne, + The form beloved of her, + With whom so many years he lived, + And say to her farewell, + Without the hope of meeting here again; + And then alone on earth to dwell, + And, looking round, the hours and places all, + Of lost companionship recall? + + Ah, Nature! how, how _couldst_ thou have the heart, + From the friend’s arms the friend to tear, + The brother from the brother part, + The father from the child, + The lover from his love, + And, killing one, the other keep alive? + What dire necessity + Compels such misery + That lover should the loved one e’er survive? + But Nature in her cruel dealings still, + Pays little heed unto our good or ill. + + + + +ON THE PORTRAIT OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, +CARVED ON HER MONUMENT. + + + Such _wast_ thou: now in earth below, + Dust and a skeleton thou art. + Above thy bones and clay, + Here vainly placed by loving hands, + Sole guardian of memory and woe, + The image of departed beauty stands. + Mute, motionless, it seems with pensive gaze + To watch the flight of the departing days. + That gentle look, that, wheresoe’er it fell, + As now it seems to fall, + Held fast the gazer with its magic spell; + That lip, from which as from some copious urn, + Redundant pleasure seems to overflow; + That neck, on which love once so fondly hung; + That loving hand, whose tender pressure still + The hand it clasped, with trembling joy would thrill; + That bosom, whose transparent loveliness + The color from the gazer’s cheek would steal; + All these _have been_; and now remains alone + A wretched heap of bones and clay, + Concealed from sight by this benignant stone. + + To this hath Fate reduced + The form, that, when with life it beamed, + To us heaven’s liveliest image seemed. + O Nature’s endless mystery! + To-day, of grand and lofty thoughts the source, + And feelings not to be described, + Beauty rules all, and seems, + Like some mysterious splendor from on high + Forth-darted to illuminate + This dreary wilderness; + Of superhuman fate, + Of fortunate realms, and golden worlds, + A token, and a hope secure + To give our mortal state; + To-morrow, for some trivial cause, + Loathsome to sight, abominable, base + Becomes, what but a little time before + Wore such an angel face; + And from our minds, in the same breath, + The grand conception it inspired, + Swift vanishes and leaves no trace. + What infinite desires, + What visions grand and high, + In our exalted thought, + With magic power creates, true harmony! + O’er a delicious and mysterious sea, + The exulting spirit glides, + As some bold swimmer sports in Ocean’s tides: + But oh, the mischief that is wrought, + If but one accent out of tune + Assaults the ear! Alas, how soon + Our paradise is turned to naught! + + O human nature, why is this? + If frail and vile throughout, + If shadow, dust thou art, say, why + Hast thou such fancies, aspirations high? + And yet, if framed for nobler ends, + Alas, why are we doomed + To see our highest motives, truest thoughts, + By such base causes kindled, and consumed? + + + + +PALINODIA. + +TO THE MARQUIS GINO CAPPONI. + + + I was mistaken, my dear Gino. Long + And greatly have I erred. I fancied life + A vain and wretched thing, and this, our age, + Now passing, vainest, silliest of all. + Intolerable seemed, and _was_, such talk + Unto the happy race of mortals, if, + Indeed, man ought or could be mortal called. + ’Twixt anger and surprise, the lofty creatures laughed + Forth from the fragrant Eden where they dwell; + Neglected, or unfortunate, they called me; + Of joy incapable, or ignorant, + To think my lot the common lot of all, + Mankind, the partner in my misery. + At length, amid the odor of cigars, + The crackling sound of dainty pastry, and + The orders loud for ices and for drinks, + ’Midst clinking glasses, and ’midst brandished spoons, + The daily light of the gazettes flashed full + On my dim eyes. I saw and recognized + The public joy, and the felicity + Of human destiny. The lofty state + I saw, and value of all human things; + Our mortal pathway strewed with flowers; I saw + How naught displeasing here below endures. + Nor less I saw the studies and the works + Stupendous, wisdom, virtue, knowledge deep + Of this our age. From far Morocco to + Cathay, and from the Poles unto the Nile, + From Boston unto Goa, on the track + Of flying Fortune, emulously panting, + The empires, kingdoms, dukedoms of the earth + I saw, now clinging to her waving locks, + Now to the end of her encircling boa. + Beholding this, and o’er the ample sheets + Profoundly meditating, I became + Of my sad blunder, and myself, ashamed. + + The age of gold the spindles of the Fates, + O Gino, are evolving. Every sheet, + In each variety of speech and type, + The splendid promise to the world proclaims, + From every quarter. Universal love, + And iron roads, and commerce manifold, + Steam, types, and cholera, remotest lands, + Most distant nations will together bind; + Nor need we wonder if the pine or oak + Yield milk and honey, or together dance + Unto the music of the waltz. So much + The force already hath increased, both of + Alembics, and retorts, and of machines, + That vie with heaven in working miracles, + And will increase, in times that are to come: + For, evermore, from better unto best, + Without a pause, as in the past, the race + Of Shem, and Ham, and Japhet will progress. + + And yet, on acorns men will never feed, + Unless compelled by hunger; never will + Hard iron lay aside. Full oft, indeed, + They gold and silver will despise, bills of + Exchange preferring. Often, too, the race + Its generous hands with brothers’ blood will stain, + With fields of carnage filling Europe, and + The other shore of the Atlantic sea, + The new world, that the old still nourishes, + As often as it sends its rival bands + Of armed adventurers, in eager quest + Of pepper, cinnamon, or other spice, + Or sugar-cane, aught that ministers + Unto the universal thirst for gold. + True worth and virtue, modesty and faith, + And love of justice, in whatever land, + From public business will be still estranged, + Or utterly humiliated and + O’erthrown; condemned by Nature still, + To sink unto the bottom. Insolence + And fraud, with mediocrity combined, + Will to the surface ever rise, and reign. + Authority and strength, howe’er diffused, + However concentrated, will be still + Abused, beneath whatever name concealed, + By him who wields them; this the law by Fate + And nature written first, in adamant: + Nor can a Volta with his lightnings, nor + A Davy cancel it, nor England with + Her vast machinery, nor this our age + With all its floods of Leading Articles. + The good man ever will be sad, the wretch + Will keep perpetual holiday; against + All lofty souls both worlds will still be armed + Conspirators; true honor be assailed + By calumny, and hate, and envy; still + The weak will be the victim of the strong; + The hungry man upon the rich will fawn, + Beneath whatever form of government, + Alike at the Equator and the Poles; + So will it be, while man on earth abides, + And while the sun still lights him on his way. + + These signs and tokens of the ages past + Must of necessity their impress leave + Upon our brightly dawning age of gold: + Because society from Nature still + Receives a thousand principles and aims, + Diverse, discordant; which to reconcile, + No wit or power of man hath yet availed, + Since first our race, illustrious, was born; + Nor _will_ avail, or treaty or gazette, + In any age, however wise or strong. + But in things more important, how complete, + Ne’er seen, till now, will be our happiness! + More soft, from day to day, our garments will + Become, of woollen or of silk. Their rough + Attire the husbandman and smith will cast + Aside, will swathe in cotton their rough hides, + And with the skins of beavers warm their backs. + More serviceable, more attractive, too, + Will be our carpets and our counterpanes, + Our curtains, sofas, tables, and our chairs; + Our beds, and their attendant furniture, + Will a new grace unto our chambers lend; + And dainty forms of kettles and of pans, + On our dark kitchens will their lustre shed. + From Paris unto Calais, and from there + To London, and from there to Liverpool, + More rapid than imagination can + Conceive, will be the journey, nay the flight; + While underneath the ample bed of Thames, + A highway will be made, immortal work, + That _should_ have been completed, years ago. + Far better lighted, and perhaps as safe, + At night, as now they are, will be the lanes + And unfrequented streets of Capitals; + Perhaps, the main streets of the smaller towns. + Such privileges, such a happy lot, + Kind heaven reserves unto the coming race. + + How fortunate are they, whom, as I write, + Naked and whimpering, in her arms receives + The midwife! They those longed-for days may hope + To see, when, after careful studies we + Shall know, and every nursling shall imbibe + That knowledge with the milk of the dear nurse, + How many hundred-weight of salt, and how + Much flesh, how many bushels, too, of flour, + His native town in every month consumes; + How many births and deaths in every year + The parish priest inscribes: when by the aid + Of mighty steam, that, every second, prints + Its millions, hill and dale, and ocean’s vast + Expanse, e’en as we see a flock of cranes + Aërial, that suddenly the day obscure, will with Gazettes be overrun; + Gazettes, of the great Universe the life + And soul, sole fount of wisdom and of wit, + To this, and unto every coming age! + + E’en as a child, who carefully constructs, + Of little sticks and leaves, an edifice, + In form of temple, palace, or of tower; + And, soon as he beholds the work complete, + The impulse feels, the structure to destroy, + Because the self-same sticks and leaves he needs, + To carry out some other enterprise; + So Nature every work of hers, however + It may delight us with its excellence, + No sooner sees unto perfection brought, + Than she proceeds to pull it all to pieces, + For other structures using still the parts. + And vainly seeks the human race, itself + Or others from the cruel sport to save, + The cause of which is hidden from its sight + Forever, though a thousand means it tries, + With skilful hand devising remedies: + For cruel Nature, child invincible, + Our efforts laughs to scorn, and still its own + Caprices carries out, without a pause, + Destroying and creating, for its sport. + And hence, a various, endless family + Of ills incurable and sufferings + Oppresses the frail mortal, doomed to death + Irreparably; hence a hostile force, + Destructive, smites him from within, without, + On every side, perpetual, e’en from + The day of birth, and wearies and exhausts, + Itself untiring, till he drops at last, + By the inhuman mother crushed, and killed. + Those crowning miseries, O gentle friend, + Of this our mortal life, old age and death, + E’en then commencing, when the infant lip + The tender breast doth press, that life instils, + This happy nineteenth century, I think, + Can no more help, than could the ninth, or tenth, + Nor will the coming ages, more than this. + Indeed, if we may be allowed to call + The truth by its right name, no other than + Supremely wretched must each mortal be, + In every age, and under every form + Of government, and walk and mode of life; + By nature hopelessly incurable, + Because a universal law hath so + Decreed, which heaven and earth alike obey. + And yet the lofty spirits of our age + A new discovery have made, almost + Divine; for, though they cannot make + A single person happy on the earth, + The man forgetting, they have gone in quest + Of universal happiness, and this, + Forsooth, have found so easily, that out + Of many wretched individuals, + They can a happy, joyful people make. + And at this miracle, not yet explained + By quarterly reviews, or pamphlets, or + Gazettes, the common herd in wonder smile. + + O minds, O wisdom, insight marvellous + Of this our passing age! And what profound + Philosophy, what lessons deep, O Gino, + In matters more sublime and recondite, + This century of thine and mine will teach + To those that follow! With what constancy, + What yesterday it scorned, upon its knees + To-day it worships, and will overthrow + To-morrow, merely to pick up again + The fragments, to the idol thus restored, + To offer incense on the following day! + How estimable, how inspiring, too, + This unanimity of thought, not of + The age alone, but of each passing year! + How carefully should we, when we our thought + With this compare, however different + From that of next year it may be, at least + Appearance of diversity avoid! + What giant strides, compared with those of old, + Our century in wisdom’s school has made! + + One of thy friends, O worthy Gino, once, + A master poet, nay, of every Art, + And Science, every human faculty, + For past, and present, and for future times, + A learned expositor, remarked to me: + “Of thy own feelings, care to speak no more! + Of them, this manly age makes no account, + In economic problems quite absorbed, + And with an eye for politics alone, + Of what avail, thy own heart to explore? + Seek not within thyself material + For song; but sing the needs of this our age, + And consummation of its ripening hope!” + O memorable words! Whereat I laughed + Like chanticleer, the name of _hope_ to hear + Thus strike upon my ear profane, as if + A jest it were, or prattle of a child + Just weaned. But now a different course I take, + Convinced by many shining proofs, that he + Must not resist or contradict the age, + Who seeketh praise or pudding at its hands, + But faithfully and servilely obey; + And so will find a short and easy road + Unto the stars. And I who long to reach + The stars will not, howe’er, select the needs + Of this our age for burden of my song; + For these, increasing constantly, are still + By merchants and by work-shops amply met; + But I will sing of hope, of hope whereof + The gods now grant a pledge so palpable. + The first-fruits of our new felicity + Behold, in the enormous growth of hair, + Upon the lip, upon the cheek, of youth! + + O hail, thou salutary sign, first beam + Of light of this our wondrous, rising age! + See, how before thee heaven and earth rejoice, + How sparkle all the damsels’ eyes with joy, + How through all banquets and all festivals + The fame of the young bearded heroes flies! + Grow for your country’s sake, ye manly youth! + Beneath the shadow of your fleecy locks, + Will Italy increase, and Europe from + The mouths of Tagus to the Hellespont, + And all the world will taste the sweets of peace. + And thou, O tender child, for whom these days + Of gold are yet in store, begin to greet + Thy bearded father with a smile, nor fear + The harmless blackness of his loving face. + Laugh, darling child; for thee are kept the fruits + Of so much dazzling eloquence. Thou shalt + Behold joy reign in cities and in towns, + Old age and youth alike contented dwell, + And undulating beards of two spans long! + + + + +THE SETTING OF THE MOON. + + + As, in the lonely night, + Above the silvered fields and streams + Where zephyr gently blows, + And myriad objects vague, + Illusions, that deceive, + Their distant shadows weave + Amid the silent rills, + The trees, the hedges, villages, and hills; + Arrived at heaven’s boundary, + Behind the Apennine or Alp, + Or into the deep bosom of the sea, + The moon descends, the world grows dim; + The shadows disappear, darkness profound + Falls on each hill and vale around, + And night is desolate, + And singing, with his plaintive lay, + The parting gleam of friendly light + The traveller greets, whose radiance bright, + Till now, hath guided him upon his way; + + So vanishes, so desolate + Youth leaves our mortal state. + The shadows disappear, + And the illusions dear; + And in the distance fading all, are seen + The hopes on which our suffering natures lean. + Abandoned and forlorn + Our lives remain; + And the bewildered traveller, in vain, + As he its course surveys, + To find the end, or object tries, + Of the long path that still before him lies. + A hopeless darkness o’er him steals; + Himself an alien on the earth he feels. + + Too happy, and too gay + Would our hard lot appear + To those who placed us here, if youth, + Whose every joy is born of pain, + Through all our days were suffered to remain; + Too merciful the law, + That sentences each animal to death, + Did not the road that leads to it, + E’er half-completed, unto us appear + Than death itself more sad and drear. + Thou blest invention of the Gods, + And worthy of their intellects divine, + Old age, the last of all our ills, + When our desires still linger on, + Though every ray of hope is gone; + When pleasure’s fountains all are dried, + Our pains increasing, every joy denied! + + Ye hills, and vales, and fields, + Though in the west hath set the radiant orb + That shed its lustre on the veil of night, + Will not long time remain bereft, + In hopeless darkness left? + Ye soon will see the eastern sky + Grow white again, the dawn arise, + Precursor of the sun, + Who with the splendor of his rays + Will all the scene irradiate, + And with his floods of light + The fields of heaven and earth will inundate. + But mortal life, + When lovely youth has gone, + Is colored with no other light, + And knows no other dawn. + The rest is hopeless wretchedness and gloom; + The journey’s end, the dark and silent tomb. + + + + +THE GINESTRA, + +OR THE FLOWER OF THE WILDERNESS. + + + Here, on the arid ridge + Of dead Vesuvius, + Exterminator terrible, + That by no other tree or flower is cheered, + Thou scatterest thy lonely leaves around, + O fragrant flower, + With desert wastes content. Thy graceful stems + I in the solitary paths have found, + The city that surround, + That once was mistress of the world; + And of her fallen power, + They seemed with silent eloquence to speak + Unto the thoughtful wanderer. + And now again I see thee on this soil, + Of wretched, world-abandoned spots the friend, + Of ruined fortunes the companion, still. + These fields with barren ashes strown, + And lava, hardened into stone, + Beneath the pilgrim’s feet, that hollow sound, + Where by their nests the serpents coiled, + Lie basking in the sun, + And where the conies timidly + To their familiar burrows run, + Were cheerful villages and towns, + With waving fields of golden grain, + And musical with lowing herds; + Were gardens, and were palaces, + That to the leisure of the rich + A grateful shelter gave; + Were famous cities, which the mountain fierce, + Forth-darting torrents from his mouth of flame, + Destroyed, with their inhabitants. + Now all around, one ruin lies, + Where thou dost dwell, O gentle flower, + And, as in pity of another’s woe, + A perfume sweet thou dost exhale, + To heaven an offering, + And consolation to the desert bring. + Here let him come, who hath been used + To chant the praises of our mortal state, + And see the care, + That loving Nature of her children takes! + Here may he justly estimate + The power of mortals, whom + The cruel nurse, when least they fear, + With motion light can in a moment crush + In part, and afterwards, when in the mood, + With motion not so light, can suddenly, + And utterly annihilate. + Here, on these blighted coasts, + May he distinctly trace + “The princely progress of the human race!” + + Here look, and in a mirror see thyself, + O proud and foolish age! + That turn’st thy back upon the path, + That thought revived + So clearly indicates to all, + And this, thy movement retrograde, + Dost _Progress_ call. + Thy foolish prattle all the minds, + Whose cruel fate thee for a father gave, + Besmear with flattery, + Although, among themselves, at times, + They laugh at thee. + But I will not to such low arts descend, + Though envy it would be for me, + The rest to imitate, + And, raving, wilfully, + To make my song more pleasing to thy ears: + But I will sooner far reveal, + As clearly as I can, the deep disdain + That I for thee within my bosom feel; + Although I know, oblivion + Awaits the man who holds his age in scorn: + But this misfortune, which I share with thee, + My laughter only moves. + Thou dream’st of liberty, + And yet thou wouldst anew that thought enslave, + By which alone we are redeemed, in part, + From barbarism; by which alone + True progress is obtained, + And states are guided to a nobler end. + And so the truth of our hard lot, + And of the humble place + Which Nature gave us, pleased thee not; + And like a coward, thou hast turned thy back + Upon the light, which made it evident; + Reviling him who does that light pursue, + And praising him alone + Who, in his folly, or from motives base, + Above the stars exalts the human race. + + A man of poor estate, and weak of limb, + But of a generous, truthful soul, + Nor calls, nor deems himself + A Croesus, or a Hercules, + Nor makes himself ridiculous + Before the world with vain pretence + Of vigor or of opulence; + But his infirmities and needs + He lets appear, and without shame, + And speaking frankly, calls each thing + By its right name. + I deem not _him_ magnanimous, + But simply, a great fool, + Who, born to perish, reared in suffering, + Proclaims his lot a happy one, + And with offensive pride + His pages fills, exalted destinies + And joys, unknown in heaven, much less + On earth, absurdly promising to those + Who by a wave of angry sea, + Or breath of tainted air, + Or shaking of the earth beneath, + Are ruined, crushed so utterly, + As scarce to be recalled by memory. + But truly noble, wise is _he_, + Who bids his brethren boldly look + Upon our common misery; + Who frankly tells the naked truth, + Acknowledging our frail and wretched state, + And all the ills decreed to us by Fate; + Who shows himself in suffering brave and strong, + Nor adds unto his miseries + Fraternal jealousies and strifes, + The hardest things to bear of all, + Reproaching man with his own grief, + But the true culprit + Who, in our birth, a mother is, + A fierce step-mother in her will. + _Her_ he proclaims the enemy, + And thinking all the human race + Against her armed, as is the case, + E’en from the first, united and arrayed, + All men esteems confederates, + And with true love embraces all, + Prompt and efficient aid bestowing, and + Expecting it, in all the pains + And perils of the common war. + And to resent with arms all injuries, + Or snares and pit-falls for a neighbor lay, + Absurd he deems, as it would be, upon + The field, surrounded by the enemy, + The foe forgetting, bitter war + With one’s own friends to wage, + And in the hottest of the fight, + With cruel and misguided sword, + One’s fellow soldiers put to flight. + When truths like these are rendered clear, + As once they were, unto the multitude, + And when that fear, which from the first, + All mortals in a social band + Against inhuman Nature joined + Anew shall guided be, in part, + By knowledge true, then social intercourse, + And faith, and hope, and charity + Will a far different foundation have + From that which silly fables give, + By which supported, public truth and good + Must still proceed with an unstable foot, + As all things that in error have their root. + Oft, on these hills, so desolate, + Which by the hardened flood, + That seems in waves to rise, + Are clad in mourning, do I sit at night, + And o’er the dreary plain behold + The stars above in purest azure shine, + And in the ocean mirrored from afar, + And all the world in brilliant sparks arrayed, + Revolving through the vault serene. + And when my eyes I fasten on those lights, + Which seem to them a point, + And yet are so immense, + That earth and sea, with them compared, + Are but a point indeed; + To whom, not only man, + But this our globe, where man is nothing, is + Unknown; and when I farther gaze upon + Those clustered stars, at distance infinite, + That seem to us like mist, to whom + Not only man and earth, but all our stars + At once, so vast in numbers and in bulk, + The golden sun himself included, are + Unknown, or else appear, as they to earth, + A point of nebulous light, what, then, + Dost _thou_ unto my thought appear, + O race of men? + Remembering thy wretched state below, + Of which the soil I tread, the token bears; + And, on the other hand, + That thou thyself hast deemed + The Lord and end of all the Universe; + How oft thou hast been pleased + The idle tale to tell, + That to this little grain of sand, obscure, + The name of earth that bears, + The Authors of that Universe + Have, at thy call, descended oft, + And pleasant converse with thy children had; + And how, these foolish dreams reviving, e’en + This age its insults heaps upon the wise, + Although it seems all others to excel + In learning, and in arts polite; + What can I think of thee + Thou wretched race of men? + What thoughts discordant then my heart assail, + In doubt, if scorn or pity should prevail! + + As a small apple, falling from a tree + In autumn, by the force + Of its own ripeness, to the ground, + The pleasant homes of a community + Of ants, in the soft clod + With careful labor built, + And all their works, and all the wealth, + Which the industrious citizens + Had in the summer providently stored, + Lays waste, destroys, and in an instant hides; + So, falling from on high, + To heaven forth-darted from + The mountain’s groaning womb, + A dark destructive mass + Of ashes, pumice, and of stones, + With boiling streams of lava mixed, + Or, down the mountain’s side + Descending, furious, o’er the grass, + A fearful flood + Of melted metals, mixed with burning sand, + Laid waste, destroyed, and in short time concealed + The cities on yon shore, washed by the sea, + Where now the goats + On this side browse, and cities new + Upon the other stand, whose foot-stools are + The buried ones, whose prostrate walls + The lofty mountain tramples under foot. + Nature no more esteems or cares for man, + Than for the ant; and if the race + Is not so oft destroyed, + The reason we may plainly see; + Because the ants more fruitful are than we. + Full eighteen hundred years have passed, + Since, by the force of fire laid waste, + These thriving cities disappeared; + And now, the husbandman, + His vineyards tending, that the arid clod, + With ashes clogged, with difficulty feeds, + Still raises a suspicious eye + Unto that fatal crest, + That, with a fierceness not to be controlled, + Still stands tremendous, threatens still + Destruction to himself, his children, and + Their little property. + And oft upon the roof + Of his small cottage, the poor man + All night lies sleepless, often springing up, + The course to watch of the dread stream of fire + That from the inexhausted womb doth pour + Along the sandy ridge, + Its lurid light reflected in the bay, + From Mergellina unto Capri’s shore. + And if he sees it drawing near, + Or in his well + He hears the boiling water gurgle, wakes + His sons, in haste his wife awakes, + And, with such things as they can snatch, + Escaping, sees from far + His little nest, and the small field, + His sole resource against sharp hunger’s pangs, + A prey unto the burning flood, + That crackling comes, and with its hardening crust, + Inexorable, covers all. + Unto the light of day returns, + After its long oblivion, + Pompeii, dead, an unearthed skeleton, + Which avarice or piety + Hath from its grave unto the air restored; + And from its forum desolate, + And through the formal rows + Of mutilated colonnades, + The stranger looks upon the distant, severed peaks, + And on the smoking crest, + That threatens still the ruins scattered round. + And in the horror of the secret night, + Along the empty theatres, + The broken temples, shattered houses, where + The bat her young conceals, + Like flitting torch, that smoking sheds + A gloom through the deserted halls + Of palaces, the baleful lava glides, + That through the shadows, distant, glares, + And tinges every object round. + Thus, paying unto man no heed, + Or to the ages that he calls antique, + Or to the generations as they pass, + Nature forever young remains, + Or at a pace so slow proceeds, + She stationary seems. + Empires, meanwhile, decline and fall, + And nations pass away, and languages: + She sees it not, or _will_ not see; + And yet man boasts of immortality! + + And thou, submissive flower, + That with thy fragrant foliage dost adorn + These desolated plains, + Thou, too, must fall before the cruel power + Of subterranean fire, + Which, to its well-known haunts returning, will + Its fatal border spread + O’er thy soft leaves and branches fine. + And thou wilt bow thy gentle head, + Without a struggle, yielding to thy fate: + But not with vain and abject cowardice, + Wilt thy destroyer supplicate; + Nor wilt, erect with senseless haughtiness, + Look up unto the stars, + Or o’er the wilderness, + Where, not from choice, but Fortune’s will, + Thy birthplace thou, and home didst find; + But wiser, far, than man, + And far less weak; + For thou didst ne’er, from Fate, or power of thine, + Immortal life for thy frail children seek. + + + + +IMITATION. + + + Wandering from the parent bough, + Little, trembling leaf, + Whither goest thou? + “From the beech, where I was born, + By the north wind was I torn. + Him I follow in his flight, + Over mountain, over vale, + From the forest to the plain, + Up the hill, and down again. + With him ever on the way: + More than that, I cannot say. + Where I go, must all things go, + Gentle, simple, high and low: + Leaves of laurel, leaves of rose; + Whither, heaven only knows!” + + + + +SCHERZO. + + + When, as a boy, I went + To study in the Muses’ school, + One of them came to me, and took + Me by the hand, and all that day, + She through the work-shop led me graciously, + The mysteries of the craft to see. + She guided me + Through every part, + And showed me all + The instruments of art, + And did their uses all rehearse, + In works alike of prose and verse. + I looked, and paused awhile, + Then asked: “O Muse, where is the file?” + “The file is out of order, friend, and we + Now do without it,” answered she. + “But, to repair it, then, have you no care?” + “We _should_, indeed, but have no time to spare.” + + + + +FRAGMENTS. + + +I. + + I round the threshold wandering here, + Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke, + That they may keep my lady prisoner. + + And yet the wind was howling in the woods, + The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds, + Before the dawn had risen in the sky. + + O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees! + My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth + Unhappy lovers ever mercy find! + + Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake, + O’erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun + To other lands brings back the light of day! + + Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves + Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun + In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines. + + +II. + + The light of day was fading in the west, + The smoke no more from village chimneys curled, + Nor voice of man, nor bark of dog was heard; + + When she, obedient to Love’s rendezvous, + Had reached the middle of a plain, than which + No other more bewitching could be found. + + The moon on every side her lustre shed, + And all in robes of silver light arrayed + The trees with which the place was garlanded. + + The rustling boughs were murmuring to the wind, + And, blending with the plaintive nightingale, + A rivulet poured forth its sweet lament. + + The sea shone in the distance, and the fields + And groves; and slowly rising, one by one, + The summits of the mountains were revealed. + + In quiet shade the sombre valley lay, + While all the little hills around were clothed + With the soft lustre of the dewy moon. + + The maiden kept the silent, lonely path, + And gently passing o’er her face, she felt + The motion of the perfume-laden breeze. + + If she were happy, it were vain to ask; + The scene delighted her, and the delight + Her heart was promising, was greater still. + + How swift your flight, O lovely hours serene! + No other pleasure here below endures, + Or lingers with us long, save hope alone. + + The night began to change, and dark became + The face of heaven, that was so beautiful, + And all her pleasure now was turned to fear. + + An angry cloud, precursor of the storm, + Behind the mountains rose, and still increased, + Till moon or star no longer could be seen. + + She saw it spreading upon every side, + And by degrees ascending through the air, + And now with its black mantle covering all. + + The scanty light more faint and faint became; + The wind, meanwhile, was rising in the grove, + That on the farther side the spot enclosed; + + And, every moment, was more boisterous; + Till every bird, awaking in its fright, + Amidst the trembling leaves was fluttering. + + The cloud, increasing still, unto the coast + Descended, so that one extremity + The mountains touched, the other touched the sea. + + And now from out its black and hollow womb, + The pattering rain-drops, falling fast, were heard, + The sound increasing as the cloud drew near. + + And round her now the glancing lightning flashed + In fearful mood, and made her shut her eyes; + The ground was black, the air a mass of flame. + + Her trembling knees could scarce her weight sustain; + The thunder roared with a continuous sound, + Like torrent, plunging headlong from the cliff. + + At times she paused, the dismal scene to view, + In blank dismay; then on she ran again, + Her hair and clothes all streaming in the wind. + + The cruel wind beat hard against her breast, + And rushing fiercely, with its angry breath, + The cold drops dashed, remorseless, in her face. + + The thunder, like a beast, assaulted her, + With terrible, unintermitting roar; + And more and more the rain and tempest raged. + + And from all sides in wild confusion flew + The dust and leaves, the branches and the stones, + With hideous tumult, inconceivable. + + Her weary, blinded eyes now covering, + And folding close her clothes against her breast, + She through the storm her fearful path pursued. + + But now the lightning glared so in her face, + That, overcome by fright at last, she went + No farther, and her heart within her sank; + + And back she turned. And, even as she turned, + The lightning ceased to flash, the air was dark, + The thunder’s voice was hushed, the wind stood still, + And all was silent round, and she,—at rest! + + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF GIACOMO LEOPARDI *** + +***** This file should be named 19315-0.txt or 19315-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/3/1/19315/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Poems of Giacomo Leopardi</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Giacomo Leopardi</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Frederick Townsend</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 19, 2006 [EBook #19315]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 17, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced +by: Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Daniel Emerson Griffith and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net and Richard +Tonsing</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF GIACOMO LEOPARDI ***</div> + + + + + <div class="frontmatter"> + <a class="pagebreak" name="pagei" id="pagei" title="i"></a> + <h1> + THE POEMS<br /><small>OF<br /></small>GIACOMO LEOPARDI + </h1> + <p> + <big>TRANSLATED<br /></big>BY<br /><big>FREDERICK TOWNSEND</big> + </p> + <p> + NEW YORK AND LONDON<br />G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS<br />The Knickerbocker Press<br />1887 + </p> + <p> + <a class="pagebreak" name="pageii" id="pageii" title="ii"></a>COPYRIGHT + BY<br />R. T. TOWNSEND<br />1887 + </p> + <p> + Press of<br /><span class="sc">G. P. Putnam’s Sons</span><br />New York + </p> + <p> + <a class="pagebreak" name="pageiii" id="pageiii" title="iii"></a>TO M. + N. M.<br />SISTER OF THE TRANSLATOR<br />THESE POEMS<br />ARE + AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED<br />BY THE EDITOR + </p> + </div> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a name="pageiv" id="pageiv" title="iv"></a><a class="pagebreak" name="pagev" id="pagev" title="v"></a>PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + Giacomo Leopardi is a great name in Italy among philosophers and poets, + but is quite unknown in this country, and Mr. Townsend has the honor of + introducing him, in the most captivating way, to his countrymen. In + Germany and France he has excited attention. Translations have been made + of his works; essays have been written on his ideas. But in England his + name is all but unheard of. Six or seven years ago Mr. Charles Edwards + published a translation of the essays and dialogues, but no version of the + poems has appeared, so far as I know. Leopardi was substantially a poet,—that + is to say, he had imagination, sentiment, passion, an intense love of + beauty, a powerful impulse towards things ideal. The sad tone of his + speculations about the universe and human destiny gave an impression of + mournfulness to his lines, but this rather deepened the pathos of his + work. In<a class="pagebreak" name="pagevi" id="pagevi" title="vi"></a> the + same breath he sang of love and the grave, and the love was the more eager + for its brevity. He had the poetic temperament—sensitive, ardent, + aspiring. He possessed the poetic aspect—the broad white brow, the + large blue eyes. Some compared him to Byron, but the resemblance was + external merely. In ideas, purpose, feeling, he was entirely unlike the + Englishman; in the energy and fire of his style only did he somewhat + resemble him. Worshippers have even ventured to class him with Dante, a + comparison which shows, at least, in what estimation the poet could be + held at home, and how largely the patriotic sentiment entered into the + conception of poetical compositions, how necessary it was that the singer + should be a bard. His verses ranged over a large field. They were + philosophic, patriotic, amorous. There are odes, lyrics, satires, songs; + many very beautiful and feeling; all noble and earnest. His three poems, + “All’ Italia,” “Sopra il Monumento di Dante,” + “A Angelo Mai,” gave him a national reputation. They touch the + chords to which he always responded—patriotism, poetry, learning, a + national idealism bearing aloft an enormous weight of erudition and + thought. + </p> + <p> + Leopardi was born at Recanati, a small town<a class="pagebreak" name="pagevii" id="pagevii" title="vii"></a> about fifteen miles from + Ancona, in 1798. He was of noble parentage, though not rich. His early + disposition was joyous, but with the feverish joy of a highly-strung, + nervous organization. He was a great student from boyhood; and severe + application undermined a system that was never robust, and that soon + became hopelessly diseased. Illness, accompanied with sharp pain, clipped + the wings of his ambition, obliged him to forego preferment, and deepened + the hopelessness that hung over his expectations. His hunger for love + could not be satisfied, for his physical infirmity rendered a union + undesirable, even if possible, while a craving ideality soon transcended + any visible object of affection. He had warm friends of his own sex, one + of whom, Antonio Ranieri, stayed by him in all vicissitudes, took him to + Naples, and closed his eyes, June 14, 1837. + </p> + <p> + To this acute sensibility of frame must be added the torture of the heart + arising from a difference with his father, who, as a Catholic, was + disturbed by the skeptical tendencies of his son, and the perpetual + irritation of a conflict with the large majority of even philosophical + minds. An early death might have been anticipated. No amount of + hopefulness, of zest for life, of thirst for opportunity, of<a class="pagebreak" name="pageviii" id="pageviii" title="viii"></a> genius + for intellectual productiveness will counteract such predisposition to + decay. The death of the body, however, has but ensured a speedier + immortality of the soul; for many a thinker has since been busy in + gathering up the fragments of his mind and keeping his memory fresh. His + immense learning has been forgotten. His archæological knowledge, + which fascinated Niebuhr, is of small account to-day. But his speculative + and poetical genius is a permanent illumination. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Townsend, the translator, well known in New York, where he was born, + lived ten years in Italy, and seven in Rome. He was a studious, thoughtful + man; quiet, secluded, scholarly; an eminent student of Italian literature; + a real sympathizer with Italian progress. By the cast of his mind and the + course of his inward experience he was drawn towards Leopardi. His version + adheres as closely to the original as is compatible with elegance and the + preservation of metrical grace. He has not rendered into English all + Leopardi’s poems, but he has presented the best of them, enough to give an + idea of his author’s style of feeling and expression. What he has done, + has been performed faithfully. It is worth remarking that he was attracted + by the intense longing of the poet for love and appreciation,<a class="pagebreak" name="pageix" id="pageix" title="ix"></a> and by keen + sympathy with his unhappy condition. It is needless to say that he did not + share the pessimism that imparts a melancholy hue to the philosopher’s own + doctrine, and that might have been modified if not dispelled by a + different experience. The translation was finished at Siena, the summer of + the earthquake, and was the last work Mr. Townsend ever did, the commotion + outside not interrupting him, or causing him to suspend his application. + </p> + <p class="sig sc"> + O. B. Frothingham. + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a name="pagex" id="pagex" title="x"></a><a class="pagebreak" name="pagexi" id="pagexi" title="xi"></a>CONTENTS. + </h2> + <table class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + <tr> + <td> + Dedication + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#pagexiii">xiii</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To Italy + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page1">1</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + On Dante’s Monument + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page7">7</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To Angelo Mai + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page15">15</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To His Sister Paolina + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page23">23</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To a Victor in the Game of <i>Pallone</i> + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page27">27</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Younger Brutus + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page30">30</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To the Spring + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page35">35</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Hymn to the Patriarchs + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page40">40</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Last Song of Sappho + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page45">45</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + First Love + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page48">48</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Lonely Sparrow + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page53">53</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Infinite + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page56">56</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Evening of the Holiday + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page57">57</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To The Moon + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page59">59</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Dream + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page60">60</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Lonely Life + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page64">64</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Consalvo + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page68">68</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexii" id="pagexii" title="xii"></a>To + the Beloved + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page74">74</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To Count Carlo Pepoli + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page77">77</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Resurrection + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page84">84</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To Sylvia + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page92">92</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Recollections + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page95">95</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Night-Song of a Wandering Shepherd in Asia + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page102">102</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Calm after Storm + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page108">108</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Village Saturday-Night + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page110">110</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Ruling Thought + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page113">113</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Love and Death + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page119">119</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + To Himself + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page124">124</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Aspasia + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page125">125</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + On an Old Sepulchral Bas-Relief + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page130">130</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + On the Portrait of a Beautiful Woman + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page135">135</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Palinodia + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page138">138</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Setting of the Moon + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page149">149</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + The Ginestra + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page152">152</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Imitation + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page165">165</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Scherzo + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page166">166</a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + Fragments + </td> + <td class="right"> + <a href="#page167">167</a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="pagexiii" id="pagexiii" title="xiii"></a>Dedication. + </h2> + <p class="central"> + [From the first Florentine Edition of the Poems, in the year 1831.] + </p> + <p> + <i>To my Friends in Tuscany:</i> + </p> + <p> + My dear Friends, I dedicate this book to you, in which, as is oft the case + with Poets, I have sought to illustrate my sorrow, and with which I now—I + cannot say it without tears—take leave of Literature and of my + studies. I hoped these dear studies would have been the consolation of my + old age, and thought, after having lost all the other joys and blessings + of childhood and of youth, I had secured <i>one</i>, of which no power, no + unhappiness could rob me. But I was scarcely twenty years old, when that + weakness of nerves and of stomach, which has destroyed my life, and yet + gives me no hope of death, robbed that only blessing of more than half its + value, and, in my twenty-eighth year, has utterly deprived me of it, and, + as I <i>must</i> think, forever. I<a class="pagebreak" name="pagexiv" id="pagexiv" title="xiv"></a> have not been able to read these pages, and + have been compelled to entrust their revision to other eyes and other + hands. I will utter no more complaints, my dear friends; the consciousness + of the depth of my affliction admits not of complaints and lamentations. I + have lost all; I am a withered branch, that feels and suffers still. <i>You</i> + only have I won! Your society, which must compensate me for all my + studies, joys, and hopes, would almost outweigh my sorrows, did not my + very sickness prevent me from enjoying it as I could wish, and did I not + know that Fate will soon deprive me of this benefit, also, and will compel + me to spend the remainder of my days, far from all the delights of + civilized life, in a spot, far better suited to the dead than to the + living. Your love, meanwhile, will ever follow me, and will yet cling to + me, perhaps, when this body, which, indeed, no longer lives, shall be + turned to ashes. Farewell! Your + </p> + <p class="sig"> + Leopardi. + </p> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page1" id="page1" title="1"></a>TO ITALY. + (1818.) + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">My country, I the walls, the arches see,</span> + <span class="i0">The columns, statues, and the towers</span> <span class="i0">Deserted, of our ancestors;</span> <span class="i0">But, + ah, the glory I do not behold,</span> <span class="i0">The laurel + and the sword, that graced</span> <span class="i0">Our sires of + old.</span> <span class="i0">Now, all unarmed, a naked brow,</span> + <span class="i0">A naked breast dost thou display.</span> <span class="i0">Ah, me, how many wounds, what stains of blood!</span> + <span class="i0">Oh, what a sight art thou,</span> <span class="i0">Most + beautiful of women! I</span> <span class="i0">To heaven cry aloud, + and to the world:</span> <span class="i0">“Who hath reduced + her to this pass?</span> <span class="i0">Say, say!” And + worst of all, alas,</span> <span class="i0">See, both her arms in + chains are bound!</span> <span class="i0">With hair dishevelled, + and without a veil</span> <span class="i0">She sits, disconsolate, + upon the ground,</span> <span class="i0">And hides her face between + her knees,</span> <span class="i0">As she bewails her miseries.</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page2" id="page2" title="2"></a>Oh, + weep, my Italy, for thou hast cause;</span> <span class="i0">Thou, + who wast born the nations to subdue,</span> <span class="i0">As + victor, and as victim, too!</span> <span class="i0">Oh, if thy eyes + two living fountains were,</span> <span class="i0">The volume of + their tears could ne’er express</span> <span class="i0">Thy utter + helplessness, thy shame;</span> <span class="i0">Thou, who wast + once the haughty dame,</span> <span class="i0">And, now, the + wretched slave.</span> <span class="i0">Who speaks, or writes of + thee,</span> <span class="i0">That must not bitterly exclaim:</span> + <span class="i0">“She once was great, but, oh, behold her now”?</span> + <span class="i0">Why hast thou fallen thus, oh, why?</span> <span class="i0">Where is the ancient force?</span> <span class="i0">Where + are the arms, the valor, constancy?</span> <span class="i0">Who + hath deprived thee of thy sword?</span> <span class="i0">What + treachery, what skill, what labor vast,</span> <span class="i0">Or + what o’erwhelming horde</span> <span class="i0">Whose fierce, + invading tide, thou could’st not stem,</span> <span class="i0">Hath + robbed thee of thy robe and diadem?</span> <span class="i0">From + such a height how couldst thou fall so low?</span> <span class="i0">Will + none defend thee? No?</span> <span class="i0">No son of thine? For + arms, for arms, I call;</span> <span class="i0">Alone I’ll fight + for thee, alone will fall.</span> <span class="i0">And from my + blood, a votive offering,</span> <span class="i0">May flames of + fire in every bosom spring!</span> <span class="i0">Where are thy + sons? The sound of arms I hear,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page3" id="page3" title="3"></a>Of chariots, of + voices, and of drums;</span> <span class="i0">From foreign lands it + comes,</span> <span class="i0">For which thy children fight.</span> + <span class="i0">Oh, hearken, hearken, Italy! I see,—</span> + <span class="i0">Or is it but a dream?—</span> <span class="i0">A wavering of horse and foot,</span> <span class="i0">And + smoke, and dust, and flashing swords,</span> <span class="i0">That + like the lightning gleam.</span> <span class="i0">Art thou not + comforted? Dost turn away</span> <span class="i0">Thy eyes, in + horror, from the doubtful fray?</span> <span class="i0">Ye gods, ye + gods. Oh, can it be?</span> <span class="i0">The youth of Italy</span> + <span class="i0">Their hireling swords for other lands have bared!</span> + <span class="i0">Oh, wretched he in war who falls,</span> <span class="i0">Not for his native shores,</span> <span class="i0">His + loving wife and children dear,</span> <span class="i0">But, + fighting for another’s gain,</span> <span class="i0">And by + another’s foe is slain!</span> <span class="i0">Nor can he say, as + his last breath he draws,</span> <span class="i0">“My + mother-land, beloved, ah see,</span> <span class="i0">The life thou + gav’st, I render back to thee!”</span> <span class="i0">Oh + fortunate and dear and blessed,</span> <span class="i0">The ancient + days, when rushed to death the brave,</span> <span class="i0">In + crowds, their country’s life to save!</span> <span class="i0">And + you, forever glorious,</span> <span class="i0">Thessalian straits,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page4" id="page4" title="4"></a>Where + Persia, Fate itself, could not withstand</span> <span class="i0">The + fiery zeal of that devoted band!</span> <span class="i0">Do not the + trees, the rocks, the waves,</span> <span class="i0">The mountains, + to each passer-by,</span> <span class="i0">With low and plaintive + voice tell</span> <span class="i0">The wondrous tale of those who + fell,</span> <span class="i0">Heroes invincible who gave</span> + <span class="i0">Their lives, their Greece to save?</span> <span class="i0">Then cowardly as fierce,</span> <span class="i0">Xerxes + across the Hellespont retired,</span> <span class="i0">A + laughing-stock to all succeeding time;</span> <span class="i0">And + up Anthela’s hill, where, e’en in death</span> <span class="i0">The + sacred Band immortal life obtained,</span> <span class="i0">Simonides + slow-climbing, thoughtfully,</span> <span class="i0">Looked forth + on sea and shore and sky.</span> <span class="i0">And then, his + cheeks with tears bedewed,</span> <span class="i0">And heaving + breast, and trembling foot, he stood,</span> <span class="i0">His + lyre in hand and sang:</span> <span class="i0">“O ye, forever + blessed,</span> <span class="i0">Who bared your breasts unto the + foeman’s lance,</span> <span class="i0">For love of her, who gave + you birth;</span> <span class="i0">By Greece revered, and by the + world admired,</span> <span class="i0">What ardent love your + youthful minds inspired,</span> <span class="i0">To rush to arms, + such perils dire to meet,</span> <span class="i0">A fate so hard, + with loving smiles to greet?</span> <span class="i0">Her children, + why so joyously,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page5" id="page5" title="5"></a>Ran ye, that stern and rugged pass + to guard?</span> <span class="i0">As if unto a dance,</span> + <span class="i0">Or to some splendid feast,</span> <span class="i0">Each + one appeared to haste,</span> <span class="i0">And not grim death + Death to brave;</span> <span class="i0">But Tartarus awaited ye,</span> + <span class="i0">And the cold Stygian wave;</span> <span class="i0">Nor + were your wives or children at your side,</span> <span class="i0">When, + on that rugged shore,</span> <span class="i0">Without a kiss, + without a tear, ye died.</span> <span class="i0">But not without a + fearful blow</span> <span class="i0">To Persians dealt, and their + undying shame.</span> <span class="i0">As at a herd of bulls a lion + glares,</span> <span class="i0">Then, plunging in, upon the back</span> + <span class="i0">Of this one leaps, and with his claws</span> <span class="i0">A passage all along his chine he tears,</span> <span class="i0">And fiercely drives his teeth into his sides,</span> + <span class="i0">Such havoc Grecian wrath and valor made</span> + <span class="i0">Amongst the Persian ranks, dismayed.</span> <span class="i0">Behold each prostrate rider and his steed;</span> <span class="i0">Behold the chariots, and the fallen tents,</span> <span class="i0">A tangled mass their flight impede;</span> <span class="i0">And see, among the first to fly,</span> <span class="i0">The + tyrant, pale, and in disorder wild!</span> <span class="i0">See, + how the Grecian youths,</span> <span class="i0">With blood barbaric + dyed,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page6" id="page6" title="6"></a>And dealing death on every side,</span> + <span class="i0">By slow degrees by their own wounds subdued,</span> + <span class="i0">The one upon the other fall. Farewell,</span> + <span class="i0">Ye heroes blessed, whose names shall live,</span> + <span class="i0">While tongue can speak, or pen your story tell!</span> + <span title="Original began with a double-quote" class="i0">Sooner the + stars, torn from their spheres, shall hiss,</span> <span class="i0">Extinguished + in the bottom of the sea,</span> <span class="i0">Than the dear + memory, and love of you,</span> <span class="i0">Shall suffer loss, + or injury.</span> <span class="i0">Your tomb an altar is; the + mothers here</span> <span class="i0">Shall come, unto their little + ones to show</span> <span class="i0">The lovely traces of your + blood. Behold,</span> <span class="i0">Ye blessed, myself upon the + ground I throw,</span> <span class="i0">And kiss these stones, + these clods</span> <span class="i0">Whose fame, unto the end of + time,</span> <span class="i0">Shall sacred be in every clime.</span> + <span class="i0">Oh, had I, too, been here with you,</span> <span class="i0">And this dear earth had moistened with my blood!</span> + <span class="i0">But since stern Fate would not consent</span> + <span class="i0">That I for Greece my dying eyes should close,</span> + <span class="i0">In conflict with her foes,</span> <span class="i0">Still + may the gracious gods accept</span> <span class="i0">The offering I + bring,</span> <span class="i0">And grant to me the precious boon,</span> + <span class="i0">Your Hymn of Praise to sing!”</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page7" id="page7" title="7"></a>ON DANTE’S + MONUMENT, 1818.<small>(THEN UNFINISHED.)</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Though all the nations now</span> <span class="i0">Peace + gathers under her white wings,</span> <span class="i0">The minds of + Italy will ne’er be free</span> <span class="i0">From the + restraints of their old lethargy,</span> <span class="i0">Till our + ill-fated land cling fast</span> <span class="i0">Unto the glorious + memories of the Past.</span> <span class="i0">Oh, lay it to thy + heart, my Italy,</span> <span class="i0">Fit honor to thy dead to + pay;</span> <span class="i0">For, ah, their like walk not thy + streets to-day!</span> <span class="i0">Nor is there one whom thou + canst reverence!</span> <span class="i0">Turn, turn, my country, + and behold</span> <span class="i0">That noble band of heroes old,</span> + <span class="i0">And weep, and on thyself thy anger vent,</span> + <span class="i0">For without anger, grief is impotent:</span> <span class="i0">Oh, turn, and rouse thyself for shame,</span> <span class="i0">Blush at the thought of sires so great,</span> <span class="i0">Of children so degenerate!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Alien in mien, in genius, and in speech,</span> + <span class="i0">The eager guest from far</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page8" id="page8" title="8"></a>Went searching + through the Tuscan soil to find</span> <span class="i0">Where he + reposed, whose verse sublime</span> <span class="i0">Might fitly + rank with Homer’s lofty rhyme;</span> <span class="i0">And oh! to + our disgrace he heard</span> <span class="i0">Not only that, e’er + since his dying day,</span> <span class="i0">In other soil his + bones in exile lay,</span> <span class="i0">But not a stone within + thy walls was reared</span> <span class="i0">To him, O Florence, + whose renown</span> <span class="i0">Caused thee to be by all the + world revered.</span> <span class="i0">Thanks to the brave, the + generous band,</span> <span class="i0">Whose timely labor from our + land</span> <span class="i0">Will this sad, shameful stain remove!</span> + <span class="i0">A noble task is yours,</span> <span class="i0">And + every breast with kindred zeal hath fired,</span> <span class="i0">That + is by love of Italy inspired.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">May love of Italy inspire you still,</span> <span class="i0">Poor mother, sad and lone,</span> <span class="i0">To + whom no pity now</span> <span class="i0">In any breast is shown,</span> + <span class="i0">Now, that to golden days the evil days succeed.</span> + <span class="i0">May pity still, ye children dear,</span> <span class="i0">Your hearts unite, your labors crown,</span> <span class="i0">And grief and anger at her cruel pain,</span> <span class="i0">As on her cheeks and veil the hot tears rain!</span> + <span class="i0">But how can I, in speech or song,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page9" id="page9" title="9"></a>Your + praises fitly sing,</span> <span class="i0">To whose mature and + careful thought,</span> <span class="i0">The work superb, in your + proud task achieved,</span> <span class="i0">Will fame immortal + bring?</span> <span class="i0">What notes of cheer can I now send + to you,</span> <span class="i0">That may unto your ardent souls + appeal,</span> <span class="i0">And add new fervor to your zeal?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Your lofty theme will inspiration give,</span> + <span title="Original read 'And its sharps thorns'" class="i0">And its + sharp thorns within your bosoms lodge.</span> <span class="i0">Who + can describe the whirlwind and the storm</span> <span class="i0">Of + your deep anger, and your deeper love?</span> <span class="i0">Who + can your wonder-stricken looks portray,</span> <span class="i0">The + lightning in your eyes that gleams?</span> <span class="i0">What + mortal tongue can such celestial themes</span> <span class="i0">In + language fit describe?</span> <span class="i0">Away ye souls, + profane, away!</span> <span class="i0">What tears will o’er this + marble stone be shed!</span> <span class="i0">How can it fall? How + fall your fame sublime,</span> <span class="i0">A victim to the + envious tooth of Time?</span> <span class="i0">O ye, that can + alleviate our woes,</span> <span class="i0">Sole comfort of this + wretched land,</span> <span class="i0">Live ever, ye dear Arts + divine,</span> <span class="i0">Amid the ruins of our fallen state,</span> + <span class="i0">The glories of the past to celebrate!</span> <span class="i0">I, too, who wish to pay</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page10" id="page10" title="10"></a>Due honor to + our grieving mother, bring</span> <span class="i0">Of song my + humble offering,</span> <span class="i0">As here I sit, and listen, + where</span> <span class="i0">Your chisel life unto the marble + gives.</span> <span class="i0">O thou, illustrious sire of Tuscan + song,</span> <span class="i0">If tidings e’er of earthly things,</span> + <span class="i0">Of <i>her</i>, whom thou hast placed so high,</span> + <span class="i0">Could reach your mansions in the sky,</span> <span class="i0">I know, thou for thyself no joy wouldst feel,</span> + <span class="i0">For, with thy fame compared,</span> <span class="i0">Renowned in every land,</span> <span class="i0">Our + bronze and marble are as wax and sand;</span> <span class="i0">If + thee we <i>have</i> forgotten, <i>can</i> forget,</span> <span class="i0">May suffering still follow suffering,</span> <span class="i0">And may thy race to all the world unknown,</span> <span class="i0">In endless sorrows weep and moan.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou for thyself no joy wouldst feel,</span> <span class="i0">But for thy native land,</span> <span class="i0">If the + example of their sires</span> <span class="i0">Could in the cold + and sluggish sons</span> <span class="i0">Renew once more the + ancient fires,</span> <span class="i0">That they might lift their + heads in pride again.</span> <span class="i0">Alas, with what + protracted sufferings</span> <span class="i0">Thou seest her + afflicted, that, e’en then</span> <span class="i0">Did seem to know + no end,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page11" id="page11" title="11"></a>When thou anew didst unto Paradise ascend!</span> + <span class="i0">Reduced so low, that, as thou seest her now,</span> + <span class="i0">She then a happy Queen appeared.</span> <span class="i0">Such misery her heart doth grieve,</span> <span class="i0">As, seeing, thou canst not thy eyes believe.</span> + <span class="i0">And oh, the last, most bitter blow of all,</span> + <span class="i0">When on the ground, as she in anguish lay,</span> + <span class="i0">It seemed, indeed, thy country’s dying day!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O happy thou, whom Fate did not condemn</span> + <span class="i0">To live amid such horrors; who</span> <span class="i0">Italian wives didst not behold</span> <span class="i0">By + ruffian troops embraced;</span> <span class="i0">Nor cities + plundered, fields laid waste</span> <span class="i0">By hostile + spear, and foreign rage;</span> <span class="i0">Nor works divine + of genius borne away</span> <span class="i0">In sad captivity, + beyond the Alps,</span> <span class="i0">The roads encumbered with + the precious prey;</span> <span class="i0">Nor foreign rulers’ + insolence and pride;</span> <span class="i0">Nor didst insulting + voices hear,</span> <span class="i0">Amidst the sound of chains and + whips,</span> <span class="i0">The sacred name of Liberty deride.</span> + <span class="i0">Who suffers not? Oh! at these wretches’ hands,</span> + <span class="i0">What have we not endured?</span> <span class="i0">From + what unholy deed have they refrained?</span> <span class="i0">What + temple, altar, have they not profaned?</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page12" id="page12" title="12"></a>Why have we + fallen on such evil times?</span> <span class="i0">Why didst thou + give us birth, or why</span> <span class="i0">No sooner suffer us + to die,</span> <span class="i0">O cruel Fate? We, who have seen</span> + <span class="i0">Our wretched country so betrayed,</span> <span class="i0">The handmaid, slave of impious strangers made,</span> + <span class="i0">And of her ancient virtues all bereft;</span> + <span class="i0">Yet could no aid or comfort give.</span> <span class="i0">Or ray of hope, that might relieve</span> <span class="i0">The anguish of her soul.</span> <span class="i0">Alas, + my blood has not been shed for thee,</span> <span class="i0">My + country dear! Nor have I died</span> <span class="i0">That thou + mightst live!</span> <span class="i0">My heart with anger and with + pity bleeds.</span> <span class="i0">Ah, bitter thought! Thy + children fought and fell;</span> <span class="i0">But not for dying + Italy, ah, no,</span> <span class="i0">But in the service of her + cruel foe!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Father, if this enrage thee not,</span> <span class="i0">How changed art thou from what thou wast on earth!</span> + <span class="i0">On Russia’s plains, so bleak and desolate,</span> + <span class="i0">They died, the sons of Italy;</span> <span class="i0">Ah, well deserving of a better fate!</span> <span class="i0">In cruel war with men, with beasts,</span> <span class="i0">The elements! In heaps they strewed the ground;</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page13" id="page13" title="13"></a>Half-clad, emaciated, stained with blood,</span> + <span class="i0">A bed of ice for their sick frames they found.</span> + <span class="i0">Then, when the parting hour drew near,</span> + <span class="i0">In fond remembrance of that mother dear,</span> + <span class="i0">They cried: “Oh had we fallen by the foeman’s + hand,</span> <span class="i0">And not the victims of the clouds and + storms,</span> <span class="i0">And for <i>thy</i> good, our native + land!</span> <span class="i0">Now, far from thee, and in the bloom + of youth,</span> <span class="i0">Unknown to all, we yield our + parting breath,</span> <span class="i0">And die for <i>her</i>, who + caused our country’s death!”</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The northern desert and the whispering groves,</span> + <span class="i0">Sole witnesses of their lament,</span> <span class="i0">As thus they passed away!</span> <span class="i0">And + their neglected corpses, as they lay</span> <span class="i0">Upon + that horrid sea of snow exposed,</span> <span class="i0">Were by + the beasts consumed;</span> <span class="i0">The memories of the + brave and good,</span> <span class="i0">And of the coward and the + vile,</span> <span class="i0">Unto the same oblivion doomed!</span> + <span class="i0">Dear souls, though infinite your wretchedness,</span> + <span class="i0">Rest, rest in peace! And yet what peace is yours,</span> + <span class="i0">Who can no comfort ever know</span> <span class="i0">While Time endures!</span> <span class="i0">Rest in the + depths of your unmeasured woe,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page14" id="page14" title="14"></a>O ye, <i>her</i> + children true,</span> <span class="i0">Whose fate alone with hers + may vie,</span> <span class="i0">In endless, hopeless misery!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But she rebukes you not,</span> <span class="i0">Ah, + no, but these alone,</span> <span class="i0">Who forced you with + her to contend;</span> <span class="i0">And still her bitter tears + she blends with yours,</span> <span class="i0">In wretchedness that + knows no end.</span> <span class="i0">Oh that some pity in the + heart were born,</span> <span class="i0">For her, who hath all + other glories won,</span> <span class="i0">Of one, who from this + dark, profound abyss,</span> <span class="i0">Her weak and weary + feet could guide!</span> <span class="i0">Thou glorious shade, oh! + say,</span> <span class="i0">Does no one love thy Italy?</span> + <span class="i0">Say, is the flame that kindled thee extinct?</span> + <span class="i0">And will that myrtle never bloom again,</span> + <span class="i0">That hath so long consoled us in our pain?</span> + <span class="i0">Must all our garlands wither in the dust?</span> + <span class="i0">And shall we a redeemer never see,</span> <span class="i0">Who may, in part, at least, resemble thee?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Are we forever lost?</span> <span class="i0">Is + there no limit to our shame?</span> <span class="i0">I, while I + live, will never cease to cry:</span> <span class="i0">“Degenerate + race, think of thy ancestry!</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page15" id="page15" title="15"></a>Behold these + ruins vast,</span> <span class="i0">These pictures, statues, + temples, poems grand!</span> <span class="i0">Think of the glories + of thy native land!</span> <span class="i0">If they thy soul cannot + inspire or warn,</span> <span class="i0">Why linger here? Arise! + Begone!</span> <span class="i0">This holy ground must not be thus + defiled,</span> <span class="i0">And must no shelter give</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the coward and the slave!</span> <span class="i0">Far better were the silence of the grave!”</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + TO ANGELO MAI,<small>ON HIS DISCOVERY OF THE LOST BOOKS OF CICERO, + “DE REPUBLICA.”</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Italian bold, why wilt thou never cease</span> + <span class="i0">The fathers from their tombs to summon forth?</span> + <span class="i0">Why bring them, with this dead age to converse,</span> + <span class="i0">That stifled is by enemies and by sloth?</span> + <span class="i0">And why dost thou, voice of our ancestors,</span> + <span class="i0">That hast so long been mute,</span> <span class="i0">Resound so loud and frequent in our ears?</span> <span class="i0">Why all these grand discoveries?</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page16" id="page16" title="16"></a>As in a flash + the fruitful pages come,</span> <span class="i0">What hath this + wretched age deserved,</span> <span class="i0">That dusty cloisters + have for it reserved</span> <span class="i0">These hidden treasures + of the wise and brave?</span> <span class="i0">Illustrious man, + with what strange power</span> <span class="i0">Does Fate thy + ardent zeal befriend?</span> <span class="i0">Or does Fate vainly + with man’s will contend?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Without the lofty counsel of the gods,</span> + <span class="i0">It surely could not be, that now,</span> <span class="i0">When we were never sunk so low,</span> <span class="i0">In + desperate oblivion of the Past,</span> <span class="i0">Each + moment, comes a cry renewed,</span> <span class="i0">From our great + sires, to shake our souls, at last!</span> <span class="i0">Heaven + still some pity shows for Italy;</span> <span class="i0">Some god + hath still our happiness at heart:</span> <span class="i0">Since + this, or else no other, is the hour,</span> <span class="i0">Italian + virtue to redeem,</span> <span class="i0">And its old lustre once + more to impart,</span> <span class="i0">These pleading voices from + the grave we hear;</span> <span class="i0">Forgotten heroes rise + from earth again,</span> <span class="i0">To see, my country, if at + this late day,</span> <span class="i0">Thou still art pleased the + coward’s part to play.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And do ye cherish still,</span> <span class="i0">Illustrious + shades, some hope of us?</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page17" id="page17" title="17"></a>Have we not + perished utterly?</span> <span class="i0">To you, perhaps, it is + allowed, to read</span> <span class="i0">The book of destiny. <i>I</i> + am dismayed,</span> <span class="i0">And have no refuge from my + grief;</span> <span class="i0">For dark to me the future is, and + all</span> <span class="i0">That I discern is such, as makes hope + seem</span> <span class="i0">A fable and a dream. To your old homes</span> + <span class="i0">A wretched crew succeed; to noble act or word,</span> + <span class="i0">They pay no heed; for your eternal fame</span> + <span class="i0">They know no envy, feel no blush of shame.</span> + <span class="i0">A filthy mob your monuments defile:</span> <span class="i0">To ages yet unborn,</span> <span class="i0">We have + become a by-word and a scorn.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou noble spirit, if no others care</span> <span class="i0">For our great Fathers’ fame, oh, care thou still,</span> + <span class="i0">Thou, to whom Fate hath so benignant been,</span> + <span class="i0">That those old days appear again,</span> <span class="i0">When, roused from dire oblivion’s tomb,</span> <span class="i0">Came forth, with all the treasures of their lore,</span> + <span class="i0">Those ancient bards, divine, with whom</span> + <span class="i0">Great Nature spake, but still behind her veil,</span> + <span class="i0">And with her mysteries graced</span> <span class="i0">The holidays of Athens and of Rome.</span> <span class="i0">O times, now buried in eternal sleep!</span> <span class="i0">Our country’s ruin was not then complete;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page18" id="page18" title="18"></a>We + then a life of wretched sloth disdained;</span> <span class="i0">Still + from our native soil were borne afar,</span> <span class="i0">Some + sparks of genius by the passing air.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thy holy ashes still were warm,</span> <span class="i0">Whom hostile fortune ne’er unmanned;</span> <span class="i0">Unto whose anger and whose grief,</span> <span class="i0">Hell + was more grateful than thy native land.</span> <span class="i0">Ah, + what, but hell, has Italy become?</span> <span class="i0">And thy + sweet cords</span> <span class="i0">Still trembled at the touch of + thy right hand,</span> <span class="i0">Unhappy bard of love.</span> + <span class="i0">Alas, Italian song is still the child</span> <span class="i0">Of sorrow born.</span> <span class="i0">And yet, less + hard to bear,</span> <span class="i0">Consuming grief than dull + vacuity!</span> <span class="i0">O blessed thou, whose life was one + lament!</span> <span class="i0">Disgust and nothingness are still + our doom,</span> <span class="i0">And by our cradle sit, and on our + tomb.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But thy life, then, was with the stars and sea,</span> + <span class="i0">Liguria’s hardy son,</span> <span class="i0">When + thou, beyond the columns and the shores,</span> <span class="i0">Where + oft, at set of sun,</span> <span class="i0">The waves are heard to + hiss,</span> <span class="i0">As he into their depths has plunged,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page19" id="page19" title="19"></a>Committed to the boundless deep,</span> <span class="i0">Didst find again the sun’s declining ray,</span> <span class="i0">The new-born day didst find,</span> <span class="i0">When + it from us had passed away;</span> <span class="i0">Defying + Nature’s every obstacle,</span> <span class="i0">A land unknown + didst win, the glorious spoils</span> <span class="i0">Of all thy + perils, all thy toils.</span> <span class="i0">And yet, when known, + the world seems smaller still;</span> <span class="i0">And earth + and ocean, and the heavenly sphere</span> <span class="i0">More + vast unto the child, than to the sage appear.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Where now are all the charming dreams</span> <span class="i0">Of the mysterious retreats</span> <span class="i0">Of + dwellers unto us unknown,</span> <span class="i0">Or where, by day, + the stars to rest have gone,</span> <span class="i0">Or of the + couch remote of Eos bright,</span> <span class="i0">Or of the sun’s + mysterious sleep at night?</span> <span class="i0">They, in an + instant, vanished all;</span> <span class="i0">A little chart + portrays this earthly ball.</span> <span class="i0">Lo, all things + are alike; discovery</span> <span class="i0">But proves the way for + dull vacuity.</span> <span class="i0">Farewell to thee, O Fancy, + dear,</span> <span class="i0">If plain, unvarnished truth appear!</span> + <span class="i0">Thought more and more is still estranged from thee;</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page20" id="page20" title="20"></a>Thy power so mighty once, will soon be gone,</span> + <span class="i0">And our poor, wounded hearts be left forlorn.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But thou for these sweet dreams wast born,</span> + <span class="i0">And the <i>old</i> sun upon thee shone,</span> + <span class="i0">Delightful singer of the arms, and loves,</span> + <span class="i0">That in an age far happier than our own,</span> + <span class="i0">Men’s lives with pleasing errors filled.</span> + <span class="i0">New hope of Italy! O towers, O caves,</span> <span class="i0">O ladies, cavaliers,</span> <span class="i0">O gardens, + palaces! Amenites,</span> <span class="i0">At thought of which, the + mind</span> <span class="i0">Is lost in thousand splendid reveries!</span> + <span class="i0">Ye lovely fables, and ye thoughts grotesque,</span> + <span class="i0">Now banished! And what to us remains?</span> <span class="i0">Now that the bloom from all things is removed?</span> + <span class="i0">Alas, the sole, the certain thought,</span> <span class="i0">That all except our wretchedness, is nought.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Torquato, O Torquato, heaven to us</span> <span class="i0">The rich gift of thy genius gave, to thee</span> <span class="i0">Nought else but misery.</span> <span class="i0">Ill-starred + Torquato, whom thy song,</span> <span class="i0">So sweet, could + not console,</span> <span class="i0">Nor melt the ice, to which</span> + <span class="i0">The genial current of thy soul</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page21" id="page21" title="21"></a>Was + turned, by private envy, princely hate;</span> <span class="i0">And + then, by Love abandoned, life’s last dream!</span> <span class="i0">To + thee, nought real seemed but nothingness,</span> <span class="i0">The + world a dreary wilderness.</span> <span class="i0">Too late the + honors came, so long deferred;</span> <span class="i0">And yet, to + die was unto thee a gain.</span> <span class="i0">Who knows the + evils of our mortal state,</span> <span class="i0">Demands but + death, no garland asks, of Fate.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Return, return to us,</span> <span class="i0">Rise + from thy silent, dreary tomb,</span> <span class="i0">And feast + thine eyes on our distress,</span> <span class="i0">O thou, whose + life was crowned with wretchedness!</span> <span class="i0">Far + worse than what appeared to thee so sad</span> <span class="i0">And + infamous, have all our lives become.</span> <span class="i0">Dear + friend, who now would pity thee,</span> <span class="i0">When none + save for himself hath thought or care?</span> <span class="i0">Who + would not thy keen anguish folly call,</span> <span class="i0">When + all things great and rare the name of folly bear?</span> <span class="i0">When envy, no, but worse than envy, far,</span> <span class="i0">Indifference pervades our rulers all?</span> <span class="i0">Ah, who would now, when we all think</span> <span class="i0">Of song so little, and so much of gain,</span> <span class="i0">A laurel for thy brow prepare again?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page22" id="page22" title="22"></a>Ah, since thy day, there has appeared but one,</span> + <span class="i0">Who has the fame of Italy redeemed:</span> <span class="i0">Too good for his vile age, he stands alone;</span> <span class="i0">One of the fierce Allobroges,</span> <span class="i0">Whose + manly virtue was derived</span> <span class="i0">Direct from + heavenly powers,</span> <span class="i0">Not from this dry, + unfruitful earth of ours;</span> <span class="i0">Whence he alone, + unarmed,—</span> <span class="i0">O matchless courage!—from + the stage,</span> <span class="i0">Did war upon the ruthless + tyrants wage;</span> <span class="i0">The only war, the only weapon + left,</span> <span class="i0">Against the crimes and follies of the + age.</span> <span class="i0">First, and alone, he took the field:</span> + <span class="i0">None followed him; all else were cowards tame,</span> + <span class="i0">Lost to all sense of honor, or of shame.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Devoured by anger and by grief,</span> <span class="i0">His spotless life he passed,</span> <span class="i0">Till + from worse scenes released by death, at last.</span> <span class="i0">O my Victorio, this was not for thee</span> <span class="i0">The fitting age, or land.</span> <span class="i0">Great + souls congenial times and climes demand.</span> <span class="i0">In + mere repose we live content,</span> <span class="i0">And vulgar + mediocrity;</span> <span class="i0">The wise man sinks, the mob + ascends,</span> <span class="i0">Till all at last in one dread + level ends.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page23" id="page23" title="23"></a>Go on, thou great discoverer!</span> + <span class="i0">Revive the dead, since all the living sleep!</span> + <span class="i0">Dead tongues of ancient heroes arm anew;</span> + <span class="i0">Till this vile age a new life strive to win</span> + <span class="i0">By noble deeds, or perish in its sin!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + TO HIS SISTER PAOLINA,<small>ON HER APPROACHING MARRIAGE.</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Since now thou art about to leave</span> <span class="i0">Thy father’s quiet house,</span> <span class="i0">And + all the phantoms and illusions dear,</span> <span class="i0">That + heaven-born fancies round it weave,</span> <span class="i0">And to + this lonely region lend their charm,</span> <span class="i0">Unto + the dust and noise of life condemned,</span> <span class="i0">By + destiny, soon wilt thou learn to see</span> <span class="i0">Our + wretchedness and infamy,</span> <span class="i0">My sister dear, + who, in these mournful times,</span> <span class="i0">Alas, wilt + more unhappy souls bestow</span> <span class="i0">On our unhappy + Italy!</span> <span class="i0">With strong examples strengthen thou + their minds;</span> <span class="i0">For cruel fate propitious + gales</span> <span class="i0">Hath e’er to virtue’s course denied,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor in weak souls can purity reside.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page24" id="page24" title="24"></a>Thy sons must either poor, or cowards be.</span> + <span class="i0">Prefer them poor. It is the custom still.</span> + <span class="i0">Desert and fortune never yet were friends;</span> + <span class="i0">The strife between them never ends.</span> <span class="i0">Unhappy they, who in these evil days</span> <span class="i0">Are born when all things totter to their fall!</span> + <span class="i0">But that we must to heaven leave.</span> <span class="i0">Be this, above all things, thy care,</span> <span class="i0">Thy children still to rear,</span> <span class="i0">As + those who court not Fortune’s smiles,</span> <span class="i0">Nor + playthings are of idle hope, or fear:</span> <span class="i0">And + so the future age will call them blessed;</span> <span class="i0">For, + in this slothful and deceitful world,</span> <span class="i0">The + living virtue ever we despise,</span> <span class="i0">The dead we + load with eulogies.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Women, to you our country looks,</span> <span class="i0">For the redemption of her fame:</span> <span class="i0">Ah, + not unto our injury and shame,</span> <span class="i0">On the soft + lustre of your eyes</span> <span class="i0">A power far mightier + was conferred</span> <span class="i0">Than that of fire or sword!</span> + <span class="i0">The wise and strong, in thought and act, are by</span> + <span class="i0">Your judgment led; nay all who live</span> <span class="i0">Beneath the sun, to you still bend the knee.</span> + <span class="i0">On you I call, then; answer me!</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page25" id="page25" title="25"></a>Have + <i>you</i> youth’s holy aspirations quenched?</span> <span class="i0">And are our natures broken, crushed by <i>you</i>?</span> + <span class="i0">These sluggish minds, these low desires,</span> + <span class="i0">These nerveless arms, these feeble knees.</span> + <span class="i0">Say, say, are you to blame for these?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Love is the spur to noble deeds,</span> <span class="i0">To him its worth who knows;</span> <span class="i0">And + beauty still to lofty love inspires.</span> <span class="i0">Love + never in his spirit glows,</span> <span class="i0">Whose heart + exults not in his breast,</span> <span class="i0">When angry winds + in fight descend,</span> <span class="i0">And heaven gathers all + its clouds,</span> <span class="i0">And mountain crests the + lightnings rend.</span> <span class="i0">O wives, O maidens, he</span> + <span class="i0">Who shrinks from danger, turns his back upon</span> + <span class="i0">His country in her need, and only seeks</span> + <span class="i0">His base desires and appetites to feed,</span> + <span class="i0">Excites your hatred and your scorn;</span> <span class="i0">If ye for men, and not for milk-sops, feel</span> <span class="i0">The glow of love o’er your soft bosoms steal.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The mothers of unwarlike sons</span> <span class="i0">O may ye ne’er be called!</span> <span class="i0">Your + children still inure</span> <span class="i0">For virtue’s sake all + trials to endure;</span> <span class="i0">To scorn the vices of + this wretched age;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page26" id="page26" title="26"></a>To cherish loyal thoughts, and + high desires;</span> <span class="i0">And learn how much they owe + unto their sires.</span> <span class="i0">The sons of Sparta thus + became,</span> <span class="i0">Amid the memories of heroes old,</span> + <span class="i0">Deserving of the Grecian name;</span> <span class="i0">While the young spouse the trusty sword</span> <span class="i0">Upon the loved one’s side would gird,</span> <span class="i0">And, afterwards, with her black locks,</span> <span class="i0">The bloodless, naked corpse concealed,</span> <span class="i0">When homeward borne upon the faithful shield.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Virginia, thy soft cheek</span> <span class="i0">In + Beauty’s finest mould was framed;</span> <span class="i0">But thy + disdain Rome’s haughty lord inflamed.</span> <span class="i0">How + lovely wast thou, in thy youth’s sweet prime,</span> <span class="i0">When the rough dagger of thy sire</span> <span class="i0">Thy + snowy breast did smite,</span> <span class="i0">And thou, a willing + victim, didst descend</span> <span class="i0">Into realms of night!</span> + <span class="i0">“May old age wither and consume my frame,</span> + <span class="i0">O father,”—thus she said;</span> <span class="i0">“And may they now for me the tomb prepare,</span> + <span class="i0">E’er I the impious bed</span> <span class="i0">Of + that foul tyrant share:</span> <span class="i0">And if my blood new + life and liberty</span> <span class="i0">May give to Rome, by thy + hand let me die!”</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page27" id="page27" title="27"></a>Ah, in those better days</span> <span class="i0">When + more propitious shone the sun than now,</span> <span class="i0">Thy + tomb, dear child, was not left comfortless,</span> <span class="i0">But + honored with the tears of all.</span> <span class="i0">Behold, + around thy lovely corpse, the sons</span> <span class="i0">Of + Romulus with holy wrath inflamed;</span> <span class="i0">Behold + the tyrants locks with dust besmeared;</span> <span class="i0">In + sluggish breasts once more</span> <span class="i0">The sacred name + of Liberty revered;</span> <span class="i0">Behold o’er all the + subjugated earth,</span> <span class="i0">The troops of Latium + march triumphant forth,</span> <span class="i0">From torrid desert + to the gloomy pole.</span> <span class="i0">And thus eternal Rome,</span> + <span class="i0">That had so long in sloth oblivious lain,</span> + <span class="i0">A daughter’s sacrifice revives again.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + TO A VICTOR IN THE GAME OF PALLONE. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">The face of glory and her pleasant voice,</span> + <span class="i0">O fortunate youth, now recognize,</span> <span class="i0">And how much nobler than effeminate sloth</span> <span class="i0">Are manhood’s tested energies.</span> <span class="i0">Take + heed, O generous champion, take heed,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page28" id="page28" title="28"></a>If thou thy + name by worthy thought or deed,</span> <span class="i0">From Time’s + all-sweeping current couldst redeem;</span> <span class="i0">Take + heed, and lift thy heart to high desires!</span> <span class="i0">The + amphitheatre’s applause, the public voice,</span> <span class="i0">Now + summon thee to deeds illustrious;</span> <span class="i0">Exulting + in thy lusty youth.</span> <span class="i0">In thee, to-day, thy + country dear</span> <span class="i0">Beholds her heroes old again + appear.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><i>His</i> hand was ne’er with blood barbaric stained,</span> + <span class="i0">At Marathon,</span> <span class="i0">Who on the + plain of Elis could behold</span> <span class="i0">The naked + athletes, and the wrestlers bold,</span> <span class="i0">And feel + no glow of emulous zeal within,</span> <span class="i0">The laurel + wreath of victory to win.</span> <span class="i0">And he, who in + Alphēus stream did wash</span> <span class="i0">The dusty + manes and foaming flanks</span> <span class="i0">Of his victorious + mares, <i>he</i> best could lead</span> <span class="i0">The + Grecian banners and the Grecian swords</span> <span class="i0">Against + the flying, panic-stricken ranks</span> <span class="i0">Of Medes, + who, dying, Asia’s shore</span> <span class="i0">And great + Euphrates will behold no more.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And will you call that vain, which seeks</span> + <span class="i0">The latent sparks of virtue to evolve,</span> + <span class="i0">Or animate anew to high resolve,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page29" id="page29" title="29"></a>The + drooping fervor of our weary souls?</span> <span class="i0">What + but a game have mortal works e’er been,</span> <span class="i0">Since + Phœbus first his weary wheels did urge?</span> <span class="i0">And is not truth, no less than falsehood, vain?</span> + <span class="i0">And yet, with pleasing phantoms, fleeting shows,</span> + <span class="i0">Nature herself to our relief has come;</span> + <span class="i0">And custom, aiding nature, still must strive</span> + <span class="i0">These strong illusions to revive;</span> <span class="i0">Or else all thirst for noble deeds is gone,</span> <span class="i0">Is lost in sloth, and blind oblivion.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The time may come, perchance, when midst</span> + <span class="i0">The ruins of Italian palaces,</span> <span class="i0">Will herds of cattle graze,</span> <span class="i0">And + all the seven hills the plough will feel;</span> <span class="i0">Not + many years will have elapsed, perchance,</span> <span class="i0">E’er + all the towns of Italy</span> <span class="i0">Will the abode of + foxes be,</span> <span class="i0">And dark groves murmur ’mid the + lofty walls;</span> <span class="i0">Unless the Fates from our + perverted minds</span> <span class="i0">Remove this sad oblivion of + the Past;</span> <span class="i0">And heaven by grateful memories + appeased,</span> <span class="i0">Relenting, in the hour of our + despair,</span> <span class="i0">The abject nations, ripe for + slaughter, spare.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But thou, O worthy youth, wouldst grieve,</span> + <span class="i0">Thy wretched country to survive.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page30" id="page30" title="30"></a>Thou + once through her mightst have acquired renown,</span> <span class="i0">When on her brow she wore the glittering crown,</span> + <span class="i0">Now lost! Our fault, and Fate’s! That time is o’er;</span> + <span class="i0">Ah, such a mother who could honor, more?</span> + <span class="i0">But for thyself, O lift thy thoughts on high!</span> + <span class="i0">What is our life? A thing to be despised:</span> + <span class="i0">Least wretched, when with perils so beset,</span> + <span class="i0">It must, perforce, its wretched self forget,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor heed the flight of slow-paced, worthless hours;</span> + <span class="i0">Or, when, to Lethe’s dismal shore impelled,</span> + <span class="i0">It hath once more the light of day beheld.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + THE YOUNGER BRUTUS. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">When in the Thracian dust uprooted lay,</span> + <span class="i0">In ruin vast, the strength of Italy,</span> <span class="i0">And Fate had doomed Hesperia’s valleys green,</span> + <span class="i0">And Tiber’s shores,</span> <span class="i0">The + trampling of barbarian steeds to feel,</span> <span class="i0">And + from the leafless groves,</span> <span class="i0">On which the + Northern Bear looks down,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page31" id="page31" title="31"></a>Had called + the Gothic hordes,</span> <span class="i0">That Rome’s proud walls + might fall before their swords;</span> <span class="i0">Exhausted, + wet with brothers’ blood,</span> <span class="i0">Alone sat Brutus, + in the dismal night;</span> <span class="i0">Resolved on death, the + gods implacable</span> <span class="i0">Of heaven and hell he + chides,</span> <span class="i0">And smites the listless, drowsy air</span> + <span class="i0">With his fierce cries of anger and despair.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">“O foolish virtue, empty mists,</span> <span class="i0">The realms of shadows, are thy schools,</span> <span class="i0">And at thy heels repentance follows fast.</span> <span class="i0">To you, ye marble gods</span> <span class="i0">(If ye in + Phlegethon reside, or dwell</span> <span class="i0">Above the + clouds), a mockery and scorn</span> <span class="i0">Is the unhappy + race,</span> <span class="i0">Of whom you temples ask,</span> + <span class="i0">And fraudulent the law that you impose.</span> + <span class="i0">Say, then, does earthly piety provoke</span> <span class="i0">The anger of the gods?</span> <span class="i0">O Jove, + dost thou protect the impious?</span> <span class="i0">And when the + storm-cloud rushes through the air,</span> <span class="i0">And + thou thy thunderbolts dost aim,</span> <span class="i0">Against the + <i>just</i> dost thou impel the sacred flame?</span> <span class="i0">Unconquered Fate and stern necessity</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page32" id="page32" title="32"></a>Oppress + the feeble slaves of Death:</span> <span class="i0">Unable to avert + their injuries,</span> <span class="i0">The common herd endure them + patiently.</span> <span class="i0">But is the ill less hard to + bear,</span> <span class="i0">Because it has no remedy?</span> + <span class="i0">Does he who knows no hope no sorrow feel?</span> + <span class="i0">The hero wages war with thee,</span> <span class="i0">Eternal deadly war, ungracious Fate,</span> <span class="i0">And knows not how to yield; and thy right hand,</span> + <span class="i0">Imperious, proudly shaking off,</span> <span class="i0">E’en when it weighs upon him most,</span> <span class="i0">Though conquered, is triumphant still,</span> <span class="i0">When his sharp sword inflicts the fatal blow;</span> + <span class="i0">And seeks with haughty smile the shades below.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">“Who storms the gates of Tartarus,</span> + <span class="i0">Offends the gods.</span> <span class="i0">Such + valor does not suit, forsooth,</span> <span class="i0">Their soft, + eternal bosoms; no?</span> <span class="i0">Or are our toils and + miseries,</span> <span class="i0">And all the anguish of our + hearts,</span> <span class="i0">A pleasant sport, their leisure to + beguile?</span> <span class="i0">Yet no such life of crime and + wretchedness,</span> <span class="i0">But pure and free as her own + woods and fields,</span> <span class="i0">Nature to us prescribed; + a queen</span> <span class="i0">And goddess once. Since impious + custom, now,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page33" id="page33" title="33"></a>Her happy realm hath scattered + to the winds,</span> <span class="i0">And other laws on this poor + life imposed,</span> <span class="i0">Will Nature of fool-hardiness + accuse</span> <span class="i0">The manly souls, who such a life + refuse?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">“Of crime, and their own sufferings ignorant,</span> + <span class="i0">Serene old age the beasts conducts</span> <span class="i0">Unto the death they ne’er foresee.</span> <span class="i0">But if, by misery impelled, they sought</span> <span class="i0">To dash their heads against the rugged tree,</span> + <span class="i0">Or, plunging headlong from the lofty rock,</span> + <span class="i0">Their limbs to scatter to the winds.</span> <span class="i0">No law mysterious, misconception dark,</span> <span class="i0">Would the sad wish refuse to grant.</span> <span class="i0">Of all that breathe the breath of life,</span> <span class="i0">You, only, children of Prometheus, feel</span> <span class="i0">That life a burden hard to bear;</span> <span class="i0">Yet, + would you seek the silent shores of death,</span> <span class="i0">If + sluggish fate the boon delay,</span> <span class="i0">To you, + alone, stern Jove forbids the way.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">“And thou, white moon, art rising from the sea,</span> + <span class="i0">That with our blood is stained;</span> <span class="i0">The troubled night dost thou survey,</span> <span class="i0">And field, so fatal unto Italy.</span> <span class="i0">On + brothers’ breasts the conqueror treads;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page34" id="page34" title="34"></a>The hills + with fear are thrilled;</span> <span class="i0">From her proud + heights Rome totters to her fall.</span> <span class="i0">And + smilest thou upon the dismal scene?</span> <span class="i0">Lavinia’s + children from their birth,</span> <span class="i0">And all their + prosperous years,</span> <span class="i0">And well-earned laurels, + hast thou seen;</span> <span class="i0">And thou <i>wilt</i> smile, + with ray unchanged,</span> <span class="i0">Upon the Alps, when, + bowed with grief and shame,</span> <span class="i0">The haughty + city, desolate and lone,</span> <span class="i0">Beneath the tread + of Gothic hordes shall groan.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">“Behold, amid the naked rocks,</span> <span class="i0">Or on the verdant bough, the beast and bird,</span> + <span class="i0">Whose breasts are ne’er by thought or memory stirred,</span> + <span class="i0">Of the vast ruin take no heed,</span> <span class="i0">Or of the altered fortunes of the world;</span> <span class="i0">And when the humble herdsman’s cot</span> <span class="i0">Is tinted with the earliest rays of dawn,</span> <span class="i0">The one will wake the valleys with his song,</span> + <span class="i0">The other, o’er the cliffs, the frightened throng</span> + <span class="i0">Of smaller beasts before him drive.</span> <span class="i0">O foolish race! Most wretched we, of all!</span> <span class="i0">Nor are these blood-stained fields,</span> <span class="i0">These caverns, that our groans have heard,</span> <span class="i0">Regardful of our misery;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page35" id="page35" title="35"></a>Nor shines + one star less brightly in the sky.</span> <span class="i0">Not the + deaf kings of heaven or hell,</span> <span class="i0">Or the + unworthy earth,</span> <span class="i0">Or night, do I in death + invoke,</span> <span class="i0">Or thee, last gleam the dying hour + that cheers,</span> <span class="i0">The voice of coming ages. I no + tomb</span> <span class="i0">Desire, to be with sobs disturbed, or + with</span> <span class="i0">The words and gifts of wretched fools + adorned.</span> <span class="i0">The times grow worse and worse;</span> + <span class="i0">And who, unto a vile posterity,</span> <span class="i0">The honor of great souls would trust,</span> <span class="i0">Or fit atonement for their wrongs?</span> <span class="i0">Then let the birds of prey around me wheel:</span> <span class="i0">And let my wretched corpse</span> <span class="i0">The + lightning blast, the wild beast tear;</span> <span class="i0">And + let my name and memory melt in air!”</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + TO THE SPRING.<small>OR OF THE FABLES OF THE ANCIENTS.</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Now that the sun the faded charms</span> <span class="i0">Of heaven again restores,</span> <span class="i0">And + gentle zephyr the sick air revives,</span> <span class="i0">And the + dark shadows of the clouds</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page36" id="page36" title="36"></a>Are put to + flight,</span> <span class="i0">And birds their naked breasts + confide</span> <span class="i0">Unto the wind, and the soft light,</span> + <span class="i0">With new desire of love, and with new hope,</span> + <span class="i0">The conscious beasts, in the deep woods,</span> + <span class="i0">Amid the melting frosts, inspires;</span> <span class="i0">May not to you, poor human souls,</span> <span class="i0">Weary, + and overborne with grief,</span> <span class="i0">The happy age + return, which misery,</span> <span class="i0">And truth’s dark + torch, before its time, consumed?</span> <span class="i0">Have not + the golden rays</span> <span class="i0">Of Phœbus vanished + from your gaze</span> <span class="i0">Forever? Say, O gentle + Spring,</span> <span class="i0">Canst thou this icy heart inspire, + and melt,</span> <span class="i0">That in the bloom of youth, the + frost of age hath felt?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O holy Nature, art thou still alive?</span> <span class="i0">Alive? And does the unaccustomed ear</span> <span class="i0">Of thy maternal voice the accents hear?</span> <span class="i0">Of white nymphs once, the streams were the abode.</span> + <span class="i0">And in the clear founts mirrored were their forms.</span> + <span class="i0">Mysterious dances of immortal feet</span> <span class="i0">The mountain tops and lofty forests shook,—</span> + <span class="i0">To-day the lonely mansions of the winds;—</span> + <span class="i0">And when the shepherd-boy the noontide shade</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page37" id="page37" title="37"></a>Would seek, or bring his thirsty lambs</span> <span class="i0">Unto the flowery margin of the stream,</span> <span class="i0">Along the banks the clear song would he hear,</span> + <span class="i0">And pipe of rustic Fauns;</span> <span class="i0">Would + see the waters move,</span> <span class="i0">And stand amazed, + when, hidden from the view,</span> <span class="i0">The + quiver-bearing goddess would descend</span> <span class="i0">Into + the genial waves,</span> <span class="i0">And from her snow-white + arms efface</span> <span class="i0">The dust and blood of the + exciting chase.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The flowers, the herbs <i>once</i> lived,</span> + <span class="i0">The groves with life were filled:</span> <span class="i0">Soft airs, and clouds, and every shining light</span> + <span class="i0">Were with the human race in sympathy,</span> <span class="i0">When thee, fair star of Venus, o’er</span> <span class="i0">The hills and dales,</span> <span class="i0">The + traveller, in the lonely night,</span> <span class="i0">Pursuing + with his earnest gaze,</span> <span class="i0">The sweet companion + of his path,</span> <span class="i0">The loving friend of mortals + deemed:</span> <span class="i0">When he, who, fleeing from the + impious strife</span> <span class="i0">Of cities filled with mutiny + and shame,</span> <span class="i0">In depths of woods remote,</span> + <span class="i0">The rough trees clasping to his breast,</span> + <span class="i0">The vital flame seemed in their veins to feel,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page38" id="page38" title="38"></a>The breathing leaves of Daphne, or of Phyllis sad;</span> + <span class="i0">And seemed the sisters’ tears to see, still shed</span> + <span class="i0">For him who, smitten by the lightning’s blast,</span> + <span class="i0">Into the swift Eridanus was cast.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nor were ye deaf, ye rigid rocks,</span> <span class="i0">To human sorrow’s plaintive tones,</span> <span class="i0">While in your dark recesses Echo dwelt,</span> <span class="i0">No idle plaything of the winds,</span> <span class="i0">But + spirit sad of hapless nymph,</span> <span class="i0">Whom + unrequited love, and cruel fate,</span> <span class="i0">Of her + soft limbs deprived. She o’er the grots,</span> <span class="i0">The + naked rocks, and mansions desolate,</span> <span class="i0">Unto + the depths of all-embracing air,</span> <span class="i0">Our + sorrows, not to her unknown,</span> <span class="i0">Our broken, + loud laments conveyed.</span> <span class="i0">And <i>thou</i>, if + fame belie thee not,</span> <span class="i0">Didst sound the depths + of human woe,</span> <span class="i0">Sweet bird, that comest to + the leafy grove,</span> <span class="i0">The new-born Spring to + greet,</span> <span class="i0">And when the fields are hushed in + sleep,</span> <span class="i0">To chant into the dark and silent + air,</span> <span class="i0">The ancient wrongs, and cruel + treachery,</span> <span class="i0">That stirred the pity of the + gods, to see.</span> <span class="i0">But, no, thy race is not akin + to ours;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page39" id="page39" title="39"></a>No sorrow framed thy melodies;</span> + <span class="i0">Thy voice of crime unconscious, pleases less,</span> + <span class="i0">Along the dusky valley heard.</span> <span class="i0">Ah, since the mansions of Olympus all</span> <span class="i0">Are desolate, and without guide, the bolt,</span> <span class="i0">That, wandering o’er the cloud-capped mountain-tops,</span> + <span class="i0">In horror cold dissolves alike</span> <span class="i0">The guilty and the innocent;</span> <span class="i0">Since + this, our earthly home,</span> <span class="i0">A stranger to her + children has become,</span> <span class="i0">And brings them up, to + misery;</span> <span class="i0">Lend thou an ear, dear Nature, to + the woes</span> <span class="i0">And wretched fate of mortals, and + revive</span> <span class="i0">The ancient spark within my breast;</span> + <span class="i0">If thou, indeed, dost live, if aught there is,</span> + <span class="i0">In heaven, or on the sun-lit earth,</span> <span class="i0">Or in the bosom of the sea,</span> <span class="i0">That + pities? No; but <i>sees</i> our misery.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page40" id="page40" title="40"></a>HYMN TO + THE PATRIARCHS.<small>OR OF THE BEGINNINGS OF THE HUMAN RACE.</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Illustrious fathers of the human race,</span> + <span class="i0">Of you, the song of your afflicted sons</span> + <span class="i0">Will chant the praise; of you, more dear, by far,</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the Great Disposer of the stars,</span> <span class="i0">Who were not born to wretchedness, like ours.</span> + <span class="i0">Immedicable woes, a life of tears,</span> <span class="i0">The silent tomb, eternal night, to find</span> <span class="i0">More sweet, by far, than the ethereal light,</span> + <span class="i0">These things were not by heaven’s gracious law</span> + <span class="i0">Imposed on you. If ancient legends speak</span> + <span class="i0">Of sins of yours, that brought calamity</span> + <span class="i0">Upon the human race, and fell disease,</span> + <span class="i0">Alas, the sins more terrible, by far,</span> <span class="i0">Committed by your children, and their souls</span> <span class="i0">More restless, and with mad ambition fixed,</span> <span class="i0">Against them roused the wrath of angry gods,</span> + <span class="i0">The hand of all-sustaining Nature armed,</span> + <span class="i0">By them so long neglected and despised.</span> + <span class="i0">Then life became a burden and a curse,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page41" id="page41" title="41"></a>And every new-born babe a thing abhorred,</span> + <span class="i0">And hell and chaos reigned upon the earth.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou first the day, and thou the shining lights</span> + <span class="i0">Of the revolving stars didst see, the fields,</span> + <span class="i0">And their new flocks and herds, O leader old</span> + <span class="i0">And father of the human family!</span> <span class="i0">The wandering air that o’er the meadows played,</span> + <span class="i0">When smote the rocks, and the deserted vales,</span> + <span class="i0">The torrent, rustling headlong from the Alps,</span> + <span class="i0">With sound, till then, unheard; and o’er the sites</span> + <span class="i0">Of future nations, noisy cities, yet unknown</span> + <span class="i0">To fame, a peace profound, mysterious reigned;</span> + <span class="i0">And o’er the unploughed hills, in silence, rose</span> + <span class="i0">The ray of Phœbus, and the golden moon.</span> + <span class="i0">O world, how happy in thy loneliness,</span> <span class="i0">Of crimes and of disasters ignorant!</span> <span class="i0">Oh, how much wretchedness Fate had in store</span> <span class="i0">For thy poor race, unhappy father, what</span> <span class="i0">A series vast of terrible events!</span> <span class="i0">Behold, + the fields, scarce tilled, with blood are stained,</span> <span class="i0">A brother’s blood, in sudden frenzy shed;</span> <span class="i0">And now, alas, first hears the gentle air</span> <span class="i0">The whirring of the fearful wings of Death.</span> <span class="i0">The trembling fratricide, a fugitive,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page42" id="page42" title="42"></a>The + lonely shades avoids; in every blast</span> <span class="i0">That + sweeps the groves, a voice of wrath he hears.</span> <span class="i0"><i>He</i> the first city builds, abode and realm</span> + <span class="i0">Of wasting cares; repentance desperate,</span> + <span class="i0">Heart-sick, and groaning, thus unites and binds</span> + <span class="i0">Together blind and sinful souls, and first</span> + <span class="i0">A refuge offers unto mutual guilt.</span> <span class="i0">The wicked hand now scorns the crooked plough;</span> + <span class="i0">The sweat of honest labor is despised;</span> + <span class="i0">Now sloth possession of the threshold takes;</span> + <span class="i0">The sluggish frames their native vigor lose;</span> + <span class="i0">The minds in hopeless indolence are sunk;</span> + <span class="i0">And slavery, the crowning curse of all,</span> + <span class="i0">Degrades and crushes poor humanity.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And thou from heaven’s wrath, and ocean’s waves,</span> + <span class="i0">That bellowed round the cloud-capped mountain-tops,</span> + <span class="i0">The sinful brood didst save; thou, unto whom,</span> + <span class="i0">From the dark air and wave-encumbered hills,</span> + <span class="i0">The white dove brought the sign of hope renewed,</span> + <span class="i0">And sinking in the west, the shipwrecked sun,</span> + <span class="i0">His bright rays darting through the angry clouds,</span> + <span class="i0">The dark sky painted with the lovely bow.</span> + <span class="i0">The race restored, to earth returned, begins anew</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page43" id="page43" title="43"></a>The same career of wickedness and lust,</span> <span class="i0">With their attendant ills. Audacious man</span> <span class="i0">Defies the threats of the avenging sea,</span> <span class="i0">And to new shores and to new stars repeats</span> <span class="i0">The same sad tale of infamy and woe.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And now of thee I think, the just and brave,</span> + <span class="i0">The Father of the faithful, and the sons</span> + <span class="i0">Thy honored name that bore. Of thee I speak,</span> + <span class="i0">Whom, sitting, thoughtful, in the noontide shade,</span> + <span class="i0">Before thy humble cottage, near the banks,</span> + <span class="i0">That gave thy flocks both rest and nourishment,</span> + <span class="i0">The minds ethereal of celestial guests</span> + <span class="i0">With blessings greeted; and of thee, O son</span> + <span class="i0">Of wise Rebecca, how at eventide,</span> <span class="i0">In Aran’s valley sweet, and by the well,</span> <span class="i0">Where happy swains in friendly converse met,</span> + <span class="i0">Thou didst with Laban’s daughter fall in love;</span> + <span class="i0">Love, that to exile long, and suffering,</span> + <span class="i0">And to the odious yoke of servitude,</span> <span class="i0">Thy patient soul a willing martyr led.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Oh, surely once,—for not with idle tales</span> + <span class="i0">And shadows, the Aonian song, and voice</span> + <span class="i0">Of Fame, the eager list’ners feed,—once was</span> + <span class="i0">This wretched earth more friendly to our race,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page44" id="page44" title="44"></a>Was more beloved and dear, and golden flew</span> + <span class="i0">The days, that now so laden are with care.</span> + <span class="i0">Not that the milk, in waves of purest white,</span> + <span class="i0">Gushed from the rocks, and flowed along the vales;</span> + <span class="i0">Or that the tigers mingled with the sheep,</span> + <span class="i0">To the same fold were led; or shepherd-boys</span> + <span class="i0">With playful wolves would frolic at the spring;</span> + <span class="i0">But of its own lot ignorant, and all</span> <span class="i0">The sufferings that were in store, devoid</span> <span class="i0">Of care it lived: a soft, illusive veil</span> <span class="i0">Of error hid the stern realities,</span> <span class="i0">The + cruel laws of heaven and of fate.</span> <span class="i0">Life + glided on, with cheerful hope content;</span> <span class="i0">And + tranquil, sought the haven of its rest.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">So lives, in California’s forests vast,</span> + <span class="i0">A happy race, whose life-blood is not drained</span> + <span class="i0">By pallid care, whose limbs are not by fierce</span> + <span class="i0">Disease consumed: the woods their food, their homes</span> + <span class="i0">The hollow rock, the streamlet of the vale</span> + <span class="i0">Its waters furnishes, and, unforeseen,</span> + <span class="i0">Dark death upon them steals. Ah, how unarmed,</span> + <span class="i0">Wise Nature’s happy votaries, are ye,</span> <span class="i0">Against our impious audacity!</span> <span class="i0">Our + fierce, indomitable love of gain</span> <span class="i0">Your + shores, your caves, your quiet woods invades;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page45" id="page45" title="45"></a>Your + minds corrupts, your bodies enervates;</span> <span class="i0">And + happiness, a naked fugitive,</span> <span class="i0">Before it + drives, to earth’s remotest bounds.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou tranquil night, and thou, O gentle ray</span> + <span class="i0">Of the declining moon; and thou, that o’er</span> + <span class="i0">The rock appearest, ’mid the silent grove,</span> + <span class="i0">The messenger of day; how dear ye were,</span> + <span class="i0">And how delightful to these eyes, while yet</span> + <span class="i0">Unknown the furies, and grim Fate! But now,</span> + <span class="i0">No gentle sight can soothe this wounded soul.</span> + <span class="i0">Then, only, can forgotten joy revive,</span> <span class="i0">When through the air, and o’er the trembling fields</span> + <span class="i0">The raging south wind whirls its clouds of dust;</span> + <span class="i0">And when the car, the pondrous car of Jove,</span> + <span class="i0">Omnipotent, high-thundering o’er our heads,</span> + <span class="i0">A pathway cleaves athwart the dusky sky.</span> + <span class="i0">Then would I love with storm-charged clouds to fly</span> + <span class="i0">Along the cliffs, along the valleys deep,</span> + <span class="i0">The headlong flight of frightened flocks to watch,</span> + <span class="i0">Or hear, upon some swollen river’s shore</span> + <span class="i0">The angry billows’ loud, triumphant roar.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page46" id="page46" title="46"></a>How beautiful thou art, O heaven divine,</span> + <span class="i0">And thou, O dewy earth! Alas no part</span> <span class="i0">Of all this beauty infinite, the gods</span> <span class="i0">And cruel fate to wretched Sappho gave!</span> <span class="i0">To thy proud realms, O Nature, I, a poor,</span> <span class="i0">Unwelcome guest, rejected lover, come;</span> <span class="i0">To all thy varied forms of loveliness,</span> <span class="i0">My heart and eyes, a suppliant, lift in vain.</span> + <span class="i0">The sun-lit shore hath smiles no more for me,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor radiant morning light at heaven’s gate;</span> + <span class="i0">The birds no longer greet me with their songs,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor whispering trees with gracious messages;</span> + <span class="i0">And where, beneath the bending willows’ shade,</span> + <span class="i0">The limpid stream its bosom pure displays,</span> + <span class="i0">As I, with trembling and uncertain foot,</span> + <span class="i0">Oppressed with grief, upon its margin pause,</span> + <span class="i0">The dimpled waves recoil, as in disdain,</span> + <span class="i0">And urge their flight along the flowery plain.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">What fearful crime, what hideous excess</span> + <span class="i0">Have so defiled me, e’en before my birth,</span> + <span class="i0">That heaven and fortune frown upon me thus?</span> + <span class="i0">Wherein have I offended, as a child,</span> <span class="i0">When we of evil deeds are ignorant,</span> <span class="i0">That thus disfigured, of the bloom of youth</span> <span class="i0">Bereft, my little thread of life has from</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page47" id="page47" title="47"></a>The + spindle of the unrelenting Fate</span> <span class="i0">Been drawn? + Alas, incautious are thy words!</span> <span class="i0">Mysterious + counsels all events control,</span> <span class="i0">And all, + except our grief, is mystery.</span> <span class="i0">Deserted + children, we were born to weep;</span> <span class="i0">But why, is + known to those above, alone.</span> <span class="i0">O vain the + cares, the hopes of earlier years!</span> <span class="i0">To idle + shows Jove gives eternal sway</span> <span class="i0">O’er human + hearts. Unless in shining robes arrayed,</span> <span class="i0">All + manly deeds in arms, or art, or song,</span> <span class="i0">Appeal + in vain unto the vulgar throng.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">I die! This wretched veil to earth I cast,</span> + <span class="i0">And for my naked soul a refuge seek</span> <span class="i0">Below, and for the cruel faults atone</span> <span class="i0">Of gods, the blind dispensers of events.</span> <span class="i0">And thou, to whom I have been bound so long,</span> + <span class="i0">By hopeless love, and lasting faith, and by</span> + <span class="i0">The frenzy vain of unappeased desire,</span> <span class="i0">Live, live, and if thou canst, be happy here!</span> + <span class="i0">My cup o’erflows with bitterness, and Jove</span> + <span class="i0">Has from his vase no drop of sweetness shed,</span> + <span class="i0">For all my childhood’s hopes and dreams have fled.</span> + <span class="i0">The happiest day the soonest fades away;</span> + <span class="i0">And then succeed disease, old age, the shade</span> + <span class="i0">Of icy death. Behold, alas! Of all</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page48" id="page48" title="48"></a>My + longed-for laurels, my illusions dear,</span> <span class="i0">The + end,—the gulf of hell! My spirit proud</span> <span class="i0">Must + to the realm of Proserpine descend,</span> <span class="i0">The + Stygian shore, the night that knows no end.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + FIRST LOVE. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Ah, well can I the day recall, when first</span> + <span class="i0">The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said:</span> + <span class="i0">If <i>this</i> be love, how hard it is to bear!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground,</span> + <span class="i0">I saw but <i>her</i>, whose artless innocence,</span> + <span class="i0">Triumphant took possession of this heart.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me!</span> + <span class="i0">Why should affection so sincere and pure,</span> + <span class="i0">Bring with it such desire, such suffering?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Why not serene, and full, and free from guile</span> + <span class="i0">But sorrow-laden, and lamenting sore,</span> <span class="i0">Should joy so great into my heart descend?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O tell me, tender heart, that sufferest so,</span> + <span class="i0">Why with that thought such anguish should be blent,</span> + <span class="i0">Compared with which, all other thoughts were naught?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page49" id="page49" title="49"></a>That thought, that ever present in the day,</span> + <span class="i0">That in the night more vivid still appeared,</span> + <span class="i0">When all things round in sweet sleep seemed to rest:</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou, restless, both with joy and misery</span> + <span class="i0">Didst with thy constant throbbings weary so</span> + <span class="i0">My breast, as panting in my bed I lay.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And when worn out with grief and weariness,</span> + <span class="i0">In sleep my eyes I closed, ah, no relief</span> + <span class="i0">It gave, so broken and so feverish!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">How brightly from the depths of darkness, then,</span> + <span class="i0">The lovely image rose, and my closed eyes,</span> + <span class="i0">Beneath their lids, their gaze upon it fed!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O what delicious impulses, diffused,</span> <span class="i0">My weary frame with sweet emotion filled!</span> <span class="i0">What myriad thoughts, unstable and confused,</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Were floating in my mind! As through the leaves</span> + <span class="i0">Of some old grove, the west wind, wandering,</span> + <span class="i0">A long, mysterious murmur leaves behind.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And as I, silent, to their influence yield,</span> + <span class="i0">What saidst thou, heart, when she departed, who</span> + <span class="i0">Had caused thee all thy throbs, and suffering?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page50" id="page50" title="50"></a>No sooner had I felt within, the heat</span> <span class="i0">Of love’s first flame, than with it flew away</span> + <span class="i0">The gentle breeze, that fanned it into life.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Sleepless I lay, until the dawn of day;</span> + <span class="i0">The steeds, that were to leave me desolate,</span> + <span class="i0">Their hoofs were beating at my father’s gate.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And I, in mute suspense, poor timid fool,</span> + <span class="i0">With eye that vainly would the darkness pierce,</span> + <span class="i0">And eager ear intent, lay, listening,</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">That voice to hear, if, for the last time, I</span> + <span class="i0">Might catch the accents from those lovely lips;</span> + <span class="i0">The voice alone; all else forever lost!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">How many vulgar tones my doubtful ear</span> <span class="i0">Would smite, with deep disgust inspiring me,</span> + <span class="i0">With doubt tormented, holding hard my breath!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And when, at last, that voice into my heart</span> + <span class="i0">Descended, passing sweet, and when the sound</span> + <span class="i0">Of horses and of wheels had died away;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">In utter desolation, then, my head</span> <span class="i0">I in my pillow buried, closed my eyes,</span> <span class="i0">And pressed my hand against my heart, and sighed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page51" id="page51" title="51"></a>Then, listlessly, my trembling knees across</span> + <span class="i0">The silent chamber dragging, I exclaimed,</span> + <span class="i0">“Nothing on earth can interest me more!”</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The bitter recollection cherishing</span> <span class="i0">Within my breast, to every voice my heart,</span> <span class="i0">To every face, insensible remained.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Long I remained in hopeless sorrow drowned;</span> + <span class="i0">As when the heavens far and wide their showers</span> + <span class="i0">Incessant pour upon the fields around.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nor had I, Love, thy cruel power known,</span> + <span class="i0">A boy of eighteen summers flown, until</span> + <span class="i0">That day, when I thy bitter lesson learned;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">When I each pleasure held in scorn, nor cared</span> + <span class="i0">The shining stars to see, or meadows green,</span> + <span class="i0">Or felt the charm of holy morning light;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The love of glory, too, no longer found</span> + <span class="i0">An echo in my irresponsive breast,</span> <span class="i0">That, once, the love of beauty with it shared.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">My favorite studies I neglected quite;</span> + <span class="i0">And those things vain appeared, compared with which,</span> + <span class="i0">I used to think all other pleasures vain.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page52" id="page52" title="52"></a>Ah! how could I have changed so utterly?</span> + <span class="i0">How could one passion all the rest destroy?</span> + <span class="i0">Indeed, what helpless mortals are we all!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">My heart my only comfort was, and with</span> + <span class="i0">That heart, in conference perpetual,</span> <span class="i0">A constant watch upon my grief to keep.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">My eye still sought the ground, or in itself</span> + <span class="i0">Absorbed, shrank from encountering the glance</span> + <span class="i0">Of lovely or unlovely countenance;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The stainless image fearing to disturb,</span> + <span class="i0">So faithfully reflected in my breast;</span> <span class="i0">As winds disturb the mirror of the lake.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And that regret, that I could not enjoy</span> + <span class="i0">Such happiness, which weighs upon the mind,</span> + <span class="i0">And turns to poison pleasure that has passed,</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Did still its thorn within my bosom lodge,</span> + <span class="i0">As I the past recalled; but shame, indeed,</span> + <span class="i0">Left not its cruel sting within this heart.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">To heaven, to you, ye gentle souls, I swear,</span> + <span class="i0">No base desire intruded on my thought;</span> + <span class="i0">But with a pure and sacred flame I burned.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page53" id="page53" title="53"></a>That flame still lives, and that affection pure;</span> + <span class="i0">Still in my thought that lovely image breathes,</span> + <span class="i0">From which, save heavenly, I no other joy,</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Have ever known; my only comfort, now!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + THE LONELY SPARROW. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou from the top of yonder antique tower,</span> + <span class="i0">O lonely sparrow, wandering, hast gone,</span> + <span class="i0">Thy song repeating till the day is done,</span> + <span class="i0">And through this valley strays the harmony.</span> + <span class="i0">How Spring rejoices in the fields around,</span> + <span class="i0">And fills the air with light,</span> <span class="i0">So that the heart is melted at the sight!</span> <span class="i0">Hark to the bleating flocks, the lowing herds!</span> + <span class="i0">In sweet content, the other birds</span> <span class="i0">Through the free sky in emulous circles wheel,</span> + <span class="i0">In pure enjoyment of their happy time:</span> + <span class="i0">Thou, pensive, gazest on the scene apart,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor wilt thou join them in the merry round;</span> + <span class="i0">Shy playmate, thou for mirth hast little heart;</span> + <span class="i0">And with thy plaintive music, dost consume</span> + <span class="i0">Both of the year, and of thy life, the bloom.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page54" id="page54" title="54"></a>Alas, how much my ways</span> <span class="i0">Resemble + thine! The laughter and the sport,</span> <span class="i0">That + fill with glee our youthful days,</span> <span class="i0">And thee, + O love, who art youth’s brother still,</span> <span class="i0">Too + oft the bitter sigh of later years,</span> <span class="i0">I care + not for; I know not why,</span> <span class="i0">But from them ever + distant fly:</span> <span class="i0">Here in my native place,</span> + <span class="i0">As if of alien race,</span> <span class="i0">My + spring of life I like a hermit pass.</span> <span class="i0">This + day, that to the evening now gives way,</span> <span class="i0">Is + in our town an ancient holiday.</span> <span class="i0">Hark, + through the air, that voice of festal bell,</span> <span class="i0">While + rustic guns in frequent thunders sound,</span> <span class="i0">Reverberated + from the hills around.</span> <span class="i0">In festal robes + arrayed,</span> <span class="i0">The neighboring youth,</span> + <span class="i0">Their houses leaving, o’er the roads are spread;</span> + <span class="i0">They pleasant looks exchange, and in their hearts</span> + <span class="i0">Rejoice. I, lonely, in this distant spot,</span> + <span class="i0">Along the country wandering,</span> <span class="i0">Postpone all pleasure and delight</span> <span class="i0">To + some more genial time: meanwhile,</span> <span class="i0">As + through the sunny air around I gaze,</span> <span class="i0">My + brow is smitten by his rays,</span> <span class="i0">As after such + a day serene,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page55" id="page55" title="55"></a>Dropping behind yon distant + hills,</span> <span class="i0">He vanishes, and seems to say,</span> + <span class="i0">That thus all happy youth must pass away.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou, lonely little bird, when thou</span> <span class="i0">Hast reached the evening of the days</span> <span class="i0">Thy stars assign to thee,</span> <span class="i0">Wilt + surely not regret thy ways;</span> <span class="i0">For all thy + wishes are</span> <span class="i0">Obedient to Nature’s law. But + ah!</span> <span class="i0">If I, in spite of all my prayers,</span> + <span class="i0">Am doomed the hateful threshold of old age</span> + <span class="i0">To cross, when these dull eyes will give</span> + <span class="i0">No response to another’s heart,</span> <span class="i0">The world to them a void will be,</span> <span class="i0">Each + day become more full of misery,</span> <span class="i0">How then, + will this, my wish appear</span> <span class="i0">In those dark + hours, that dungeon drear?</span> <span class="i0">My blighted + youth, my sore distress,</span> <span class="i0">Alas, will <i>then</i> + seem happiness!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page56" id="page56" title="56"></a>THE + INFINITE. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">This lonely hill to me was ever dear,</span> <span class="i0">This hedge, which shuts from view so large a part</span> + <span class="i0">Of the remote horizon. As I sit</span> <span class="i0">And gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceive</span> + <span class="i0">The boundless spaces that beyond it range,</span> + <span class="i0">The silence supernatural, and rest</span> <span class="i0">Profound; and for a moment I am calm.</span> <span class="i0">And as I listen to the wind, that through</span> <span class="i0">These trees is murmuring, its plaintive voice</span> + <span class="i0">I with that infinite compare;</span> <span class="i0">And things eternal I recall, and all</span> <span class="i0">The seasons dead, and this, that round me lives,</span> + <span class="i0">And utters its complaint. Thus wandering</span> + <span class="i0">My thought in this immensity is drowned;</span> + <span class="i0">And sweet to me is shipwreck on this sea.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page57" id="page57" title="57"></a>THE + EVENING OF THE HOLIDAY. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">The night is mild and clear, and without wind,</span> + <span class="i0">And o’er the roofs, and o’er the gardens round</span> + <span class="i0">The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals</span> + <span class="i0">Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine,</span> + <span class="i0">Hushed now is every path, and few and dim</span> + <span class="i0">The lamps that glimmer through the balconies.</span> + <span class="i0">Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light</span> + <span class="i0">And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart</span> + <span class="i0">Consumes; and little dost thou know or think,</span> + <span class="i0">How deep a wound thou in my heart hast made.</span> + <span class="i0">Thou sleepest; I to yonder heaven turn,</span> + <span class="i0">That seems to greet me with a loving smile,</span> + <span class="i0">And to that Nature old, omnipotent,</span> <span class="i0">That doomed me still to suffer. “I to thee</span> + <span class="i0">All hope deny,” she said, “e’en hope; nor + may</span> <span class="i0">Those eyes of thine e’er shine, save + through their tears.”</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">This was a holiday; its pleasures o’er,</span> + <span class="i0">Thou seek’st repose; and happy in thy dreams</span> + <span class="i0">Recallest those whom thou hast pleased to-day,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page58" id="page58" title="58"></a>And those who have pleased thee: not I, indeed,—</span> + <span class="i0">I hoped it not,—unto thy thoughts occur.</span> + <span class="i0">Meanwhile, I ask, how much of life remains</span> + <span class="i0">To me; and on the earth I cast myself,</span> + <span class="i0">And cry, and groan. How wretched are my days,</span> + <span class="i0">And still so young! Hark, on the road I hear,</span> + <span class="i0">Not far away, the solitary song</span> <span class="i0">Of workman, who returns at this late hour,</span> <span class="i0">In merry mood, unto his humble home;</span> <span class="i0">And in my heart a cruel pang I feel,</span> <span class="i0">At thought, how all things earthly pass away,</span> + <span class="i0">And leave no trace behind. This festal day</span> + <span class="i0">Hath fled; a working-day now follows it,</span> + <span class="i0">And all, alike, are swept away by Time.</span> + <span class="i0">Where is the glory of the antique nations now?</span> + <span class="i0">Where now the fame of our great ancestors?</span> + <span class="i0">The empire vast of Rome, the clash of arms?</span> + <span class="i0">Now all is peace and silence, all the world</span> + <span class="i0">At rest; their very names are heard no more.</span> + <span class="i0">E’en from my earliest years, when we</span> <span class="i0">Expect so eagerly a holiday,</span> <span class="i0">The + moment it was past, I sought my couch,</span> <span class="i0">Wakeful + and sad; and at the midnight hour,</span> <span class="i0">When I + the song heard of some passer-by,</span> <span class="i0">That + slowly in the distance died away,</span> <span class="i0">The same + deep anguish felt I in my heart.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page59" id="page59" title="59"></a>TO THE + MOON. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">O lovely moon, how well do I recall</span> <span class="i0">The time,—’tis just a year—when up this hill</span> + <span class="i0">I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee:</span> + <span class="i0">And thou suspended wast o’er yonder grove,</span> + <span class="i0">As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill.</span> + <span class="i0">But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared</span> + <span class="i0">Thy countenance to me, because my eyes</span> + <span class="i0">Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed;</span> + <span class="i0">For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome,</span> + <span class="i0">And <i>is</i> so still, unchanged, belovèd moon!</span> + <span class="i0">And yet this recollection pleases me,</span> <span class="i0">This computation of my sorrow’s age.</span> <span class="i0">How pleasant is it, in the days of youth,</span> <span class="i0">When hope a long career before it hath,</span> <span class="i0">And memories are few, upon the past</span> <span class="i0">To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page60" id="page60" title="60"></a>THE DREAM. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">It was the morning; through the shutters closed,</span> + <span class="i0">Along the balcony, the earliest rays</span> <span class="i0">Of sunlight my dark room were entering;</span> <span class="i0">When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes</span> <span class="i0">Its softest and most grateful shadows casts,</span> + <span class="i0">There stood beside me, looking in my face,</span> + <span class="i0">The image dear of her, who taught me first</span> + <span class="i0">To love, then left me to lament her loss.</span> + <span class="i0">To me she seemed not dead, but sad, with such</span> + <span class="i0">A countenance as the unhappy wear.</span> <span class="i0">Her right hand near my head she sighing placed;</span> + <span class="i0">“Dost thou still live,” she said to me, + “and dost</span> <span class="i0">Thou still remember what we + <i>were</i> and are?”</span> <span class="i0">And I replied: + “Whence comest thou, and how,</span> <span class="i0">Beloved + and beautiful? Oh how, how I</span> <span class="i0">Have grieved, + still grieve for thee! Nor did I think</span> <span class="i0">Thou + e’er couldst know it more; and oh, that thought</span> <span class="i0">My sorrow rendered more disconsolate!</span> <span class="i0">But art thou now again to leave me?</span> <span class="i0">I fear so. Say, what hath befallen thee?</span> <span class="i0">Art thou the same? What preys upon thee thus?”</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page61" id="page61" title="61"></a>“Oblivion weighs upon thy thoughts, and sleep</span> + <span class="i0">Envelops them,” she answered; “I am dead,</span> + <span class="i0">And many months have passed, since last we met.”</span> + <span class="i0">What grief oppressed me, as these words I heard!</span> + <span class="i0">And she continued: “In the flower of youth</span> + <span class="i0">Cut off, when life is sweetest, and before</span> + <span class="i0">The heart that lesson sad and sure hath learnt,</span> + <span class="i0">The utter vanity of human hope!</span> <span class="i0">The sick man may e’en covet, as a boon,</span> <span class="i0">That which withdraws him from all suffering;</span> + <span class="i0">But to the young, Death comes, disconsolate;</span> + <span class="i0">And hard the fate of hope, that in the grave</span> + <span class="i0">Is quenched! And yet, how vain that knowledge is,</span> + <span class="i0">That Nature from the inexperienced hides!</span> + <span class="i0">And a blind sorrow is to be preferred</span> <span class="i0">To wisdom premature!”—“Hush, hush!” I + cried,</span> <span class="i0">“Unhappy one, and dear! My + heart is crushed</span> <span class="i0">With these thy words! And + art thou dead, indeed,</span> <span class="i0">O my beloved? and am + I still alive?</span> <span class="i0">And was it, then, in heaven + decreed, that this,</span> <span class="i0">Thy tender body the + last damps of death</span> <span class="i0">Should feel, and my + poor, wretched frame remain</span> <span class="i0">Unharmed? Oh, + often, often as I think</span> <span class="i0">That thou no longer + livest, and that I</span> <span class="i0">Shall never see thee on + the earth again,</span> <span class="i0">Incredible it seems! Alas, + alas!</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page62" id="page62" title="62"></a>What <i>is</i> this thing, that they call + death? Oh, would</span> <span class="i0">That I, this day, the + mystery could solve,</span> <span class="i0">And my defenceless + head withdraw from Fate’s</span> <span class="i0">Relentless hate! + I still am young, and still</span> <span class="i0">Feel all the + blight and misery of age,</span> <span class="i0">Which I so dread; + and distant far it seems;</span> <span class="i0">But, ah, how + little different from age,</span> <span class="i0">The flower of my + years!”—“We both were born,”</span> <span class="i0">She said, “to weep; unhappy were our lives,</span> + <span class="i0">And heaven took pleasure in our sufferings.”</span> + <span class="i0">“Oh if my eyes with tears,” I added, + “then,</span> <span class="i0">My face with pallor veiled + thou seest, for loss</span> <span class="i0">Of thee, and anguish + weighing on my heart;</span> <span class="i0">Tell me, was any + spark of pity or of love</span> <span class="i0">For the poor lover + kindled in thy heart,</span> <span class="i0">While thou didst + live? I, then, between my hope</span> <span class="i0">And my + despair, passed weary nights and days;</span> <span class="i0">And + now, my mind is with vain doubts oppressed.</span> <span class="i0">Oh + if but once compassion smote thee for</span> <span class="i0">My + darkened life, conceal it not from me,</span> <span class="i0">I + pray thee; let the memory console me,</span> <span class="i0">Since + of their future our young days were robbed!”</span> <span class="i0">And she: “Be comforted, unhappy one!</span> <span class="i0">I was not churlish of my pity whilst</span> <span class="i0">I lived, and am not now, myself so wretched!</span> + <span class="i0">Oh, do not chide this most unhappy child!”</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page63" id="page63" title="63"></a>“By all our sufferings, and by the love</span> + <span class="i0">Which preys upon me,” I exclaimed, “and by</span> + <span class="i0">Our youth, and by the hope that faded from</span> + <span class="i0">Our lives, O let me, dearest, touch thy hand!”</span> + <span class="i0">And sweetly, sadly, she extended it.</span> <span class="i0">And while I covered it with kisses, while</span> <span class="i0">With sorrow and with rapture quivering,</span> <span class="i0">I to my panting bosom fondly pressed it,</span> <span class="i0">With fervent passion glowed my face and breast,</span> + <span class="i0">My trembling voice refused its utterance,</span> + <span class="i0">And all things swam before my sight; when she,</span> + <span class="i0">Her eyes fixed tenderly on mine, replied:</span> + <span class="i0">“And dost thou, then, forget, dear friend, that I</span> + <span class="i0">Am of my beauty utterly deprived?</span> <span class="i0">And vainly thou, unhappy one, dost yield</span> <span class="i0">To passion’s transports. Now, a last farewell!</span> + <span class="i0">Our wretched minds, our feeble bodies, too,</span> + <span class="i0">Eternally are parted. Thou to me</span> <span class="i0">No longer livest, nevermore shall live.</span> <span class="i0">Fate hath annulled the faith that thou hast sworn.”</span> + <span class="i0">Then, in my anguish as I seemed to cry</span> + <span class="i0">Aloud, convulsed, my eyes o’erflowing with</span> + <span class="i0">The tears of utter, helpless misery,</span> <span class="i0">I started from my sleep. The image still</span> <span class="i0">Was seen, and in the sun’s uncertain light</span> <span class="i0">Above my couch she seemed to linger still.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page64" id="page64" title="64"></a>THE LONELY + LIFE. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">The morning rain, when, from her coop released,</span> + <span class="i0">The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from</span> + <span class="i0">The balcony the husbandman looks forth,</span> + <span class="i0">And when the rising sun his trembling rays</span> + <span class="i0">Darts through the falling drops, against my roof</span> + <span class="i0">And windows gently beating, wakens me.</span> + <span class="i0">I rise, and grateful, bless the flying clouds,</span> + <span class="i0">The cheerful twitter of the early birds,</span> + <span class="i0">The smiling fields, and the refreshing air.</span> + <span class="i0">For I of you, unhappy city walls,</span> <span class="i0">Enough have seen and known; where hatred still</span> + <span class="i0">Companion is to grief; and grieving still</span> + <span class="i0">I live, and so shall die, and that, how soon!</span> + <span class="i0">But here some pity Nature shows, though small,</span> + <span class="i0">Once in this spot to me so courteous!</span> <span class="i0">Thou, too, O Nature, turn’st away thy gaze</span> <span class="i0">From misery; thou, too, thy sympathy</span> <span class="i0">Withholding from the suffering and the sad,</span> <span class="i0">Dost homage pay to royal happiness.</span> <span class="i0">No friend in heaven, on earth, the wretched hath,</span> + <span class="i0">No refuge, save his trusty dagger’s edge.</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page65" id="page65" title="65"></a>Sometimes I sit in perfect solitude,</span> <span class="i0">Upon a hill, that overlooks a lake,</span> <span class="i0">That is encircled quite with silent trees.</span> <span class="i0">There, when the sun his mid-day course hath reached,</span> + <span class="i0">His tranquil face he in a mirror sees:</span> + <span class="i0">Nor grass nor leaf is shaken by the wind;</span> + <span class="i0">There is no ripple on the wave, no chirp</span> + <span class="i0">Of cricket, rustling wing of bird in bush,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor hum of butterfly; no motion, voice,</span> + <span class="i0">Or far or near, is either seen or heard.</span> + <span class="i0">Its shores are locked in quiet most profound;</span> + <span class="i0">So that myself, the world I quite forget,</span> + <span class="i0">As motionless I sit; my limbs appear</span> <span class="i0">To lie dissolved, of breath and sense deprived;</span> + <span class="i0">As if, in immemorial rest, they seemed</span> + <span class="i0">Confounded with the silent scene around.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O love, O love, long since, thou from this breast</span> + <span class="i0">Hast flown, that was so warm, so ardent, once.</span> + <span class="i0">Misfortune in her cold and cruel grasp</span> + <span class="i0">Has held it fast, and it to ice has turned,</span> + <span class="i0">E’en in the flower of my youth. The time</span> + <span class="i0">I well recall, when thou this heart didst fill;</span> + <span class="i0">That sweet, irrevocable time it was,</span> <span class="i0">When this unhappy scene of life unto</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page66" id="page66" title="66"></a>The + ardent gaze of youth reveals itself,</span> <span class="i0">Expands, + and wears the smile of Paradise.</span> <span class="i0">How throbs + the heart within the boyish breast,</span> <span class="i0">By + virgin hope and fond desire impelled!</span> <span class="i0">The + wretched dupe for life’s hard work prepares,</span> <span class="i0">As + if it were a dance, or merry game.</span> <span class="i0">But when + <i>I</i> first, O love, thy presence felt,</span> <span class="i0">Misfortune + had already crushed my life,</span> <span class="i0">And these poor + eyes with constant tears were filled.</span> <span class="i0">Yet + if, at times, upon the sun-lit slopes,</span> <span class="i0">At + silent dawn, or when, in broad noonday,</span> <span class="i0">The + roofs and hills and fields are shining bright,</span> <span class="i0">I of some lonely maiden meet the gaze;</span> <span class="i0">Or when, in silence of the summer night,</span> <span class="i0">My wandering steps arresting, I before</span> <span class="i0">The houses of the village pause, to gaze</span> <span class="i0">Upon the lonely scene, and hear the voice,</span> <span class="i0">So clear and cheerful, of the maiden, who,</span> <span class="i0">Her ditty chanting, in her quiet room,</span> <span class="i0">Her daily task protracts into the night,</span> <span class="i0">Ah, then this stony heart will throb once more;</span> + <span class="i0">But soon, alas, its lethargy returns,</span> <span class="i0">For all things sweet are strangers to this breast!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Belovèd moon, beneath whose tranquil rays</span> + <span class="i0">The hares dance in the groves, and at the dawn</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page67" id="page67" title="67"></a>The huntsman, vexed at heart, beholds the tracks</span> + <span class="i0">Confused and intricate, that from their forms</span> + <span class="i0">His steps mislead; hail, thou benignant Queen</span> + <span class="i0">Of Night! How unpropitious fall thy rays,</span> + <span class="i0">Among the cliffs and thickets, or within</span> + <span class="i0">Deserted buildings, on the gleaming steel</span> + <span class="i0">Of robber pale, who with attentive ear</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the distant noise of horses and</span> <span class="i0">Of wheels, is listening, or the tramp of feet</span> + <span class="i0">Upon the silent road; then, suddenly,</span> <span class="i0">With sound of arms, and hoarse, harsh voice, and look</span> + <span class="i0">Of death, the traveller’s heart doth chill,</span> + <span class="i0">Whom he half-dead, and naked, shortly leaves</span> + <span class="i0">Among the rocks. How unpropitious, too,</span> + <span class="i0">Is thy bright light along the city streets,</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the worthless paramour, who picks</span> + <span class="i0">His way, close to the walls, in anxious search</span> + <span class="i0">Of friendly shade, and halts, and dreads the sight</span> + <span class="i0">Of blazing lamps, and open balconies.</span> <span class="i0">To evil spirits unpropitious still,</span> <span class="i0">To <i>me</i> thy face will ever seem benign,</span> + <span class="i0">Along these heights, where nought save smiling hills,</span> + <span class="i0">And spacious fields, thou offer’st to my view.</span> + <span class="i0">And yet it was my wayward custom once,</span> + <span class="i0">Though I was innocent, thy gracious ray</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page68" id="page68" title="68"></a>To chide, amid the haunts of men, whene’er</span> + <span class="i0">It would my face to them betray, and when</span> + <span class="i0">It would their faces unto me reveal.</span> <span class="i0">Now will I, grateful, sing its constant praise,</span> + <span class="i0">When I behold thee, sailing through the clouds,</span> + <span class="i0">Or when, mild sovereign of the realms of air,</span> + <span class="i0">Thou lookest down on this, our vale of tears.</span> + <span class="i0">Me wilt thou oft behold, mute wanderer</span> + <span class="i0">Among the groves, along the verdant banks,</span> + <span class="i0">Or seated on the grass, content enough,</span> + <span class="i0">If heart and breath are left me, for a sigh!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + CONSALVO. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Approaching now the end of his abode</span> <span class="i0">On earth, Consalvo lay; complaining once,</span> <span class="i0">Of his hard fate, but now quite reconciled,</span> <span class="i0">When, in the midst of his fifth lustre, o’er</span> + <span class="i0">His head oblivion, so longed-for, hung.</span> + <span class="i0">As for some time, so, on his dying day,</span> + <span class="i0">He lay, abandoned by his dearest friends:</span> + <span class="i0">For in the world, few friends to <i>him</i> will cling,</span> + <span class="i0">Who shows that he is weary of the world.</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page69" id="page69" title="69"></a>Yet <i>she</i> was at his side, by pity led,</span> + <span class="i0">In his lone wretchedness to comfort him,</span> + <span class="i0">Who was alone and ever in his thought;</span> + <span class="i0">Elvira, for her loveliness renowned;</span> <span class="i0">And knowing well her power; that a look,</span> <span class="i0">A single sweet and gracious word from <i>her</i>,</span> + <span class="i0">A thousand-fold repeated in the heart,</span> + <span class="i0">Devoted, of her hapless lover, still</span> <span class="i0">His consolation and support had been,</span> <span class="i0">Although no word of love had she from him</span> <span class="i0">E’er heard. For ever in his soul the power</span> <span class="i0">Of great desire had been rebuked and crushed</span> + <span class="i0">By sovereign fear. So great a child and slave</span> + <span class="i0">Had he become, through his excess of love!</span> + <span class="i0">But death at last the cruel silence broke;</span> + <span class="i0">For being by sure signs convinced, that now</span> + <span class="i0">The day of his deliverance had come,</span> <span class="i0">Her white hand taking, as she was about</span> <span class="i0">To leave, and gently pressing it, he said:</span> <span class="i0">“Thou goest; it is time for thee to go;</span> + <span class="i0">Farewell, Elvira! I shall never see</span> <span class="i0">Thee more; too well I know it; so, farewell!</span> + <span class="i0">I thank thee for thy gentle sympathy,</span> <span class="i0">So far as my poor lips my thanks can speak.</span> <span class="i0"><i>He</i> will reward thee, who alone has power,</span> + <span class="i0">If heaven e’er rewards the merciful.”</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page70" id="page70" title="70"></a>Pale turned the fair one at these words; a sigh</span> + <span class="i0">Her bosom heaved; for e’en a stranger’s heart</span> + <span class="i0">A throb responsive feels, when she departs,</span> + <span class="i0">And says farewell forever. Fain would she</span> + <span class="i0">Have contradicted him, the near approach</span> + <span class="i0">Of fate concealing from the dying man.</span> + <span class="i0">But he, her thought anticipating, said:</span> + <span class="i0">“Ah, much desired, as well thou knowest, death,</span> + <span class="i0">Much prayed for, and not dreaded, comes to me;</span> + <span class="i0">Nay, joyful seems to me this fatal day,</span> + <span class="i0">Save for the thought of losing thee forever;</span> + <span class="i0">Alas, forever do I part from thee!</span> <span class="i0">In saying this my heart is rent in twain.</span> <span class="i0">Those eyes I shall no more behold, nor hear</span> <span class="i0">Thy voice. But, O Elvira, say, before</span> <span class="i0">Thou leavest me forever, wilt thou not</span> <span class="i0">One kiss bestow? A single kiss, in all</span> <span class="i0">My life? A favor asked, who can deny</span> <span class="i0">Unto a dying man? Of the sweet gift</span> <span class="i0">I ne’er can boast, so near my end, whose lips</span> + <span class="i0">To-day will by a stranger’s hand be closed</span> + <span class="i0">Forever.” Saying this, with a deep sigh,</span> + <span class="i0">Her hand beloved he with his cold lips pressed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The lovely woman stood irresolute,</span> <span class="i0">And thoughtful, for a moment, with her look,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page71" id="page71" title="71"></a>In which a thousand charms were radiant,</span> + <span class="i0">Intent on that of the unhappy man,</span> <span class="i0">Where the last tear was glittering. Nor would</span> + <span class="i0">Her heart permit her to refuse with scorn</span> + <span class="i0">His wish, and by refusal, make more sad</span> + <span class="i0">The sad farewell; but she compassion took</span> + <span class="i0">Upon his love, which she had known so long;</span> + <span class="i0">And that celestial face, that mouth, which he</span> + <span class="i0">So long had coveted, which had, for years,</span> + <span class="i0">The burden been of all his dreams and sighs,</span> + <span class="i0">Close bringing unto his, so sad and wan,</span> + <span class="i0">Discolored by his mortal agony,</span> <span class="i0">Kiss after kiss, all goodness, with a look</span> <span class="i0">Of deep compassion, on the trembling lips</span> <span class="i0">Of the enraptured lover she impressed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">What didst thou then become? How in thy eyes</span> + <span class="i0">Appeared life, death, and all thy suffering,</span> + <span class="i0">Consalvo, in thy flight now pausing? He</span> + <span class="i0">The hand, which still he held, of his beloved</span> + <span class="i0">Elvira, placing on his heart, whose last</span> + <span class="i0">Pulsations love with death was sharing, said:</span> + <span class="i0">“Elvira, my Elvira, am I still</span> <span class="i0">On earth? Those lips, were they thy lips? O, say!</span> + <span class="i0">And do I press thy hand? Alas, it seems</span> + <span class="i0">A dead man’s vision, or a dream, or thing</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page72" id="page72" title="72"></a>Incredible! How much, Elvira, O,</span> <span class="i0">How much I owe to death! Long has my love</span> <span class="i0">Been known to thee, and unto others, for</span> <span class="i0">True love cannot be hidden on the earth.</span> <span class="i0">Too manifest it was to thee, in looks,</span> <span class="i0">In acts, in my unhappy countenance,</span> <span class="i0">But never in my words. For then, and now,</span> <span class="i0">Forever would the passion infinite,</span> <span class="i0">That rules my heart, be silent, had not death</span> + <span class="i0">With courage filled it. I shall die content;</span> + <span class="i0">Henceforth, with destiny, no more regret</span> + <span class="i0">That I e’er saw the light. I have not lived</span> + <span class="i0">In vain, now that my lips have been allowed</span> + <span class="i0">Thy lips to press. Nay, happy I esteem</span> + <span class="i0">My lot. Two precious things the world still gives</span> + <span class="i0">To mortals, Love and Death. To one, heaven guides</span> + <span class="i0">Me now, in youth; and in the other, I</span> <span class="i0">Am fortunate. Ah, hadst thou once, but once,</span> + <span class="i0">Responded to my long-enduring love,</span> <span class="i0">To my changed eyes this earth for evermore</span> <span class="i0">Had been transformed into a Paradise.</span> <span class="i0">E’en to old age, detestable old age,</span> <span class="i0">Could I have been resigned and reconciled.</span> <span class="i0">To bear its heavy load, the memory</span> <span class="i0">Of one transcendent moment had sufficed,</span> <span class="i0">When I was happier than the happiest,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page73" id="page73" title="73"></a>But, + ah, such bliss supreme the envious gods</span> <span class="i0">To + earthly natures ne’er have given! Love</span> <span class="i0">In + such excess ne’er leads to happiness.</span> <span class="i0">And + yet, thy love to win, I would have borne</span> <span class="i0">The + tortures of the executioner;</span> <span class="i0">Have faced the + rack and fagot, dauntlessly;</span> <span class="i0">Would from thy + loving arms have rushed into</span> <span class="i0">The fearful + flames of hell, with cheerfulness.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">“Elvira, O Elvira, happy he,</span> <span class="i0">Beyond all mortal happiness, on whom</span> <span class="i0">Thou dost the smile of love bestow! And next</span> + <span class="i0">Is he, who can lay down his life for thee!</span> + <span class="i0">It <i>is</i> permitted, it is not a dream,</span> + <span class="i0">As I, alas, have always fancied it,</span> <span class="i0">To man, on earth true happiness to find.</span> <span class="i0">I knew it well, the day I looked on thee.</span> <span class="i0">That look to me, indeed, has fatal been:</span> <span class="i0">And yet, I could not bring myself, midst all</span> + <span class="i0">My sufferings, that cruel day to blame.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">“Now live, Elvira, happy, and adorn</span> + <span class="i0">The world with thy fair countenance. None e’er</span> + <span class="i0">Will love thee as I loved thee. Such a love</span> + <span class="i0">Will ne’er be seen on earth. How much, alas,</span> + <span class="i0">How long a time by poor Consalvo hast</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page74" id="page74" title="74"></a>Thou + been with sighs and bitter tears invoked!</span> <span class="i0">How, + when I heard thy name, have I turned pale!</span> <span class="i0">How + have I trembled, and been sick at heart,</span> <span class="i0">As + timidly thy threshold I approached,</span> <span class="i0">At that + angelic voice, at sight of that</span> <span class="i0">Fair brow, + I, who now tremble not at death!</span> <span class="i0">But breath + and life no longer will respond</span> <span class="i0">Unto the + voice of love. The time has passed;</span> <span class="i0">Nor can + I e’er this happy day recall.</span> <span class="i0">Farewell, + Elvira! With its vital spark</span> <span class="i0">Thy image so + beloved is from my heart</span> <span class="i0">Forever fading. + Oh, farewell! If this,</span> <span class="i0">My love offend thee + not, to-morrow eve</span> <span class="i0">One sigh wilt thou + bestow upon my bier.”</span> <span class="i0">He ceased; and + soon he lost his consciousness:</span> <span class="i0">Ere evening + came, his first, his only day</span> <span class="i0">Of happiness + had faded from his sight.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + TO THE BELOVED. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Beauty beloved, who hast my heart inspired,</span> + <span class="i0">Seen from afar, or with thy face concealed,</span> + <span class="i0">Save, when in visions of the night revealed,</span> + <span class="i0">Or seen in daydreams bright,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page75" id="page75" title="75"></a>When + all the fields are filled with light,</span> <span class="i0">And + Nature’s smile is sweet,</span> <span class="i0">Say, hast thou + blessed</span> <span class="i0">Some golden age of innocence,</span> + <span class="i0">And floatest, now, a shadow, o’er the earth?</span> + <span class="i0">Or hath Fate’s envious doom</span> <span class="i0">Reserved + thee for some happier day to come?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">To see thee e’er alive,</span> <span class="i0">No + hope remains to me;</span> <span class="i0">Unless perchance, when + from this body free,</span> <span class="i0">My wandering spirit, + lone,</span> <span class="i0">O’er some new path, to some new world + hath flown.</span> <span class="i0">E’en here, at first, I, at the + dawn</span> <span class="i0">Of this, my day, so dreary and + forlorn,</span> <span class="i0">Sought thee, to guide me on my + weary way:</span> <span class="i0">But none on earth resembles + thee. E’en if</span> <span class="i0">One were in looks and acts + and words thy peer,</span> <span class="i0">Though like thee, she + less lovely would appear.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Amidst the deepest grief</span> <span class="i0">That + fate hath e’er to human lot assigned,</span> <span class="i0">Could + one but love thee on this earth,</span> <span class="i0">Alive, and + such as my thought painteth thee,</span> <span class="i0">He would + be happy in his misery:</span> <span class="i0">And I most clearly + see, how, still,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page76" id="page76" title="76"></a>As in my earliest days,</span> + <span class="i0">Thy love would make me cling to virtue’s ways.</span> + <span class="i0">Unto <i>my</i> grief heaven hath no comfort brought;</span> + <span class="i0">And yet with thee, this mortal life would seem</span> + <span title="Original started new stanza here" class="i0">Like that in + heaven, of which we fondly dream.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Along the valleys where is heard</span> <span class="i0">The song of the laborious husbandman,</span> <span class="i0">And where I sit and moan</span> <span class="i0">O’er + youth’s illusions gone;</span> <span class="i0">Along the hills, + where I recall with tears,</span> <span class="i0">The vanished + joys and hopes of earlier years,</span> <span class="i0">At thought + of thee, my heart revives again.</span> <span class="i0">O could I + still thy image dear retain,</span> <span class="i0">In this dark + age, and in this baleful air!</span> <span class="i0">To loss of + thee, O let me be resigned,</span> <span class="i0">And in thy + image still some comfort find!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">If thou art one of those</span> <span class="i0">Ideas + eternal, which the Eternal Mind</span> <span class="i0">Refused in + earthly form to clothe,</span> <span class="i0">Nor would subject + unto the pain and strife</span> <span class="i0">Of this, our frail + and dreary life;</span> <span class="i0">Or if thou hast a mansion + fair,</span> <span class="i0">Amid the boundless realms of space,</span> + <span class="i0">That lighted is by a more genial sun,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page77" id="page77" title="77"></a>And + breathest there a more benignant air;</span> <span class="i0">From + here, where brief and wretched are our days,</span> <span class="i0">Receive + thy humble lover’s hymn of praise!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + TO COUNT CARLO PEPOLI. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">This wearisome and this distressing sleep</span> + <span class="i0">That we call life, O how dost thou support,</span> + <span class="i0">My Pepoli? With what hopes feedest thou</span> + <span class="i0">Thy heart? Say in what thoughts, and in what deeds,</span> + <span class="i0">Agreeable or sad, dost thou invest</span> <span class="i0">The idleness thy ancestors bequeathed</span> <span class="i0">To thee, a dull and heavy heritage?</span> <span class="i0">All life, indeed, in every walk of life,</span> <span class="i0">Is idleness, if we may give that name</span> <span class="i0">To every work achieved, or effort made,</span> <span class="i0">That has no worthy aim in view, or fails</span> <span class="i0">That aim to reach. And if you idle call</span> <span class="i0">The busy crew, that daily we behold,</span> <span class="i0">From tranquil morn unto the dewy eve,</span> <span class="i0">Behind the plough, or tending plants and flocks,</span> + <span class="i0">Because they live simply to keep alive,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page78" id="page78" title="78"></a>And life is worthless for itself alone,</span> <span class="i0">The honest truth you speak. His nights and days</span> + <span class="i0">The pilot spends in idleness; the toil</span> + <span class="i0">And sweat in workshops are but idleness;</span> + <span class="i0">The soldier’s vigils, perils of the field,</span> + <span class="i0">The eager merchant’s cares are idle all;</span> + <span class="i0">Because true happiness, for which alone</span> + <span class="i0">Our mortal nature longs and strives, no man,</span> + <span class="i0">Or for himself, or others, e’er acquires</span> + <span class="i0">Through toil or sweat, through peril, or through care.</span> + <span class="i0">Yet for this fierce desire, which mortals still</span> + <span class="i0">From the beginning of the world have felt,</span> + <span class="i0">But ever felt in vain, for happiness,</span> <span class="i0">By way of soothing remedy devised,</span> <span class="i0">Nature, in this unhappy life of ours,</span> <span class="i0">Had manifold necessities prepared,</span> <span class="i0">Not without thought or labor satisfied;</span> <span class="i0">So that the days, though ever sad, less dull</span> + <span class="i0">Might seem unto the human family;</span> <span class="i0">And this desire, bewildered and confused,</span> <span class="i0">Might have less power to agitate the heart.</span> <span class="i0">So, too, the various families of brutes,</span> <span class="i0">Who have, no less than we, and vainly, too,</span> <span class="i0">Desire for happiness; but they, intent</span> <span class="i0">On that which is essential to their life,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page79" id="page79" title="79"></a>Consume + their days more pleasantly, by far,</span> <span class="i0">Nor + chide, with us, the dulness of the hours.</span> <span class="i0">But + <i>we</i>, who unto other hands commit</span> <span class="i0">The + furnishing of our immediate wants,</span> <span class="i0">Have a + necessity more grave to meet,</span> <span class="i0">For which no + other ever can provide,</span> <span class="i0">With ennui laden, + and with suffering;</span> <span class="i0">The stern necessity of + killing time;</span> <span class="i0">That cruel, obstinate + necessity,</span> <span class="i0">From which, nor hoarded gold, + nor wealth of flocks,</span> <span class="i0">Nor fertile fields, + nor sumptuous palaces,</span> <span class="i0">Nor purple robes, + the race of man can save.</span> <span class="i0">And if one, + scorning such a barren life,</span> <span class="i0">And hating to + behold the light of day,</span> <span class="i0">Turns not a + homicidal hand upon</span> <span class="i0">Himself, anticipating + sluggish Fate,</span> <span class="i0">For the sharp sting of + unappeased desire,</span> <span class="i0">That vainly calls for + happiness, he seeks,</span> <span class="i0">In desperate chase, on + every side, in vain,</span> <span class="i0">A thousand inefficient + remedies,</span> <span class="i0">In lieu of that, which Nature + gives to all.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">One to his dress devotes himself, and hair,</span> + <span class="i0">His gait and gesture and the learned lore</span> + <span class="i0">Of horses, carriages, to crowded halls,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page80" id="page80" title="80"></a>To thronged piazzas, and to gardens gay;</span> + <span class="i0">Another gives his nights and days to games,</span> + <span class="i0">And feasts, and dances with the reigning belles:</span> + <span class="i0">A smile perpetual is on his lips;</span> <span class="i0">But in his breast, alas, stern and severe,</span> <span class="i0">Like adamantine column motionless,</span> <span class="i0">Eternal ennui sits, against whose might</span> <span class="i0">Avail not vigorous youth, nor prattle fond</span> <span class="i0">That falls from rosy lips, nor tender glance</span> + <span class="i0">That trembles in two dark and lustrous eyes;</span> + <span class="i0">The most bewildering of mortal things,</span> + <span class="i0">Most precious gift of heaven unto man.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Another, as if hoping to escape</span> <span class="i0">Sad destiny, in changing lands and climes</span> <span class="i0">His days consuming, wandering o’er sea</span> <span class="i0">And hills, the whole earth traverses; each spot</span> + <span class="i0">That Nature, in her infinite domain,</span> <span class="i0">To restless man hath made accessible,</span> <span class="i0">He visits in his wanderings. Alas,</span> <span class="i0">Black care is seated on the lofty prow;</span> <span class="i0">Beneath each clime, each sky, he asks in vain</span> + <span class="i0">For happiness; sadness still lives and reigns.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Another in the cruel deeds of war</span> <span class="i0">Prefers to pass his hours, and dips his hand,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page81" id="page81" title="81"></a>For his diversion, in his brother’s blood:</span> + <span class="i0">Another in his neighbor’s misery</span> <span class="i0">His comfort finds, and artfully contrives</span> <span class="i0">To kill the time, in making others sad.</span> <span class="i0"><i>This</i> man still walks in wisdom’s ways, or art</span> + <span class="i0">Pursues; <i>that</i> tramples on the people’s rights,</span> + <span class="i0">At home, abroad; the ancient rest disturbs</span> + <span class="i0">Of distant shores, on fraudful gain intent,</span> + <span class="i0">With cruel war, or sharp diplomacy;</span> <span class="i0">And so his destined part of life consumes.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thee a more gentle wish, a care more sweet</span> + <span class="i0">Leads and controls, still in the flower of youth,</span> + <span class="i0">In the fair April of thy days, to most</span> + <span class="i0">A time so pleasant, heaven’s choicest gift;</span> + <span class="i0">But heavy, bitter, wearisome to <i>him</i></span> + <span class="i0">Who has no country. Thee the love of song</span> + <span class="i0">Impels, and of portraying in thy speech</span> + <span class="i0">The beauty, that so seldom in the world</span> + <span class="i0">Appears and fades so soon, and <i>that</i>, more rare</span> + <span class="i0">Which fond imagination, kinder far</span> <span class="i0">Than Nature, or than heaven, so bounteously</span> <span class="i0">For our entranced, deluded souls provides.</span> <span class="i0">Oh, fortunate a thousand-fold is he,</span> <span class="i0">Who loses not his fancy’s freshness as</span> <span class="i0">The years roll by; whom envious Fate permits</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page82" id="page82" title="82"></a>To keep eternal sunshine in his heart,</span> <span class="i0">Who, in his ripe and his declining years,</span> <span class="i0">As was his custom in his glorious youth,</span> <span class="i0">In his deep thought enhances Nature’s charms,</span> + <span class="i0">Gives life to death, and to the desert, bloom.</span> + <span class="i0">May heaven this fortune give to thee; and may</span> + <span class="i0">The spark that now so warms thy breast, make thee</span> + <span class="i0">In thy old age a votary of song!</span> <span class="i0"><i>I</i> feel no more the sweet illusions of</span> + <span class="i0">That happy time; those charming images</span> + <span class="i0">Have faded from my eyes, that I so loved,</span> + <span class="i0">And which, unto my latest hour, will be</span> + <span class="i0">Remembered still, with hopeless sighs and tears.</span> + <span class="i0">And when this breast to all things has become</span> + <span class="i0">Insensible and cold, nor the sweet smile</span> + <span class="i0">And rest profound of lonely sun-lit plains,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor cheerful morning song of birds in spring,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor moonlight soft, that rests on hills and fields,</span> + <span class="i0">Beneath the limpid sky, will move my heart;</span> + <span class="i0">When every beauty, both of Nature, and</span> + <span class="i0">Of Art, to me will be inanimate</span> <span class="i0">And mute; each tender feeling, lofty thought,</span> + <span class="i0">Unknown and strange; my only comfort, then,</span> + <span class="i0">Poor beggar, must I find in studies more</span> + <span class="i0">Severe; to them, thenceforward, must devote</span> + <span class="i0">The wretched remnant of unhappy life:</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page83" id="page83" title="83"></a>The + bitter truth must I investigate,</span> <span class="i0">The + destinies mysterious, alike</span> <span class="i0">Of mortal and + immortal things;</span> <span class="i0">For what was suffering + humanity,</span> <span class="i0">Bowed down beneath the weight of + misery,</span> <span class="i0">Created; to what final goal are + Fate</span> <span class="i0">And Nature urging it; to whom can our</span> + <span class="i0">Great sorrow any pleasure, profit give;</span> + <span class="i0">Beneath what laws and orders, to what end,</span> + <span class="i0">The mighty Universe revolves—the theme</span> + <span class="i0">Of wise men’s praise, to <i>me</i> a mystery?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">I in these speculations will consume</span> <span class="i0">My idleness; because the truth, when known,</span> <span class="i0">Though sad, has yet its charms. And if, at times,</span> + <span class="i0">The truth discussing, my opinions should</span> + <span class="i0">Unwelcome be, or not be understood,</span> <span class="i0">I shall not grieve, indeed, because in me</span> <span class="i0">The love of fame will be extinguished quite;</span> + <span class="i0">Of fame, that idol frivolous and blind;</span> + <span class="i0">More blind by far than Fortune, or than Love.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page84" id="page84" title="84"></a>THE + RESURRECTION. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">I thought I had forever lost,</span> <span class="i1"> Alas, though still so young,</span> <span class="i0">The tender joys and sorrows all,</span> <span class="i1"> That + unto youth belong;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The sufferings sweet, the impulses</span> <span class="i1"> Our inmost hearts that warm;</span> <span class="i0">Whatever gives this life of ours</span> <span class="i1"> Its + value and its charm.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">What sore laments, what bitter tears</span> <span class="i1"> O’er my sad state I shed,</span> <span class="i0">When first I felt from my cold heart</span> <span class="i1"> Its gentle pains had fled!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Its throbs I felt no more; my love</span> <span class="i1"> Within me seemed to die;</span> <span class="i0">Nor from my frozen, senseless breast</span> <span class="i1"> Escaped a single sigh!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">I wept o’er my sad, hapless lot;</span> <span class="i1"> The life of life seemed lost;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page85" id="page85" title="85"></a>The + earth an arid wilderness,</span> <span class="i1"> Locked + in eternal frost;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The day how dreary, and the night</span> <span class="i1"> How dull, and dark, and lone!</span> <span class="i0">The moon for me no brightness had,</span> <span class="i1"> No star in heaven shone.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And yet the old love was the cause</span> <span class="i1"> Of all the tears I shed;</span> <span class="i0">Still in my inmost breast I felt</span> <span class="i1"> The + heart was not yet dead.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">My weary fancy still would crave</span> <span class="i1"> The images it loved,</span> <span class="i0">And + its capricious longings still</span> <span class="i1"> A + source of sorrow proved.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But e’en that lingering spark of grief</span> + <span class="i1"> Was soon within me spent,</span> <span class="i0">And I the strength no longer had</span> <span class="i1"> To + utter a lament.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And there I lay, stunned, stupefied,</span> <span class="i1"> Nor asked for comfort more;</span> <span class="i0">My heart to hopeless, blank despair</span> <span class="i1"> Itself had given o’er.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page86" id="page86" title="86"></a>How changed, alas, was I from him</span> <span class="i1"> Who once with passion thrilled,</span> <span class="i0">Whose ardent soul was ever, once,</span> <span class="i1"> With + sweet illusions filled!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The swallow to my window, still,</span> <span class="i1"> Would come, to greet the dawn;</span> <span class="i0">But his sweet song no echo found</span> <span class="i1"> In + my poor heart, forlorn.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nor pleased me more, in autumn gray,</span> <span class="i1"> Upon the hill-side lone,</span> <span class="i0">The cheerful vesper-bell, or light</span> <span class="i1"> Of the departing sun.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">In vain the evening star I saw</span> <span class="i1"> Above the silent vale,</span> <span class="i0">And vainly warbled in the grove</span> <span class="i1"> The + plaintive nightingale.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And you, ye furtive glances, bright,</span> <span class="i1"> From gentle eyes that rove,</span> <span class="i0">The sweet, the gracious messages</span> <span class="i1"> Of + first immortal Love;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page87" id="page87" title="87"></a>The soft, white hand, that tenderly</span> <span class="i1"> My own hand seemed to woo;</span> <span class="i0">All, all your magic spells were vain,</span> <span class="i1"> My torpor to subdue.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Of every pleasure quite bereft,</span> <span class="i1"> Sad but of tranquil mien;</span> <span class="i0">A state of perfect littleness,</span> <span class="i1"> Yet + with a face serene;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Save for the lingering wish, indeed,</span> <span class="i1"> In death to sink to rest,</span> <span class="i0">The force of all desire was spent</span> <span class="i1"> In + my exhausted breast.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">As some poor, feeble wanderer,</span> <span class="i1"> With age and sorrow bent,</span> <span class="i0">The April of my years, alas,</span> <span class="i1"> Thus + listlessly I spent;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thus listlessly, thus wearily,</span> <span class="i1"> Didst thou consume, O heart,</span> <span class="i0">Those golden days, ineffable,</span> <span class="i1"> So + swiftly that depart.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page88" id="page88" title="88"></a><i>Who</i>, from this heavy, heedless rest</span> + <span class="i1"> Awakens me again?</span> <span class="i0">What new, what magic power is this,</span> <span class="i1"> I feel within me reign?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Ye motions sweet, ye images,</span> <span class="i1"> Ye throbs, illusions blest,</span> <span class="i0">Ah, no,—ye are not then shut out</span> <span class="i1"> Forever from this breast?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The glorious light of golden days</span> <span class="i1"> Do ye again unfold?</span> <span class="i0">The + old affections that I lost,</span> <span class="i1"> Do + I once more behold?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Now, as I gaze upon the sky,</span> <span class="i1"> Or on the verdant fields,</span> <span class="i0">Each thing with sorrow me inspires,</span> <span class="i1"> And each a pleasure yields.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The mountain, forest, and the shore</span> <span class="i1"> Once more my heart rejoice;</span> <span class="i0">The fountain speaks to me once more,</span> <span class="i1"> The sea hath found a voice.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page89" id="page89" title="89"></a>Who, after all this apathy,</span> <span class="i1"> Restores + to me my tears?</span> <span class="i0">Each moment, as I look + around,</span> <span class="i1"> How changed the world + appears!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Hath hope, perchance, O my poor heart,</span> + <span class="i1"> Beguiled thee of thy pain?</span> + <span class="i0">Ah, no, the gracious smile of hope</span> <span class="i1"> I ne’er shall see again.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nature bestowed these impulses,</span> <span class="i1"> And these illusions blest;</span> <span class="i0">Their inborn influence, in me,</span> <span class="i1"> By + suffering was suppressed;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But not annulled, not overcome</span> <span class="i1"> By cruel blows of Fate;</span> <span class="i0">Nor by the inauspicious frown</span> <span class="i1"> Of + Truth, importunate!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">I know she has no sympathy</span> <span class="i1"> For + fond imaginings;</span> <span class="i0">I know that Nature, too, + is deaf,</span> <span class="i1"> Nor heeds our + sufferings;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page90" id="page90" title="90"></a>That for our <i>good</i> she nothing cares,</span> + <span class="i1"> Our <i>being</i>, only heeds;</span> + <span class="i0">And with the sight of our distress</span> <span class="i1"> Her wild caprices feeds.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">I know the poor man pleads in vain,</span> <span class="i1"> For others’ sympathy;</span> <span class="i0">That + scornfully, or heedlessly,</span> <span class="i1"> All + from his presence flee;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">That both for genius and for worth,</span> <span class="i1"> This age has no respect;</span> <span class="i0">That all who cherish lofty aims</span> <span class="i1"> Are + left to cold neglect.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And you, ye eyes so tremulous</span> <span class="i1"> With lustre all divine,</span> <span class="i0">I know how false your splendors are,</span> <span class="i1"> Where no true love doth shine.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">No love mysterious and profound</span> <span class="i1"> Illumes you with its glow;</span> <span class="i0">Nor gleams one spark of genial fire</span> <span class="i1"> Beneath that breast of snow.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page91" id="page91" title="91"></a>Nay, it is wont to laugh to scorn</span> <span class="i1"> Another’s tender pain;</span> <span class="i0">The fervent flame of heavenly love</span> <span class="i1"> To treat with cold disdain.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Yet I with thankfulness once more</span> <span class="i1"> The old illusions greet,</span> <span class="i0">And feel, with shock of pleased surprise,</span> <span class="i1"> The heart within me beat.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">To thee alone this force renewed,</span> <span class="i1"> This vital power I owe;</span> <span class="i0">From thee alone, my faithful heart,</span> <span class="i1"> My only comforts flow.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">I feel it is the destiny</span> <span class="i1"> Of + every noble mind,</span> <span class="i0">In Fate, in Fortune, + Beauty, and the World,</span> <span class="i1"> An enemy + to find:</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But while thou liv’st, nor yield’st to Fate,</span> + <span class="i1"> Contending without fear,</span> <span class="i0">I will not tax with cruelty</span> <span class="i1"> The + power that placed me here.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page92" id="page92" title="92"></a>TO SYLVIA. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">O Sylvia, dost thou remember still</span> <span class="i0">That period of thy mortal life,</span> <span class="i0">When + beauty so bewildering</span> <span class="i0">Shone in thy + laughing, glancing eyes,</span> <span class="i0">As thou, so merry, + yet so wise,</span> <span class="i0">Youth’s threshold then wast + entering?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">How did the quiet rooms,</span> <span class="i0">And + all the paths around,</span> <span class="i0">With thy perpetual + song resound,</span> <span class="i0">As thou didst sit, on woman’s + work intent,</span> <span class="i0">Abundantly content</span> + <span class="i0">With the vague future, floating on thy mind!</span> + <span class="i0">Thy custom thus to spend the day</span> <span class="i0">In that sweet time of youth and May!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">How could I, then, at times,</span> <span class="i0">In those fair days of youth,</span> <span class="i0">The + only happy days I ever knew,</span> <span class="i0">My hard tasks + dropping, or my careless rhymes,</span> <span class="i0">My station + take, on father’s balcony,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page93" id="page93" title="93"></a>And listen to + thy voice’s melody,</span> <span class="i0">And watch thy hands, as + they would deftly fly</span> <span class="i0">O’er thy embroidery!</span> + <span class="i0">I gazed upon the heaven serene,</span> <span class="i0">The sun-lit paths, the orchards green,</span> <span class="i0">The distant mountain here,</span> <span class="i0">And + there, the far-off sea.</span> <span class="i0">Ah, mortal tongue + cannot express</span> <span class="i0">What then I felt of + happiness!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">What gentle thoughts, what hopes divine,</span> + <span class="i0">What loving hearts, O Sylvia mine!</span> <span class="i0">In what bright colors then portrayed</span> <span class="i0">Were human life and fate!</span> <span class="i0">Oh, + when I think of such fond hopes betrayed,</span> <span class="i0">A + feeling seizes me</span> <span class="i0">Of bitterness and misery,</span> + <span class="i0">And tenfold is my grief renewed!</span> <span class="i0">O Nature, why this treachery?</span> <span class="i0">Why + thus, with broken promises,</span> <span class="i0">Thy children’s + hearts delude?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou, ere the grass was touched with winter’s frost,</span> + <span class="i0">By fell disease attacked and overcome,</span> + <span class="i0">O tender plant, didst die!</span> <span class="i0">The + flower of thy days thou ne’er didst see;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page94" id="page94" title="94"></a>Nor did thy + soft heart move</span> <span class="i0">Now of thy raven locks the + tender praise,</span> <span class="i0">Now of thy eyes, so loving + and so shy;</span> <span class="i0">Nor with thee, on the holidays,</span> + <span class="i0">Did thy companions talk of love.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">So perished, too, erelong,</span> <span class="i0">My + own sweet hope;</span> <span class="i0">So too, unto my years</span> + <span class="i0">Did Fate their youth deny.</span> <span class="i0">Alas, + alas the day,</span> <span class="i0">Lamented hope, companion + dear,</span> <span class="i0">How hast thou passed away!</span> + <span class="i0">Is <i>this</i> that world? These the delights,</span> + <span class="i0">The love, the labors, the events,</span> <span class="i0">Of which we once so fondly spoke?</span> <span class="i0">And + must <i>all</i> mortals wear this weary yoke?</span> <span class="i0">Ah, when the truth appeared,</span> <span class="i0">It + better seemed to die!</span> <span class="i0">Cold death, the + barren tomb, didst thou prefer</span> <span class="i0">To harsh + reality.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page95" id="page95" title="95"></a>RECOLLECTIONS. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think</span> + <span class="i0">I should again be turning, as I used,</span> <span class="i0">To see you over father’s garden shine,</span> <span class="i0">And from the windows talk with you again</span> <span class="i0">Of this old house, where as a child I dwelt,</span> + <span class="i0">And where I saw the end of all my joys.</span> + <span class="i0">What charming images, what fables, once,</span> + <span class="i0">The sight of you created in my thought,</span> + <span class="i0">And of the lights that bear you company!</span> + <span class="i0">Silent upon the verdant clod I sat,</span> <span class="i0">My evening thus consuming, as I gazed</span> <span class="i0">Upon the heavens, and listened to the chant</span> <span class="i0">Of frogs that in the distant marshes croaked;</span> + <span class="i0">While o’er the hedges, ditches, fire-flies roamed,</span> + <span class="i0">And the green avenues and cypresses</span> <span class="i0">In yonder grove were murmuring to the wind;</span> <span class="i0">While in the house were heard, at intervals,</span> + <span class="i0">The voices of the servants at their work.</span> + <span class="i0">What thoughts immense in me the sight inspired</span> + <span class="i0">Of that far sea, and of the mountains blue,</span> + <span class="i0">That yonder I behold, and which I thought</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page96" id="page96" title="96"></a>One day to cross, mysterious worlds and joys</span> + <span class="i0">Mysterious in the future fancying!</span> <span class="i0">Of my hard fate unconscious, and how oft</span> <span class="i0">This sorrowful and barren life of mine</span> <span class="i0">I willingly would have for death exchanged!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nor did my heart e’er tell me, I should be</span> + <span class="i0">Condemned the flower of my youth to spend</span> + <span class="i0">In this wild native region, and amongst</span> + <span class="i0">A wretched, clownish crew, to whom the names</span> + <span class="i0">Of wisdom, learning, are but empty sounds,</span> + <span class="i0">Or arguments of laughter and of scorn;</span> + <span class="i0">Who hate, avoid me; not from envy, no;</span> + <span class="i0">For they do not esteem me better than</span> <span class="i0">Themselves, but fancy that I, in my heart,</span> <span class="i0">That feeling cherish; though I strive, indeed,</span> + <span class="i0">No token of such feeling to display.</span> <span class="i0">And here I pass my years, abandoned, lost,</span> <span class="i0">Of love deprived, of life; and rendered fierce,</span> + <span class="i0">’Mid such a crowd of evil-minded ones,</span> + <span class="i0">My pity and my courtesy I lose,</span> <span class="i0">And I become a scorner of my race,</span> <span class="i0">By such a herd surrounded; meanwhile, fly</span> <span class="i0">The precious hours of youth, more precious far</span> + <span class="i0">Than fame, or laurel, or the light of day,</span> + <span class="i0">Or breath of life: thus uselessly, without</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page97" id="page97" title="97"></a>One joy, I lose thee, in this rough abode,</span> + <span class="i0">Whose only guests are care and suffering,</span> + <span class="i0">O thou, the only flower of barren life!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The wind now from the tower of the town</span> + <span class="i0">The deep sound of the bell is bringing. Oh,</span> + <span class="i0">What comfort was that sound to me, a child,</span> + <span class="i0">When in my dark and silent room I lay,</span> + <span class="i0">Besieged by terrors, longing for the dawn!</span> + <span class="i0">Whate’er I see or hear, recalls to mind</span> + <span class="i0">Some vivid image, recollection sweet;</span> <span class="i0">Sweet in itself, but O how bitter made</span> <span class="i0">By painful sense of present suffering,</span> <span class="i0">By idle longing for the past, though sad,</span> <span class="i0">And by the still recurring thought, “<i>I was</i>”!</span> + <span class="i0">Yon gallery that looks upon the west;</span> <span class="i0">Those frescoed walls, these painted herds, the sun</span> + <span class="i0">Just rising o’er the solitary plain,</span> <span class="i0">My idle hours with thousand pleasures filled,</span> + <span class="i0">While busy Fancy, at my side, still spread</span> + <span class="i0">Her bright illusions, wheresoe’er I went.</span> + <span class="i0">In these old halls, when gleamed the snow without,</span> + <span class="i0">And round these ample windows howled the wind,</span> + <span class="i0">My sports resounded, and my merry words,</span> + <span class="i0">In those bright days, when all the mysteries</span> + <span class="i0">And miseries of things an aspect wear,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page98" id="page98" title="98"></a>So full of sweetness; when the ardent youth</span> + <span class="i0">Sees in his untried life a world of charms,</span> + <span class="i0">And, like an unexperienced lover, dotes</span> + <span class="i0">On heavenly beauty, creature of his dreams!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O hopes, illusions of my early days!—</span> + <span class="i0">Of you I still must speak, to you return;</span> + <span class="i0">For neither flight of time, nor change of thoughts,</span> + <span class="i0">Or feelings, can efface you from my mind.</span> + <span class="i0">Full well I know that honor and renown</span> + <span class="i0">Are phantoms; pleasures but an idle dream;</span> + <span class="i0">That life, a useless misery, has not</span> <span class="i0">One solid fruit to show; and though my days</span> <span class="i0">Are empty, wearisome, my mortal state</span> <span class="i0">Obscure and desolate, I clearly see</span> <span class="i0">That Fortune robs me but of little. Yet,</span> <span class="i0">Alas! as often as I dwell on you,</span> <span class="i0">Ye + ancient hopes, and youthful fancy’s dreams,</span> <span class="i0">And + then look at the blank reality,</span> <span class="i0">A life of + ennui and of wretchedness;</span> <span class="i0">And think, that + of so vast a fund of hope,</span> <span class="i0">Death is, + to-day, the only relic left,</span> <span class="i0">I feel + oppressed at heart, I feel myself</span> <span class="i0">Of every + comfort utterly bereft.</span> <span class="i0">And when the death, + that I have long invoked,</span> <span class="i0">Shall be at hand, + the end be reached of all</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page99" id="page99" title="99"></a>My + sufferings; when this vale of tears shall be</span> <span class="i0">To + me a stranger, and the future fade,</span> <span class="i0">Fade + from sight forever; even then, shall I</span> <span class="i0">Recall + you; and your images will make</span> <span class="i0">Me sigh; the + thought of having lived in vain,</span> <span class="i0">Will then + intrude, with bitterness to taint</span> <span class="i0">The + sweetness of that day of destiny.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nay, in the first tumultuous days of youth,</span> + <span class="i0">With all its joys, desires, and sufferings,</span> + <span class="i0">I often called on death, and long would sit</span> + <span class="i0">By yonder fountain, longing, in its waves</span> + <span class="i0">To put an end alike to hope and grief.</span> + <span class="i0">And afterwards, by lingering sickness brought</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the borders of the grave, I wept</span> <span class="i0">O’er my lost youth, the flower of my days,</span> <span class="i0">So prematurely fading; often, too,</span> <span class="i0">At late hours sitting on my conscious bed,</span> <span class="i0">Composing, by the dim light of the lamp,</span> <span class="i0">I with the silence and the night would moan</span> <span class="i0">O’er my departing soul, and to myself</span> <span class="i0">In languid tones would sing my funeral-song.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Who can remember you without a sigh,</span> <span class="i0">First entrance into manhood, O ye days</span> <span class="i0">Bewitching, inexpressible, when first</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page100" id="page100" title="100"></a>On + the enchanted mortal smiles the maid,</span> <span class="i0">And + all things round in emulation smile;</span> <span class="i0">And + envy holds its peace, not yet awake,</span> <span class="i0">Or + else in a benignant mood; and when,</span> <span class="i0">—O + marvel rare!—the world a helping hand</span> <span class="i0">To + him extends, his faults excuses, greets</span> <span class="i0">His + entrance into life, with bows and smiles</span> <span class="i0">Acknowledges + his claims to its respect?</span> <span class="i0">O fleeting days! + How like the lightning’s flash,</span> <span class="i0">They + vanish! And what mortal can escape</span> <span class="i0">Unhappiness, + who has already passed</span> <span class="i0">That golden period, + his own <i>good</i> time,</span> <span class="i0">That comes, alas, + so soon to disappear?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And thou, Nerina, does not every spot</span> <span class="i0">Thy memory recall? And couldst thou e’er</span> <span class="i0">Be absent from my thought? Where art thou gone,</span> + <span class="i0">That here I find the memory alone,</span> <span class="i0">Of thee, my sweet one? Thee thy native place</span> + <span class="i0">Beholds no more; that window, whence thou oft</span> + <span class="i0">Wouldst talk with me, which sadly now reflects</span> + <span class="i0">The light of yonder stars, is desolate.</span> + <span class="i0">Where art thou, that I can no longer hear</span> + <span class="i0">Thy gentle voice, as in those days of old,</span> + <span class="i0">When every faintest accent from thy lips</span> + <span class="i0">Was wont to turn me pale? Those days have gone.</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page101" id="page101" title="101"></a>They <i>have been</i>, my sweet love! And thou with them</span> + <span class="i0">Hast passed. To others now it is assigned</span> + <span class="i0">To journey to and fro upon the earth,</span> <span class="i0">And others dwell amid these fragrant hills.</span> <span class="i0">How quickly thou hast passed! Thy life was like</span> + <span class="i0">A dream. While dancing there, joy on thy brow</span> + <span class="i0">Resplendent shone, anticipations bright</span> + <span class="i0">Shone in thy eyes, the light of youth, when Fate</span> + <span class="i0">Extinguished them, and thou didst prostrate lie.</span> + <span class="i0">Nerina, in my heart the old love reigns.</span> + <span class="i0">If I at times still go unto some feast,</span> + <span class="i0">Or social gathering, unto myself</span> <span class="i0">I say: “Nerina, thou no more to feast</span> <span class="i0">Dost go, nor for the ball thyself adorn.”</span> + <span class="i0">If May returns, when lovers offerings</span> <span class="i0">Of flowers and of songs to maidens bring,</span> <span class="i0">I say: “Nerina mine, to thee spring ne’er</span> + <span class="i0">Returns, and love no more its tribute brings.”</span> + <span class="i0">Each pleasant day, each flowery field that I</span> + <span class="i0">Behold, each pleasure that I taste, the thought</span> + <span class="i0">Suggest: “Nerina pleasure knows no more,</span> + <span class="i0">The face of heaven and earth no more beholds.”</span> + <span class="i0">Ah, thou hast passed, for whom I ever sigh!</span> + <span class="i0">Hast passed; and still the memory of thee</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page102" id="page102" title="102"></a>Remains, and with each thought and fancy blends</span> + <span class="i0">Each varying emotion of the heart;</span> <span class="i0">And <i>will</i> remain, so bitter, yet so sweet!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + NIGHT SONG OF A WANDERING SHEPHERD IN ASIA. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">What doest thou in heaven, O moon?</span> <span class="i0">Say, silent moon, what doest thou?</span> <span class="i0">Thou risest in the evening; thoughtfully</span> <span class="i0">Thou wanderest o’er the plain,</span> <span class="i0">Then + sinkest to thy rest again.</span> <span class="i0">And art thou + never satisfied</span> <span class="i0">With going o’er and o’er + the selfsame ways?</span> <span class="i0">Art never wearied? Dost + thou still</span> <span class="i0">Upon these valleys love to gaze?</span> + <span class="i0">How much thy life is like</span> <span class="i0">The + shepherd’s life, forlorn!</span> <span class="i0">He rises in the + early dawn,</span> <span class="i0">He moves his flock along the + plain;</span> <span class="i0">The selfsame flocks, and streams, + and herbs</span> <span class="i0">He sees again;</span> <span class="i0">Then drops to rest, the day’s work o’er;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page103" id="page103" title="103"></a>And + hopes for nothing more.</span> <span class="i0">Tell me, O moon, + what signifies his life</span> <span class="i0">To him, thy life to + thee? Say, whither tend</span> <span class="i0">My weary, + short-lived pilgrimage,</span> <span class="i0">Thy course, that + knows no end?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And old man, gray, infirm,</span> <span class="i0">Half-clad, + and barefoot, he,</span> <span class="i0">Beneath his burden + bending wearily,</span> <span class="i0">O’er mountain and o’er + vale,</span> <span class="i0">Sharp rocks, and briars, and burning + sand,</span> <span class="i0">In wind, and storm, alike in sultry + heat</span> <span class="i0">And in the winter’s cold,</span> + <span class="i0">His constant course doth hold;</span> <span class="i0">On, on, he, panting, goes,</span> <span class="i0">Nor + pause, nor rest he knows;</span> <span class="i0">Through rushing + torrents, over watery wastes;</span> <span class="i0">He falls, + gets up again,</span> <span class="i0">And ever more and more he + hastes,</span> <span class="i0">Torn, bleeding, and arrives at last</span> + <span class="i0">Where ends the path,</span> <span class="i0">Where + all his troubles end;</span> <span class="i0">A vast abyss and + horrible,</span> <span class="i0">Where plunging headlong, he + forgets them all.</span> <span class="i0">Such scene of suffering, + and of strife,</span> <span class="i0">O moon, is this our mortal + life.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page104" id="page104" title="104"></a>In travail man is born;</span> <span class="i0">His birth too oft the cause of death,</span> <span class="i0">And with his earliest breath</span> <span class="i0">He + pain and torment feels: e’en from the first,</span> <span class="i0">His + parents fondly strive</span> <span class="i0">To comfort him in his + distress;</span> <span class="i0">And if he lives and grows,</span> + <span class="i0">They struggle hard, as best they may,</span> <span class="i0">With pleasant words and deeds to cheer him up,</span> + <span class="i0">And seek with kindly care,</span> <span class="i0">To + strengthen him his cruel lot to bear.</span> <span class="i0">This + is the best that they can do</span> <span class="i0">For the poor + child, however fond and true.</span> <span class="i0">But wherefore + give him life?</span> <span class="i0">Why bring him up at all,</span> + <span class="i0">If <i>this</i> be all?</span> <span class="i0">If + life is nought but pain and care,</span> <span class="i0">Why, why + should we the burden bear?</span> <span class="i0">O spotless moon, + such <i>is</i></span> <span class="i0">Our mortal life, indeed;</span> + <span class="i0">But thou immortal art,</span> <span class="i0">Nor + wilt, perhaps, unto my words give heed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Yet thou, eternal, lonely wanderer,</span> <span class="i0">Who, thoughtful, lookest on this earthly scene,</span> + <span class="i0">Must surely understand</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page105" id="page105" title="105"></a>What all + our sighs and sufferings mean;</span> <span class="i0">What means + this death,</span> <span class="i0">This color from our cheeks that + fades,</span> <span class="i0">This passing from the earth, and + losing sight</span> <span class="i0">Of every dear, familiar scene.</span> + <span class="i0">Well must thou comprehend</span> <span class="i0">The + reason of these things; must see</span> <span class="i0">The good + the morning and the evening bring:</span> <span class="i0">Thou + knowest, thou, what love it is</span> <span class="i0">That brings + sweet smiles unto the face of spring;</span> <span class="i0">The + meaning of the Summer’s glow,</span> <span class="i0">And of the + Winter’s frost and snow,</span> <span class="i0">And of the silent, + endless flight of Time.</span> <span class="i0">A thousand things + to thee their secrets yield,</span> <span class="i0">That from the + simple shepherd are concealed.</span> <span class="i0">Oft as I + gaze at thee,</span> <span class="i0">In silence resting o’er the + desert plain,</span> <span class="i0">Which in the distance borders + on the sky,</span> <span class="i0">Or following me, as I, by slow + degrees,</span> <span class="i0">My flocks before me drive;</span> + <span class="i0">And when I gaze upon the stars at night,</span> + <span class="i0">In thought I ask myself,</span> <span class="i0">“Why + all these torches bright?</span> <span class="i0">What mean these + depths of air,</span> <span class="i0">This vast, this silent sky,</span> + <span class="i0">This nightly solitude? And what am I?”</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page106" id="page106" title="106"></a>Thus to myself I talk; and of this grand,</span> + <span class="i0">Magnificent expanse,</span> <span class="i0">And + its untold inhabitants,</span> <span class="i0">And all this mighty + motion, and this stir</span> <span class="i0">Of things above, and + things below,</span> <span class="i0">No rest that ever know,</span> + <span class="i0">But as they still revolve, must still return</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the place from which they came,—</span> + <span class="i0">Of this, alas, I find nor end nor aim!</span> + <span class="i0">But thou, immortal, surely knowest all.</span> + <span class="i0"><i>This</i> I well know, and feel;</span> <span class="i0">From these eternal rounds,</span> <span class="i0">And + from my being frail,</span> <span title="Original read 'Others, perhance,'" class="i0">Others, perchance, + may pleasure, profit gain;</span> <span class="i0">To <i>me</i> + life is but pain.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">My flock, now resting there, how happy thou,</span> + <span class="i0">That knowest not, I think, thy misery!</span> + <span class="i0">O how I envy thee!</span> <span class="i0">Not + only that from suffering</span> <span class="i0">Thou seemingly art + free;</span> <span class="i0">That every trouble, every loss,</span> + <span class="i0">Each sudden fear, thou canst so soon forget;</span> + <span class="i0">But more because thou sufferest</span> <span class="i0">No weariness of mind.</span> <span class="i0">When in + the shade, upon the grass reclined,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page107" id="page107" title="107"></a>Thou + seemest happy and content,</span> <span class="i0">And great part + of the year by thee</span> <span class="i0">In sweet release from + care is spent.</span> <span class="i0">But when <i>I</i> sit upon + the grass</span> <span class="i0">And in the friendly shade, upon + my mind</span> <span class="i0">A weight I feel, a sense of + weariness,</span> <span class="i0">That, as I sit, doth still + increase</span> <span class="i0">And rob me of all rest and peace.</span> + <span class="i0">And yet I wish for nought,</span> <span class="i0">And + have, till now, no reason to complain.</span> <span class="i0">What + joy, how much I cannot say;</span> <span class="i0">But thou <i>some</i> + pleasure dost obtain.</span> <span class="i0">My joys are few + enough;</span> <span class="i0">But not for that do I lament.</span> + <span class="i0">Ah, couldst thou speak, I would inquire:</span> + <span class="i0">Tell me, dear flock, the reason why</span> <span class="i0">Each weary breast can rest at ease,</span> <span class="i0">While all things round him seem to please;</span> <span class="i0">And yet, if <i>I</i> lie down to rest,</span> <span class="i0">I am by anxious thoughts oppressed?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Perhaps, if I had wings</span> <span class="i0">Above + the clouds to fly,</span> <span class="i0">And could the stars all + number, one by one,</span> <span class="i0">Or like the lightning + leap from rock to rock,</span> <span class="i0">I might be happier, + my dear flock,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page108" id="page108" title="108"></a>I might be happier, gentle + moon!</span> <span class="i0">Perhaps my thought still wanders from + the truth,</span> <span class="i0">When I at others’ fortunes look:</span> + <span class="i0">Perhaps in every state beneath the sun,</span> + <span class="i0">Or high, or low, in cradle or in stall,</span> + <span class="i0">The day of birth is fatal to us all.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + CALM AFTER STORM. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">The storm hath passed;</span> <span class="i0">I + hear the birds rejoice; the hen,</span> <span class="i0">Returned + into the road again,</span> <span class="i0">Her cheerful notes + repeats. The sky serene</span> <span class="i0">Is, in the west, + upon the mountain seen:</span> <span class="i0">The country smiles; + bright runs the silver stream.</span> <span class="i0">Each heart + is cheered; on every side revive</span> <span class="i0">The + sounds, the labors of the busy hive.</span> <span class="i0">The + workman gazes at the watery sky,</span> <span class="i0">As + standing at the door he sings,</span> <span class="i0">His work in + hand; the little wife goes forth,</span> <span class="i0">And in + her pail the gathered rain-drops brings;</span> <span class="i0">The + vendor of his wares, from lane to lane,</span> <span class="i0">Begins + his daily cry again.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page109" id="page109" title="109"></a>The sun returns, and with + his smile illumes</span> <span class="i0">The villas on the + neighboring hills;</span> <span class="i0">Through open terraces + and balconies,</span> <span class="i0">The genial light pervades + the cheerful rooms;</span> <span class="i0">And, on the highway, + from afar are heard</span> <span class="i0">The tinkling of the + bells, the creaking wheels</span> <span class="i0">Of waggoner, his + journey who resumes.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Cheered is each heart.</span> <span class="i0">Whene’er, + as now, doth life appear</span> <span class="i0">A thing so + pleasant and so dear?</span> <span class="i0">When, with such love,</span> + <span class="i0">Does man unto his books or work return?</span> + <span class="i0">Or on himself new tasks impose?</span> <span class="i0">When is he less regardful of his woes?</span> <span class="i0">O pleasure, born of pain!</span> <span class="i0">O idle + joy, and vain,</span> <span class="i0">Fruit of the fear just + passed, which shook</span> <span class="i0">The wretch who life + abhorred, yet dreaded death!</span> <span class="i0">With which + each neighbor held his breath,</span> <span class="i0">Silent, and + cold, and wan,</span> <span class="i0">Affrighted sore to see</span> + <span class="i0">The lightnings, clouds, and winds arrayed,</span> + <span class="i0">To do us injury!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O Nature courteous!</span> <span class="i0">These + are thy boons to us,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page110" id="page110" title="110"></a>These the delights to + mortals given!</span> <span class="i0">Escape from pain, best gift + of heaven!</span> <span class="i0">Thou scatterest sorrows with a + bounteous hand;</span> <span class="i0">Grief springs spontaneous;</span> + <span class="i0">If, by some monstrous growth, miraculous,</span> + <span class="i0">Pleasure at times is born of pain,</span> <span class="i0">It is a precious gain!</span> <span class="i0">O human + race, unto the gods so dear!</span> <span class="i0">Too happy, in + a respite brief</span> <span class="i0">From any grief!</span> + <span class="i0">Then only blessed,</span> <span class="i0">When + Death releases thee unto thy rest!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + THE VILLAGE SATURDAY NIGHT. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">The damsel from the field returns,</span> <span class="i0">The sun is sinking in the west;</span> <span class="i0">Her + bundle on her head she sets,</span> <span class="i0">And in her + hand she bears</span> <span class="i0">A bunch of roses and of + violets.</span> <span class="i0">To-morrow is a holiday,</span> + <span class="i0">And she, as usual, must them wear</span> <span class="i0">Upon her bodice, in her hair.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page111" id="page111" title="111"></a>The old + crone sits among her mates,</span> <span class="i0">Upon the + stairs, and spins;</span> <span class="i0">And, looking at the + fading light,</span> <span class="i0">Of good old-fashioned times + she prates,</span> <span class="i0">When she, too, dressed for + holidays,</span> <span class="i0">And with light heart, and limb as + light,</span> <span class="i0">Would dance at night</span> + <span class="i0">With the companions of her merry days.</span> + <span class="i0">The twilight shades around us close,</span> <span class="i0">The sky to deepest blue is turned;</span> <span class="i0">From hills and roofs the shadows fall,</span> <span class="i0">And the new moon her face of silver shows.</span> <span class="i0">And now the cheerful bell</span> <span class="i0">Proclaims + the coming festival.</span> <span class="i0">By its familiar voice</span> + <span class="i0">How every heart is cheered!</span> <span class="i0">The + children all in troops,</span> <span class="i0">Around the little + square</span> <span class="i0">Go, leaping here and there,</span> + <span class="i0">And make a joyful sound.</span> <span class="i0">Meanwhile + the ploughman, whistling, returns</span> <span class="i0">Unto his + humble nest,</span> <span class="i0">And thinks with pleasure of + his day of rest.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Then, when all other lights are out,</span> <span class="i0">And all is silent round,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page112" id="page112" title="112"></a>The + hammer’s stroke we hear,</span> <span class="i0">We hear the saw of + carpenter,</span> <span class="i0">Who with closed doors his vigil + keeps,</span> <span class="i0">Toils o’er his lamp and strives so + hard,</span> <span class="i0">His work to finish ere the dawn + appear.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The dearest day of all the week</span> <span class="i0">Is this, of hope and joy so full;</span> <span class="i0">To-morrow, + sad and dull,</span> <span class="i0">The hours will bring, for + each must in his thought</span> <span class="i0">His customary + task-work seek.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou little, sportive boy,</span> <span class="i0">This + blooming age of thine</span> <span class="i0">Is like to-day, so + full of joy;</span> <span class="i0">And is the day, indeed,</span> + <span class="i0">That must the sabbath of thy life precede.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Enjoy, it, then, my darling child,</span> <span class="i0">Nor speed the flying hours!</span> <span class="i0">I + say to thee no more:</span> <span class="i0">Alas, in this sad + world of ours,</span> <span class="i0">How far exceeds the holiday,</span> + <span class="i0">The day that goes before!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page113" id="page113" title="113"></a>THE + RULING THOUGHT. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Most sweet, most powerful,</span> <span class="i0">Controller + of my inmost soul;</span> <span class="i0">The terrible, yet + precious gift</span> <span class="i0">Of heaven, companion kind</span> + <span class="i0">Of all my days of misery,</span> <span class="i0">O + thought, that ever dost recur to me;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Of thy mysterious power</span> <span class="i0">Who + speaketh not? Who hath not felt</span> <span class="i0">Its subtle + influence?</span> <span class="i0">Yet, when one is by feeling deep + impelled</span> <span class="i0">Its secret joys and sorrows to + unfold,</span> <span class="i0">The theme seems ever new however + old.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">How isolated is my mind,</span> <span class="i0">Since + thou in it hast come to dwell!</span> <span class="i0">As by some + magic spell,</span> <span class="i0">My other thoughts have all,</span> + <span class="i0">Like lightning, disappeared;</span> <span class="i0">And thou, alone, like some huge tower,</span> <span class="i0">In a deserted plain,</span> <span class="i0">Gigantic, + solitary, dost remain.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page114" id="page114" title="114"></a>How worthless quite,</span> <span class="i0">Save + but for thee, have in my sight</span> <span class="i0">All earthly + things, and life itself become!</span> <span class="i0">How + wearisome its days;</span> <span class="i0">And all its works, and + all its plays,</span> <span class="i0">A vain pursuit of pleasures + vain,</span> <span class="i0">Compared with the felicity,</span> + <span class="i0">The heavenly joy, that springs from thee!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">As from the naked rocks</span> <span class="i0">Of + the rough Apennine,</span> <span class="i0">The weary pilgrim turns + his longing eyes</span> <span class="i0">To the bright plain that + in the distance lies;</span> <span class="i0">So from the rough and + barren intercourse</span> <span class="i0">Of worldly men, to thee + I gladly turn,</span> <span class="i0">As to a Paradise, my weary + mind,</span> <span class="i0">And sweet refreshment for my senses + find.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">It seems to me incredible, that I</span> <span class="i0">This dreary world, this wretched life,</span> <span class="i0">So full of folly and of strife,</span> <span class="i0">Without + thy aid, could have so long endured;</span> <span class="i0">Nor + can I well conceive,</span> <span class="i0">How one’s desires <i>could</i> + cling</span> <span class="i0">To other joys than those which thou + dost bring.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page115" id="page115" title="115"></a>Never, since first I knew</span> <span class="i0">By + hard experience what life is,</span> <span class="i0">Could fear of + death my soul subdue.</span> <span class="i0">To-day, a jest to me + appears,</span> <span class="i0">That which the silly world,</span> + <span class="i0">Praising at times, yet ever hates and fears,</span> + <span class="i0">The last extremity!</span> <span class="i0">If + danger comes, I, with undaunted mien,</span> <span class="i0">Its + threats encounter with a smile serene.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">I always hated coward souls,</span> <span class="i0">And meanness held in scorn.</span> <span class="i0"><i>Now</i>, + each unworthy act</span> <span class="i0">At once through all my + senses thrills;</span> <span class="i0">Each instance vile of human + worthlessness,</span> <span class="i0">My soul with holy anger + fills.</span> <span class="i0">This arrogant, this foolish age,</span> + <span class="i0">Which feeds itself on empty hopes,</span> <span class="i0">Absorbed in trifles, virtue’s enemy,</span> <span class="i0">Which idly clamors for utility,</span> <span class="i0">And + has not sense enough to see</span> <span class="i0">How <i>useless</i> + all life thenceforth must become,</span> <span class="i0">I feel <i>beneath</i> + me, and its judgments laugh</span> <span class="i0">To scorn. The + motley crew,</span> <span class="i0">The foes of every lofty + thought,</span> <span class="i0">Who laugh at <i>thee</i>, I + trample under foot.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page116" id="page116" title="116"></a>To that, which thee inspires,</span> <span class="i0">What passion yieldeth not?</span> <span class="i0">What + other, save this one,</span> <span class="i0">Controls our hearts’ + desires?</span> <span class="i0">Ambition, avarice, disdain, and + hate,</span> <span class="i0">The love of power, love of fame,</span> + <span class="i0">What are they but an empty name,</span> <span class="i0">Compared with it? And this,</span> <span class="i0">The + source, the spring of all,</span> <span class="i0">That sovereign + reigns within the breast,</span> <span class="i0">Eternal laws have + on our hearts impressed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Life hath no value, meaning hath,</span> <span class="i0">Save but for thee, our only hope and stay;</span> <span class="i0">The sole excuse for Fate,</span> <span class="i0">That + cruelly hath placed us here,</span> <span class="i0">To undergo + such useless misery;</span> <span class="i0">For thee alone, the + wise man, not the fool,</span> <span class="i0">To life still + fondly clings,</span> <span class="i0">Nor calls on death to end + his sufferings.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thy joys to gather, thou sweet thought,</span> + <span class="i0">Long years of sorrow I endure,</span> <span class="i0">And bear of weary life the strain;</span> <span class="i0">But not in vain!</span> <span class="i0">And I would + still return,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page117" id="page117" title="117"></a>In spite of all my sad + experience,</span> <span class="i0">Towards such a goal, my course + to recommence;</span> <span class="i0">For through the sands, and + through the viper-brood</span> <span class="i0">Of this, our mortal + wilderness,</span> <span class="i0">My steps I ne’er so wearily + have dragged</span> <span class="i0">To thee, that all the danger + and distress</span> <span class="i0">Were not repaid by such pure + happiness.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O what a world, what new immensity,</span> <span class="i0">What paradise is that,</span> <span class="i0">To which, + so oft, by thy stupendous charm</span> <span class="i0">Impelled, I + seem to soar! Where I</span> <span class="i0">Beneath a brighter + light am wandering,</span> <span class="i0">And my poor earthly + state,</span> <span class="i0">And all life’s bitter truths forget!</span> + <span class="i0">Such are, I ween, the dreams</span> <span class="i0">Of the Immortals. Ah, what <i>but</i> a dream,</span> + <span class="i0">Art thou, sweet thought,</span> <span class="i0">The + truth, that thus embellished?</span> <span class="i0">A dream, an + error manifest!</span> <span class="i0">But of a nature, still + divine,</span> <span class="i0">An error brave and strong,</span> + <span class="i0">That will with truth the fight prolong,</span> + <span class="i0">And oft for truth doth compensate;</span> <span class="i0">Nor leave us e’er, till summoned hence by Fate.</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page118" id="page118" title="118"></a>And surely thou, my thought,</span> <span class="i0">Thou + sole sustainer of my days,</span> <span class="i0">The cause + beloved of sorrows infinite,</span> <span class="i0">In Death alone + wilt be extinguished quite;</span> <span class="i0">For by sure + signs within my soul I feel</span> <span class="i0">Thy sovereign + sway, perpetual.</span> <span class="i0">All other fancies sweet</span> + <span class="i0">The aspect of the truth</span> <span class="i0">Hath + weakened ever. But whene’er I turn</span> <span class="i0">To gaze + again on her, of whom with thee</span> <span class="i0">To speak, + is all I live for, ah,</span> <span class="i0">That great delight + increases still,</span> <span class="i0">That frenzy fine, the + breath of life, to me!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Angelic beauty! Every lovely face,</span> <span class="i0">On which I gaze,</span> <span class="i0">A phantom seems + to me,</span> <span class="i0">That vainly strives to copy thee,</span> + <span class="i0">Of all the graces that our souls inthral,</span> + <span class="i0">Sole fount, divine original!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Since first I thee beheld,</span> <span class="i0">Of + what most anxious care of mine,</span> <span class="i0">Hast thou + not been the end and aim?</span> <span class="i0">What day has ever + passed, what hour,</span> <span class="i0">When I thought not of + thee? What dream of mine</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page119" id="page119" title="119"></a>Has not + been haunted by thy face divine?</span> <span class="i0">Angelic + countenance, that we</span> <span class="i0">In dreams, alas, alone + may see,</span> <span class="i0">What else on earth, what in the + universe,</span> <span class="i0">Do I e’er ask, or hope for, more,</span> + <span class="i0">Than those dear eyes forever to behold?</span> + <span class="i0">Than thy sweet thought still in my heart to hold?</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + LOVE AND DEATH. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Children of Fate, in the same breath</span> <span class="i0">Created were they, Love and Death.</span> <span class="i0">Such fair creations ne’er were seen,</span> <span class="i0">Or here below, or in the heaven serene.</span> <span class="i0">The first, the source of happiness,</span> <span class="i0">The fount whence flows the greatest bliss</span> <span class="i0">That in the sea of being e’er is found;</span> <span class="i0">The last each sorrow gently lulls,</span> <span class="i0">Each harsh decree of Fate annuls.</span> <span class="i0">Fair + child with beauty crowned,</span> <span class="i0">Sweet to behold, + not such</span> <span class="i0">As cowards paint her in their + fright,</span> <span class="i0">She in young Love’s companionship</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page120" id="page120" title="120"></a>Doth often take delight,</span> <span class="i0">As + they o’er mortal paths together fly,</span> <span class="i0">Chief + comforters of every loyal heart.</span> <span class="i0">Nor ever + is the heart more wise</span> <span class="i0">Than when Love + smites it, nor defies</span> <span class="i0">More scornfully + life’s misery,</span> <span class="i0">And for no other lord</span> + <span class="i0">Will it all dangers face so readily.</span> <span class="i0">When thou thy aid dost lend,</span> <span class="i0">O + Love, is courage born, or it revives;</span> <span class="i0">And + wise in deeds the race of man becomes,</span> <span class="i0">And + not, as it is prone,</span> <span class="i0">In fruitless thought + alone.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And when first in our being’s depth</span> <span class="i0">This passion deep is born,</span> <span class="i0">Though + happy, we are still forlorn;</span> <span class="i0">A languor + strange doth o’er us steal;</span> <span class="i0">A strange + desire of death we feel.</span> <span class="i0">I know not why, + but such we ever prove</span> <span class="i0">The first effect of + true and potent love.</span> <span class="i0">It may be, that this + wilderness</span> <span class="i0">Then first appals our sight;</span> + <span class="i0">And earth henceforth to us a dreary waste</span> + <span class="i0">Appears, without that new, supreme delight,</span> + <span class="i0">That in our thought is fondly traced;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page121" id="page121" title="121"></a>And + yet our hearts, foreboding, feel the storm</span> <span class="i0">Within, + that it may cause, the misery.</span> <span class="i0">We long for + rest, we long to flee,</span> <span class="i0">Hoping some friendly + haven may be found</span> <span class="i0">Of refuge from the + fierce desire,</span> <span class="i0">That raging, roaring, + darkens all around.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And when this formidable power</span> <span class="i0">Hath his whole soul possessed,</span> <span class="i0">And + raging care will give his heart no rest,</span> <span class="i0">How + many times implored</span> <span class="i0">With most intense + desire,</span> <span class="i0">Art thou, O Death, by the poor + wretch, forlorn!</span> <span class="i0">How oft at eve, how oft at + dawn,</span> <span class="i0">His weary frame upon the couch he + throws,</span> <span class="i0">Too happy, if he never rose,</span> + <span class="i0">In hopeless conflict with his pain,</span> <span class="i0">Nor e’er beheld the bitter light again!</span> <span class="i0">And oft, at sound of funeral bell,</span> <span class="i0">And solemn chant, that guides</span> <span class="i0">Departed + souls unto eternal rest,</span> <span class="i0">With sighs most + ardent from his inmost breast,</span> <span class="i0">How hath he + envied him,</span> <span class="i0">Who with the dead has gone to + dwell!</span> <span class="i0">The very humblest of his kind,</span> + <span class="i0">The simple, rustic hind, who knows</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page122" id="page122" title="122"></a>No + charm that knowledge gives;</span> <span class="i0">The lowliest + country lass that lives,</span> <span class="i0">Who, at the very + thought of death,</span> <span class="i0">Doth feel her hair in + horror rise,</span> <span class="i0">Will calmly face its agonies,</span> + <span class="i0">Upon the terrors of the tomb will gaze</span> + <span class="i0">With fixed, undaunted look,</span> <span class="i0">Will + o’er the steel and poison brood,</span> <span class="i0">In + meditative mood,</span> <span class="i0">And in her narrow mind,</span> + <span class="i0">The kindly charm of dying comprehend:</span> <span class="i0">So much the discipline of Love</span> <span class="i0">Hath + unto Death all hearts inclined!</span> <span class="i0">Full often + when this inward woe</span> <span class="i0">Such pass has reached + as mortal strength</span> <span class="i0">No longer can endure,</span> + <span class="i0">The feeble body yields at length,</span> <span class="i0">To its fierce blows, and timely, then,</span> <span class="i0">Benignant Death her friendly power doth show:</span> + <span class="i0">Or else Love drives her hapless victims so,</span> + <span class="i0">Alike the simple clown,</span> <span class="i0">And + tender country lass,</span> <span class="i0">That on themselves + their desperate hands they lay,</span> <span class="i0">And so are + borne unto the shades below.</span> <span class="i0">The world but + laughs at their distress,</span> <span class="i0">Whom heaven with + peace and length of days doth bless.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page123" id="page123" title="123"></a>To fervid, + happy, restless souls</span> <span class="i0">May fate the one or + other still concede,</span> <span class="i0">Sweet sovereigns, + friendly to our race,</span> <span class="i0">Whose power, + throughout the universe,</span> <span class="i0">Such miracles hath + wrought,</span> <span class="i0">As naught resembles, nor can + aught,</span> <span class="i0">Save that of Fate itself, exceed.</span> + <span class="i0">And thou, whom from my earliest years,</span> + <span class="i0">Still honored I invoke,</span> <span class="i0">O + lovely Death! the only friend</span> <span class="i0">Of sufferers + in this vale of tears,</span> <span class="i0">If I have ever + sought</span> <span class="i0">Thy princely state to vindicate</span> + <span class="i0">From the affronts of the ungrateful crowd,</span> + <span class="i0">Do not delay, incline thy ear</span> <span class="i0">Unto thy weary suppliant here!</span> <span class="i0">These + sad eyes close forever to the light,</span> <span class="i0">And + let me rest in peace serene,</span> <span class="i0">O thou, of all + the ages Queen!</span> <span class="i0">Me surely wilt thou find, + whate’er the hour,</span> <span class="i0">When thou thy wings + unfoldest to my prayer,</span> <span class="i0">With front erect, + the cruel power</span> <span class="i0">Defying still, of Fate;</span> + <span class="i0">Nor will I praise, in fulsome mood,</span> <span class="i0">The scourging hand, that with my blood,</span> <span class="i0">The blood of innocence, is stained.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page124" id="page124" title="124"></a>Nor + bless it, as the human race</span> <span class="i0">Is wont, + through custom old and base:</span> <span class="i0">Each empty + hope, with which the world</span> <span class="i0">Itself and + children would beguile,</span> <span class="i0">I’ll cast aside, + each comfort false and vile;</span> <span class="i0">In thee alone + my hope I’ll place,</span> <span class="i0">Thou welcome minister + of grace!</span> <span class="i0">In that sole thought supremely + blest,</span> <span class="i0">That day, when my unconscious head</span> + <span class="i0">May on thy virgin bosom rest.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + TO HIMSELF. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nor wilt thou rest forever, weary heart.</span> + <span class="i0">The last illusion is destroyed,</span> <span class="i0">That I eternal thought. Destroyed!</span> <span class="i0">I feel all hope and all desire depart,</span> <span class="i0">For life and its deceitful joys.</span> <span class="i0">Forever + rest! Enough! Thy throbbings cease!</span> <span class="i0">Naught + can requite thy miseries;</span> <span class="i0">Nor is earth + worthy of thy sighs.</span> <span class="i0">Life is a bitter, + weary load,</span> <span class="i0">The world a slough. And now, + repose!</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page125" id="page125" title="125"></a>Despair no more, but find in Death</span> + <span class="i0">The only boon Fate on our race bestows!</span> + <span class="i0">Still, Nature, art thou doomed to fall,</span> + <span class="i0">The victim scorned of that blind, brutal power</span> + <span class="i0">That rules and ruins all.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + ASPASIA. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">At times thy image to my mind returns,</span> + <span class="i0">Aspasia. In the crowded streets it gleams</span> + <span class="i0">Upon me, for an instant, as I pass,</span> <span class="i0">In other faces; or in lonely fields,</span> <span class="i0">At noon-tide bright, beneath the silent stars,</span> + <span class="i0">With sudden and with startling vividness,</span> + <span class="i0">As if awakened by sweet harmony,</span> <span class="i0">The splendid vision rises in my soul.</span> <span class="i0">How worshipped once, ye gods, what a delight</span> + <span class="i0">To me, what torture, too! Nor do I e’er</span> + <span class="i0">The odor of the flowery fields inhale,</span> + <span class="i0">Or perfume of the gardens of the town,</span> + <span class="i0">That I recall thee not, as on that day,</span> + <span class="i0">When in thy sumptuous rooms, so redolent</span> + <span class="i0">Of all the fragrant flowers of the spring,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page126" id="page126" title="126"></a>Arrayed in robe of violet hue, thy form</span> + <span class="i0">Angelic I beheld, as it reclined</span> <span class="i0">On dainty cushions languidly, and by</span> <span class="i0">An atmosphere voluptuous surrounded;</span> <span class="i0">When thou, a skilful Syren, didst imprint</span> <span class="i0">Upon thy children’s round and rosy lips</span> <span class="i0">Resounding, fervent kisses, stretching forth</span> + <span class="i0">Thy neck of snow, and with thy lovely hand,</span> + <span class="i0">The little, unsuspecting innocents</span> <span class="i0">Didst to thy hidden, tempting bosom press.</span> <span class="i0">The earth, the heavens transfigured seemed to me,</span> + <span class="i0">A ray divine to penetrate my soul.</span> <span class="i0">Then in my side, not unprotected quite,</span> <span class="i0">Deep driven by thy hand, the shaft I bore,</span> <span class="i0">Lamenting sore; and not to be removed,</span> <span class="i0">Till twice the sun his annual round had made.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">A ray divine, O lady! to my thought</span> <span class="i0">Thy beauty seemed. A like effect is oft</span> <span class="i0">By beauty caused, and harmony, that seem</span> <span class="i0">The mystery of Elysium to reveal.</span> <span class="i0">The + stricken mortal fondly worships, then,</span> <span class="i0">His + own ideal, creature of his mind,</span> <span class="i0">Which of + his heaven the greater part contains.</span> <span class="i0">Alike + in looks, in manners, and in speech,</span> <span class="i0">The + real and ideal seem to him,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page127" id="page127" title="127"></a>In his + confused and passion-guided soul.</span> <span class="i0">But not + the woman, but the dream it is,</span> <span class="i0">That in his + fond caresses, he adores.</span> <span class="i0">At last his error + finding, and the sad exchange,</span> <span class="i0">He is + enraged, and most unjustly, oft,</span> <span class="i0">The woman + chides. For rarely does the mind</span> <span class="i0">Of woman + to that high ideal rise;</span> <span class="i0">And that which her + own beauty oft inspires</span> <span class="i0">In generous lovers, + she imagines not,</span> <span class="i0">Nor could she comprehend. + Those narrow brows,</span> <span class="i0">Cannot such great + conceptions hold. The man,</span> <span class="i0">Deceived, builds + false hopes on those lustrous eyes,</span> <span class="i0">And + feelings deep, ineffable, nay, more</span> <span class="i0">Than + manly, vainly seeks in her, who is</span> <span class="i0">By + nature so inferior to man.</span> <span class="i0">For as her limbs + more soft and slender are,</span> <span class="i0">So is her mind + less capable and strong.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Nor hast thou ever known, Aspasia,</span> <span class="i0">Or couldst thou comprehend the thoughts that once</span> + <span class="i0">Thou didst inspire in me. Thou knowest not</span> + <span class="i0">What boundless love, what sufferings intense,</span> + <span class="i0">What ravings wild, what savage impulses,</span> + <span class="i0">Thou didst arouse in me; nor will the time</span> + <span class="i0">E’er come when thou could’st understand them. So,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page128" id="page128" title="128"></a>Musicians, too, are often ignorant</span> <span class="i0">Of the effects they with the hand and voice</span> <span class="i0">Produce on him that listens. Dead is <i>that</i></span> + <span class="i0">Aspasia, that I so loved, aye, dead</span> <span class="i0">Forever, who was once sole object of</span> <span class="i0">My life; save as a phantom, ever dear,</span> <span class="i0">That comes from time to time, and disappears.</span> + <span class="i0">Thou livest still, not only beautiful,</span> + <span class="i0">But in thy beauty still surpassing all;</span> + <span class="i0">But oh, the flame thou didst enkindle once,</span> + <span class="i0">Long since has been extinguished; <i>thee</i>, indeed,</span> + <span class="i0">I never loved, but that Divinity,</span> <span class="i0">Once living, buried now within my heart.</span> <span class="i0">Her, long time, I adored; and was so pleased</span> + <span class="i0">With her celestial beauty, that, although</span> + <span class="i0">I from the first thy nature knew full well,</span> + <span class="i0">And all thy artful and coquettish ways,</span> + <span class="i0">Yet <i>her</i> fair eyes beholding still in <i>thine</i>,</span> + <span class="i0">I followed thee, delighted, while she lived;</span> + <span class="i0">Deceived? Ah, no! But by the pleasure led,</span> + <span class="i0">Of that sweet likeness, that allured me so,</span> + <span class="i0">A long and heavy servitude to bear.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Now boast; thou can’st! Say, that to thee alone</span> + <span class="i0">Of all thy sex, my haughty head I bowed,</span> + <span class="i0">To thee alone, of my unconquered heart</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page129" id="page129" title="129"></a>An offering made. Say, that thou wast the first—</span> + <span class="i0">And surely wast the last—that in my eye</span> + <span class="i0">A suppliant look beheld, and me before</span> + <span class="i0">Thee stand, timid and trembling (how I blush,</span> + <span class="i0">In saying it, with anger and with shame),</span> + <span class="i0">Of my own self deprived, thy every wish,</span> + <span class="i0">Thy every word submissively observing,</span> + <span class="i0">At every proud caprice becoming pale,</span> <span class="i0">At every sign of favor brightening,</span> <span class="i0">And changing color at each look of thine.</span> <span class="i0">The charm is over, and, with it, the yoke</span> <span class="i0">Lies broken, scattered on the ground; and I</span> <span class="i0">Rejoice. ’Tis true my days are laden with</span> <span class="i0">Ennui; yet after such long servitude,</span> <span class="i0">And such infatuation, I am glad</span> <span class="i0">My + judgment, freedom to resume. For though</span> <span class="i0">A + life bereft of love’s illusions sweet,</span> <span class="i0">Is + like a starless night, in winter’s midst,</span> <span class="i0">Yet + some revenge, some comfort can I find</span> <span class="i0">For + my hard fate, that here upon the grass,</span> <span class="i0">Outstretched + in indolence I lie, and gaze</span> <span class="i0">Upon the earth + and sea and sky, and smile.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page130" id="page130" title="130"></a>ON AN + OLD SEPULCHRAL BAS-RELIEF.<small>WHERE IS SEEN A YOUNG MAIDEN, + DEAD, IN THE ACT OF DEPARTING, TAKING LEAVE OF HER FAMILY.</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Where goest thou? Who calls</span> <span class="i0">Thee + from my dear ones far away?</span> <span class="i0">Most lovely + maiden, say!</span> <span class="i0">Alone, a wanderer, dost thou + leave</span> <span class="i0">Thy father’s roof so soon?</span> + <span class="i0">Wilt thou unto its threshold e’er return?</span> + <span class="i0">Wilt thou make glad one day,</span> <span class="i0">Those, who now round thee, weeping, mourn?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Fearless thine eye, and spirited thy act;</span> + <span class="i0">And yet thou, too, art sad.</span> <span class="i0">If + pleasant or unpleasant be the road,</span> <span class="i0">If gay + or gloomy be the new abode,</span> <span class="i0">To which thou + journeyest, indeed,</span> <span class="i0">In that grave face, how + difficult to read!</span> <span class="i0">Ah, hard to me the + problem still hath seemed;</span> <span class="i0">Not hath the + world, perhaps, yet understood,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page131" id="page131" title="131"></a>If thou + beloved, or hated by the gods,</span> <span class="i0">If happy, or + unhappy shouldst be deemed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Death calls thee; in thy morn of life,</span> + <span class="i0">Its latest breath. Unto the nest</span> <span class="i0">Thou leavest, thou wilt ne’er return; wilt ne’er</span> + <span class="i0">The faces of thy kindred more behold;</span> <span class="i0">And under ground,</span> <span class="i0">The place to + which thou goest will be found;</span> <span class="i0">And for all + time will be thy sojourn there.</span> <span class="i0">Happy, + perhaps, thou art: but he must sigh</span> <span class="i0">Who, + thoughtful, contemplates thy destiny.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Ne’er to have seen the light, e’en at the time,</span> + <span class="i0">I think; but, born, e’en at the time,</span> <span class="i0">When regal beauty all her charms displays,</span> <span class="i0">Alike in form and face,</span> <span class="i0">And at + her feet the admiring world</span> <span class="i0">Its distant + homage pays;</span> <span class="i0">When every hope is in its + flower,</span> <span class="i0">Long, long ere dreary winter flash</span> + <span class="i0">His baleful gleams against the joyous brow;</span> + <span class="i0">Like vapor gathered in the summer cloud,</span> + <span class="i0">That melting in the evening sky is seen</span> + <span class="i0">To disappear, as if one ne’er had been;</span> + <span class="i0">And to exchange the brilliant days to come,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page132" id="page132" title="132"></a>For the dark silence of the tomb;</span> <span class="i0">The intellect, indeed,</span> <span class="i0">May call + this, happiness; but still</span> <span class="i0">It may the + stoutest breasts with pity fill.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Thou mother, dreaded and deplored</span> <span class="i0">From birth, by all the world that lives,</span> <span class="i0">Nature, ungracious miracle,</span> <span class="i0">That + bringest forth and nourishest, to kill,</span> <span class="i0">If + death untimely be an evil thing,</span> <span class="i0">Why on + these innocent heads</span> <span class="i0">Wilt thou that evil + bring?</span> <span class="i0">If good, why, why,</span> <span class="i0">Beyond all other misery,</span> <span class="i0">To him + who goes, to him who must remain,</span> <span class="i0">Hast thou + such parting crowned with hopeless pain?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Wretched, where’er we look,</span> <span class="i0">Whichever + way we turn,</span> <span class="i0">Thy suffering children are!</span> + <span class="i0">Thee it hath pleased, that youthful hope</span> + <span class="i0">Should ever be by life beguiled;</span> <span class="i0">The current of our years with woes be filled,</span> + <span class="i0">And death against all ills the only shield:</span> + <span class="i0">And this inevitable seal,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page133" id="page133" title="133"></a>And this + immutable decree,</span> <span class="i0">Hast thou assigned to + human destiny,</span> <span class="i0">Why, after such a painful + race,</span> <span class="i0">Should not the goal, at least,</span> + <span class="i0">Present to us a cheerful face?</span> <span class="i0">Why that, which we in constant view,</span> <span class="i0">Must, while we live, forever bear,</span> <span class="i0">Sole comfort in our hour of need,</span> <span class="i0">Thus + dress in weeds of woe,</span> <span class="i0">And gird with + shadows so,</span> <span class="i0">And make the friendly port to + us appear</span> <span class="i0">More frightful than the tempest + drear?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">If death, indeed, be a calamity,</span> <span class="i0">Which thou intendest for us all,</span> <span class="i0">Whom + thou, against our knowledge and our will,</span> <span class="i0">Hast + forced to draw this mortal breath,</span> <span class="i0">Then, + surely, he who dies,</span> <span class="i0">A lot more enviable + hath</span> <span class="i0">Then he who feels his loved one’s + death.</span> <span class="i0">But, if the truth it be,</span> + <span class="i0">As I most firmly think,</span> <span class="i0">That + life is the calamity,</span> <span class="i0">And death the boon, + alas! who ever <i>could</i>,</span> <span class="i0">What yet he <i>should</i>,</span> + <span class="i0">Desire the dying day of those so dear,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page134" id="page134" title="134"></a>That he may linger here,</span> <span class="i0">Of + his best self deprived,</span> <span class="i0">May see across his + threshold borne,</span> <span class="i0">The form beloved of her,</span> + <span class="i0">With whom so many years he lived,</span> <span class="i0">And say to her farewell,</span> <span class="i0">Without + the hope of meeting here again;</span> <span class="i0">And then + alone on earth to dwell,</span> <span class="i0">And, looking + round, the hours and places all,</span> <span class="i0">Of lost + companionship recall?</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Ah, Nature! how, how <i>couldst</i> thou have the + heart,</span> <span class="i0">From the friend’s arms the friend to + tear,</span> <span class="i0">The brother from the brother part,</span> + <span class="i0">The father from the child,</span> <span class="i0">The + lover from his love,</span> <span class="i0">And, killing one, the + other keep alive?</span> <span class="i0">What dire necessity</span> + <span class="i0">Compels such misery</span> <span class="i0">That + lover should the loved one e’er survive?</span> <span class="i0">But + Nature in her cruel dealings still,</span> <span class="i0">Pays + little heed unto our good or ill.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page135" id="page135" title="135"></a>ON THE + PORTRAIT OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, CARVED ON HER MONUMENT. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Such <i>wast</i> thou: now in earth below,</span> + <span class="i0">Dust and a skeleton thou art.</span> <span class="i0">Above thy bones and clay,</span> <span class="i0">Here + vainly placed by loving hands,</span> <span class="i0">Sole + guardian of memory and woe,</span> <span class="i0">The image of + departed beauty stands.</span> <span class="i0">Mute, motionless, + it seems with pensive gaze</span> <span class="i0">To watch the + flight of the departing days.</span> <span class="i0">That gentle + look, that, wheresoe’er it fell,</span> <span class="i0">As now it + seems to fall,</span> <span class="i0">Held fast the gazer with its + magic spell;</span> <span class="i0">That lip, from which as from + some copious urn,</span> <span class="i0">Redundant pleasure seems + to overflow;</span> <span class="i0">That neck, on which love once + so fondly hung;</span> <span class="i0">That loving hand, whose + tender pressure still</span> <span class="i0">The hand it clasped, + with trembling joy would thrill;</span> <span class="i0">That + bosom, whose transparent loveliness</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page136" id="page136" title="136"></a>The color + from the gazer’s cheek would steal;</span> <span class="i0">All + these <i>have been</i>; and now remains alone</span> <span class="i0">A wretched heap of bones and clay,</span> <span class="i0">Concealed from sight by this benignant stone.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">To this hath Fate reduced</span> <span class="i0">The + form, that, when with life it beamed,</span> <span class="i0">To us + heaven’s liveliest image seemed.</span> <span class="i0">O Nature’s + endless mystery!</span> <span class="i0">To-day, of grand and lofty + thoughts the source,</span> <span class="i0">And feelings not to be + described,</span> <span class="i0">Beauty rules all, and seems,</span> + <span class="i0">Like some mysterious splendor from on high</span> + <span class="i0">Forth-darted to illuminate</span> <span class="i0">This + dreary wilderness;</span> <span class="i0">Of superhuman fate,</span> + <span class="i0">Of fortunate realms, and golden worlds,</span> + <span class="i0">A token, and a hope secure</span> <span class="i0">To + give our mortal state;</span> <span class="i0">To-morrow, for some + trivial cause,</span> <span class="i0">Loathsome to sight, + abominable, base</span> <span class="i0">Becomes, what but a little + time before</span> <span class="i0">Wore such an angel face;</span> + <span class="i0">And from our minds, in the same breath,</span> + <span class="i0">The grand conception it inspired,</span> <span class="i0">Swift vanishes and leaves no trace.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page137" id="page137" title="137"></a>What + infinite desires,</span> <span class="i0">What visions grand and + high,</span> <span class="i0">In our exalted thought,</span> + <span class="i0">With magic power creates, true harmony!</span> + <span class="i0">O’er a delicious and mysterious sea,</span> <span class="i0">The exulting spirit glides,</span> <span class="i0">As + some bold swimmer sports in Ocean’s tides:</span> <span class="i0">But + oh, the mischief that is wrought,</span> <span class="i0">If but + one accent out of tune</span> <span class="i0">Assaults the ear! + Alas, how soon</span> <span class="i0">Our paradise is turned to + naught!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O human nature, why is this?</span> <span class="i0">If frail and vile throughout,</span> <span class="i0">If + shadow, dust thou art, say, why</span> <span class="i0">Hast thou + such fancies, aspirations high?</span> <span class="i0">And yet, if + framed for nobler ends,</span> <span class="i0">Alas, why are we + doomed</span> <span class="i0">To see our highest motives, truest + thoughts,</span> <span class="i0">By such base causes kindled, and + consumed?</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page138" id="page138" title="138"></a>PALINODIA.<small>TO + THE MARQUIS GINO CAPPONI.</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">I was mistaken, my dear Gino. Long</span> <span class="i0">And greatly have I erred. I fancied life</span> <span class="i0">A vain and wretched thing, and this, our age,</span> + <span class="i0">Now passing, vainest, silliest of all.</span> + <span class="i0">Intolerable seemed, and <i>was</i>, such talk</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the happy race of mortals, if,</span> <span class="i0">Indeed, man ought or could be mortal called.</span> + <span class="i0">’Twixt anger and surprise, the lofty creatures laughed</span> + <span class="i0">Forth from the fragrant Eden where they dwell;</span> + <span class="i0">Neglected, or unfortunate, they called me;</span> + <span class="i0">Of joy incapable, or ignorant,</span> <span class="i0">To think my lot the common lot of all,</span> <span class="i0">Mankind, the partner in my misery.</span> <span class="i0">At length, amid the odor of cigars,</span> <span class="i0">The crackling sound of dainty pastry, and</span> <span class="i0">The orders loud for ices and for drinks,</span> <span class="i0">’Midst clinking glasses, and ’midst brandished spoons,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page139" id="page139" title="139"></a>The daily light of the gazettes flashed full</span> + <span class="i0">On my dim eyes. I saw and recognized</span> <span class="i0">The public joy, and the felicity</span> <span class="i0">Of + human destiny. The lofty state</span> <span class="i0">I saw, and + value of all human things;</span> <span class="i0">Our mortal + pathway strewed with flowers; I saw</span> <span class="i0">How + naught displeasing here below endures.</span> <span class="i0">Nor + less I saw the studies and the works</span> <span class="i0">Stupendous, + wisdom, virtue, knowledge deep</span> <span class="i0">Of this our + age. From far Morocco to</span> <span class="i0">Cathay, and from + the Poles unto the Nile,</span> <span class="i0">From Boston unto + Goa, on the track</span> <span class="i0">Of flying Fortune, + emulously panting,</span> <span class="i0">The empires, kingdoms, + dukedoms of the earth</span> <span class="i0">I saw, now clinging + to her waving locks,</span> <span class="i0">Now to the end of her + encircling boa.</span> <span class="i0">Beholding this, and o’er + the ample sheets</span> <span class="i0">Profoundly meditating, I + became</span> <span class="i0">Of my sad blunder, and myself, + ashamed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The age of gold the spindles of the Fates,</span> + <span class="i0">O Gino, are evolving. Every sheet,</span> <span class="i0">In each variety of speech and type,</span> <span class="i0">The splendid promise to the world proclaims,</span> + <span class="i0">From every quarter. Universal love,</span> <span class="i0">And iron roads, and commerce manifold,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page140" id="page140" title="140"></a>Steam, + types, and cholera, remotest lands,</span> <span class="i0">Most + distant nations will together bind;</span> <span class="i0">Nor + need we wonder if the pine or oak</span> <span class="i0">Yield + milk and honey, or together dance</span> <span class="i0">Unto the + music of the waltz. So much</span> <span class="i0">The force + already hath increased, both of</span> <span class="i0">Alembics, + and retorts, and of machines,</span> <span class="i0">That vie with + heaven in working miracles,</span> <span class="i0">And will + increase, in times that are to come:</span> <span class="i0">For, + evermore, from better unto best,</span> <span class="i0">Without a + pause, as in the past, the race</span> <span class="i0">Of Shem, + and Ham, and Japhet will progress.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And yet, on acorns men will never feed,</span> + <span class="i0">Unless compelled by hunger; never will</span> + <span class="i0">Hard iron lay aside. Full oft, indeed,</span> + <span class="i0">They gold and silver will despise, bills of</span> + <span class="i0">Exchange preferring. Often, too, the race</span> + <span class="i0">Its generous hands with brothers’ blood will stain,</span> + <span class="i0">With fields of carnage filling Europe, and</span> + <span class="i0">The other shore of the Atlantic sea,</span> <span class="i0">The new world, that the old still nourishes,</span> + <span class="i0">As often as it sends its rival bands</span> <span class="i0">Of armed adventurers, in eager quest</span> <span class="i0">Of pepper, cinnamon, or other spice,</span> <span class="i0">Or sugar-cane, aught that ministers</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page141" id="page141" title="141"></a>Unto + the universal thirst for gold.</span> <span class="i0">True worth + and virtue, modesty and faith,</span> <span class="i0">And love of + justice, in whatever land,</span> <span class="i0">From public + business will be still estranged,</span> <span class="i0">Or + utterly humiliated and</span> <span class="i0">O’erthrown; + condemned by Nature still,</span> <span class="i0">To sink unto the + bottom. Insolence</span> <span class="i0">And fraud, with + mediocrity combined,</span> <span class="i0">Will to the surface + ever rise, and reign.</span> <span class="i0">Authority and + strength, howe’er diffused,</span> <span class="i0">However + concentrated, will be still</span> <span class="i0">Abused, beneath + whatever name concealed,</span> <span class="i0">By him who wields + them; this the law by Fate</span> <span class="i0">And nature + written first, in adamant:</span> <span class="i0">Nor can a Volta + with his lightnings, nor</span> <span class="i0">A Davy cancel it, + nor England with</span> <span class="i0">Her vast machinery, nor + this our age</span> <span class="i0">With all its floods of Leading + Articles.</span> <span class="i0">The good man ever will be sad, + the wretch</span> <span class="i0">Will keep perpetual holiday; + against</span> <span class="i0">All lofty souls both worlds will + still be armed</span> <span class="i0">Conspirators; true honor be + assailed</span> <span class="i0">By calumny, and hate, and envy; + still</span> <span class="i0">The weak will be the victim of the + strong;</span> <span class="i0">The hungry man upon the rich will + fawn,</span> <span class="i0">Beneath whatever form of government,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page142" id="page142" title="142"></a>Alike at the Equator and the Poles;</span> <span class="i0">So will it be, while man on earth abides,</span> <span class="i0">And while the sun still lights him on his way.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">These signs and tokens of the ages past</span> + <span class="i0">Must of necessity their impress leave</span> <span class="i0">Upon our brightly dawning age of gold:</span> <span class="i0">Because society from Nature still</span> <span class="i0">Receives + a thousand principles and aims,</span> <span class="i0">Diverse, + discordant; which to reconcile,</span> <span class="i0">No wit or + power of man hath yet availed,</span> <span class="i0">Since first + our race, illustrious, was born;</span> <span class="i0">Nor <i>will</i> + avail, or treaty or gazette,</span> <span class="i0">In any age, + however wise or strong.</span> <span class="i0">But in things more + important, how complete,</span> <span class="i0">Ne’er seen, till + now, will be our happiness!</span> <span class="i0">More soft, from + day to day, our garments will</span> <span class="i0">Become, of + woollen or of silk. Their rough</span> <span class="i0">Attire the + husbandman and smith will cast</span> <span class="i0">Aside, will + swathe in cotton their rough hides,</span> <span class="i0">And + with the skins of beavers warm their backs.</span> <span class="i0">More + serviceable, more attractive, too,</span> <span class="i0">Will be + our carpets and our counterpanes,</span> <span class="i0">Our + curtains, sofas, tables, and our chairs;</span> <span class="i0">Our + beds, and their attendant furniture,</span> <span class="i0">Will a + new grace unto our chambers lend;</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page143" id="page143" title="143"></a>And dainty + forms of kettles and of pans,</span> <span class="i0">On our dark + kitchens will their lustre shed.</span> <span class="i0">From Paris + unto Calais, and from there</span> <span class="i0">To London, and + from there to Liverpool,</span> <span class="i0">More rapid than + imagination can</span> <span class="i0">Conceive, will be the + journey, nay the flight;</span> <span class="i0">While underneath + the ample bed of Thames,</span> <span class="i0">A highway will be + made, immortal work,</span> <span class="i0">That <i>should</i> + have been completed, years ago.</span> <span class="i0">Far better + lighted, and perhaps as safe,</span> <span class="i0">At night, as + now they are, will be the lanes</span> <span class="i0">And + unfrequented streets of Capitals;</span> <span class="i0">Perhaps, + the main streets of the smaller towns.</span> <span class="i0">Such + privileges, such a happy lot,</span> <span class="i0">Kind heaven + reserves unto the coming race.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">How fortunate are they, whom, as I write,</span> + <span class="i0">Naked and whimpering, in her arms receives</span> + <span class="i0">The midwife! They those longed-for days may hope</span> + <span class="i0">To see, when, after careful studies we</span> + <span class="i0">Shall know, and every nursling shall imbibe</span> + <span class="i0">That knowledge with the milk of the dear nurse,</span> + <span class="i0">How many hundred-weight of salt, and how</span> + <span class="i0">Much flesh, how many bushels, too, of flour,</span> + <span class="i0">His native town in every month consumes;</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page144" id="page144" title="144"></a>How many births and deaths in every year</span> + <span class="i0">The parish priest inscribes: when by the aid</span> + <span class="i0">Of mighty steam, that, every second, prints</span> + <span class="i0">Its millions, hill and dale, and ocean’s vast</span> + <span class="i0">Expanse, e’en as we see a flock of cranes</span> + <span class="i0">Aërial, that suddenly the day obscure, will with + Gazettes be overrun;</span> <span class="i0">Gazettes, of the great + Universe the life</span> <span class="i0">And soul, sole fount of + wisdom and of wit,</span> <span class="i0">To this, and unto every + coming age!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">E’en as a child, who carefully constructs,</span> + <span class="i0">Of little sticks and leaves, an edifice,</span> + <span class="i0">In form of temple, palace, or of tower;</span> + <span class="i0">And, soon as he beholds the work complete,</span> + <span class="i0">The impulse feels, the structure to destroy,</span> + <span class="i0">Because the self-same sticks and leaves he needs,</span> + <span class="i0">To carry out some other enterprise;</span> <span class="i0">So Nature every work of hers, however</span> <span class="i0">It may delight us with its excellence,</span> <span class="i0">No sooner sees unto perfection brought,</span> <span class="i0">Than she proceeds to pull it all to pieces,</span> <span class="i0">For other structures using still the parts.</span> <span class="i0">And vainly seeks the human race, itself</span> <span class="i0">Or others from the cruel sport to save,</span> <span class="i0">The cause of which is hidden from its sight</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page145" id="page145" title="145"></a>Forever, + though a thousand means it tries,</span> <span class="i0">With + skilful hand devising remedies:</span> <span class="i0">For cruel + Nature, child invincible,</span> <span class="i0">Our efforts + laughs to scorn, and still its own</span> <span class="i0">Caprices + carries out, without a pause,</span> <span class="i0">Destroying + and creating, for its sport.</span> <span class="i0">And hence, a + various, endless family</span> <span class="i0">Of ills incurable + and sufferings</span> <span class="i0">Oppresses the frail mortal, + doomed to death</span> <span class="i0">Irreparably; hence a + hostile force,</span> <span class="i0">Destructive, smites him from + within, without,</span> <span class="i0">On every side, perpetual, + e’en from</span> <span class="i0">The day of birth, and wearies and + exhausts,</span> <span class="i0">Itself untiring, till he drops at + last,</span> <span class="i0">By the inhuman mother crushed, and + killed.</span> <span class="i0">Those crowning miseries, O gentle + friend,</span> <span class="i0">Of this our mortal life, old age + and death,</span> <span class="i0">E’en then commencing, when the + infant lip</span> <span class="i0">The tender breast doth press, + that life instils,</span> <span class="i0">This happy nineteenth + century, I think,</span> <span class="i0">Can no more help, than + could the ninth, or tenth,</span> <span class="i0">Nor will the + coming ages, more than this.</span> <span class="i0">Indeed, if we + may be allowed to call</span> <span class="i0">The truth by its + right name, no other than</span> <span class="i0">Supremely + wretched must each mortal be,</span> <span class="i0">In every age, + and under every form</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page146" id="page146" title="146"></a>Of government, and walk and + mode of life;</span> <span class="i0">By nature hopelessly + incurable,</span> <span class="i0">Because a universal law hath so</span> + <span class="i0">Decreed, which heaven and earth alike obey.</span> + <span class="i0">And yet the lofty spirits of our age</span> <span class="i0">A new discovery have made, almost</span> <span class="i0">Divine; + for, though they cannot make</span> <span class="i0">A single + person happy on the earth,</span> <span class="i0">The man + forgetting, they have gone in quest</span> <span class="i0">Of + universal happiness, and this,</span> <span class="i0">Forsooth, + have found so easily, that out</span> <span class="i0">Of many + wretched individuals,</span> <span class="i0">They can a happy, + joyful people make.</span> <span class="i0">And at this miracle, + not yet explained</span> <span class="i0">By quarterly reviews, or + pamphlets, or</span> <span class="i0">Gazettes, the common herd in + wonder smile.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O minds, O wisdom, insight marvellous</span> <span class="i0">Of this our passing age! And what profound</span> <span class="i0">Philosophy, what lessons deep, O Gino,</span> <span class="i0">In matters more sublime and recondite,</span> <span class="i0">This century of thine and mine will teach</span> <span class="i0">To those that follow! With what constancy,</span> <span class="i0">What yesterday it scorned, upon its knees</span> <span class="i0">To-day it worships, and will overthrow</span> <span class="i0">To-morrow, merely to pick up again</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page147" id="page147" title="147"></a>The + fragments, to the idol thus restored,</span> <span class="i0">To + offer incense on the following day!</span> <span class="i0">How + estimable, how inspiring, too,</span> <span class="i0">This + unanimity of thought, not of</span> <span class="i0">The age alone, + but of each passing year!</span> <span class="i0">How carefully + should we, when we our thought</span> <span class="i0">With this + compare, however different</span> <span class="i0">From that of + next year it may be, at least</span> <span class="i0">Appearance of + diversity avoid!</span> <span class="i0">What giant strides, + compared with those of old,</span> <span class="i0">Our century in + wisdom’s school has made!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">One of thy friends, O worthy Gino, once,</span> + <span class="i0">A master poet, nay, of every Art,</span> <span class="i0">And Science, every human faculty,</span> <span class="i0">For + past, and present, and for future times,</span> <span class="i0">A + learned expositor, remarked to me:</span> <span class="i0">“Of + thy own feelings, care to speak no more!</span> <span class="i0">Of + them, this manly age makes no account,</span> <span class="i0">In + economic problems quite absorbed,</span> <span class="i0">And with + an eye for politics alone,</span> <span class="i0">Of what avail, + thy own heart to explore?</span> <span class="i0">Seek not within + thyself material</span> <span class="i0">For song; but sing the + needs of this our age,</span> <span class="i0">And consummation of + its ripening hope!”</span> <span class="i0">O memorable + words! Whereat I laughed</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page148" id="page148" title="148"></a>Like + chanticleer, the name of <i>hope</i> to hear</span> <span class="i0">Thus + strike upon my ear profane, as if</span> <span class="i0">A jest it + were, or prattle of a child</span> <span class="i0">Just weaned. + But now a different course I take,</span> <span class="i0">Convinced + by many shining proofs, that he</span> <span class="i0">Must not + resist or contradict the age,</span> <span class="i0">Who seeketh + praise or pudding at its hands,</span> <span class="i0">But + faithfully and servilely obey;</span> <span class="i0">And so will + find a short and easy road</span> <span class="i0">Unto the stars. + And I who long to reach</span> <span class="i0">The stars will not, + howe’er, select the needs</span> <span class="i0">Of this our age + for burden of my song;</span> <span class="i0">For these, + increasing constantly, are still</span> <span class="i0">By + merchants and by work-shops amply met;</span> <span class="i0">But + I will sing of hope, of hope whereof</span> <span class="i0">The + gods now grant a pledge so palpable.</span> <span class="i0">The + first-fruits of our new felicity</span> <span class="i0">Behold, in + the enormous growth of hair,</span> <span class="i0">Upon the lip, + upon the cheek, of youth!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O hail, thou salutary sign, first beam</span> + <span class="i0">Of light of this our wondrous, rising age!</span> + <span class="i0">See, how before thee heaven and earth rejoice,</span> + <span class="i0">How sparkle all the damsels’ eyes with joy,</span> + <span class="i0">How through all banquets and all festivals</span> + <span class="i0">The fame of the young bearded heroes flies!</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page149" id="page149" title="149"></a>Grow for your country’s sake, ye manly youth!</span> + <span class="i0">Beneath the shadow of your fleecy locks,</span> + <span class="i0">Will Italy increase, and Europe from</span> <span class="i0">The mouths of Tagus to the Hellespont,</span> <span class="i0">And all the world will taste the sweets of peace.</span> + <span class="i0">And thou, O tender child, for whom these days</span> + <span class="i0">Of gold are yet in store, begin to greet</span> + <span class="i0">Thy bearded father with a smile, nor fear</span> + <span class="i0">The harmless blackness of his loving face.</span> + <span class="i0">Laugh, darling child; for thee are kept the fruits</span> + <span class="i0">Of so much dazzling eloquence. Thou shalt</span> + <span class="i0">Behold joy reign in cities and in towns,</span> + <span class="i0">Old age and youth alike contented dwell,</span> + <span class="i0">And undulating beards of two spans long!</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + THE SETTING OF THE MOON. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">As, in the lonely night,</span> <span class="i0">Above + the silvered fields and streams</span> <span class="i0">Where + zephyr gently blows,</span> <span class="i0">And myriad objects + vague,</span> <span class="i0">Illusions, that deceive,</span> + <span class="i0">Their distant shadows weave</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page150" id="page150" title="150"></a>Amid the + silent rills,</span> <span class="i0">The trees, the hedges, + villages, and hills;</span> <span class="i0">Arrived at heaven’s + boundary,</span> <span class="i0">Behind the Apennine or Alp,</span> + <span class="i0">Or into the deep bosom of the sea,</span> <span class="i0">The moon descends, the world grows dim;</span> <span class="i0">The shadows disappear, darkness profound</span> <span class="i0">Falls on each hill and vale around,</span> <span class="i0">And night is desolate,</span> <span class="i0">And + singing, with his plaintive lay,</span> <span class="i0">The + parting gleam of friendly light</span> <span class="i0">The + traveller greets, whose radiance bright,</span> <span class="i0">Till + now, hath guided him upon his way;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">So vanishes, so desolate</span> <span class="i0">Youth + leaves our mortal state.</span> <span class="i0">The shadows + disappear,</span> <span class="i0">And the illusions dear;</span> + <span class="i0">And in the distance fading all, are seen</span> + <span class="i0">The hopes on which our suffering natures lean.</span> + <span class="i0">Abandoned and forlorn</span> <span class="i0">Our + lives remain;</span> <span class="i0">And the bewildered traveller, + in vain,</span> <span class="i0">As he its course surveys,</span> + <span class="i0">To find the end, or object tries,</span> <span class="i0">Of the long path that still before him lies.</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page151" id="page151" title="151"></a>A hopeless darkness o’er him steals;</span> <span class="i0">Himself an alien on the earth he feels.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Too happy, and too gay</span> <span class="i0">Would + our hard lot appear</span> <span class="i0">To those who placed us + here, if youth,</span> <span class="i0">Whose every joy is born of + pain,</span> <span class="i0">Through all our days were suffered to + remain;</span> <span class="i0">Too merciful the law,</span> + <span class="i0">That sentences each animal to death,</span> <span class="i0">Did not the road that leads to it,</span> <span class="i0">E’er half-completed, unto us appear</span> <span class="i0">Than death itself more sad and drear.</span> <span class="i0">Thou blest invention of the Gods,</span> <span class="i0">And + worthy of their intellects divine,</span> <span class="i0">Old age, + the last of all our ills,</span> <span class="i0">When our desires + still linger on,</span> <span class="i0">Though every ray of hope + is gone;</span> <span class="i0">When pleasure’s fountains all are + dried,</span> <span class="i0">Our pains increasing, every joy + denied!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Ye hills, and vales, and fields,</span> <span class="i0">Though in the west hath set the radiant orb</span> <span class="i0">That shed its lustre on the veil of night,</span> <span class="i0">Will not long time remain bereft,</span> <span class="i0">In + hopeless darkness left?</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page152" id="page152" title="152"></a>Ye soon will see the eastern + sky</span> <span class="i0">Grow white again, the dawn arise,</span> + <span class="i0">Precursor of the sun,</span> <span class="i0">Who + with the splendor of his rays</span> <span class="i0">Will all the + scene irradiate,</span> <span class="i0">And with his floods of + light</span> <span class="i0">The fields of heaven and earth will + inundate.</span> <span class="i0">But mortal life,</span> + <span class="i0">When lovely youth has gone,</span> <span class="i0">Is + colored with no other light,</span> <span class="i0">And knows no + other dawn.</span> <span class="i0">The rest is hopeless + wretchedness and gloom;</span> <span class="i0">The journey’s end, + the dark and silent tomb.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + THE GINESTRA,<small>OR THE FLOWER OF THE WILDERNESS.</small> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Here, on the arid ridge</span> <span class="i0">Of + dead Vesuvius,</span> <span class="i0">Exterminator terrible,</span> + <span class="i0">That by no other tree or flower is cheered,</span> + <span class="i0">Thou scatterest thy lonely leaves around,</span> + <span class="i0">O fragrant flower,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page153" id="page153" title="153"></a>With + desert wastes content. Thy graceful stems</span> <span class="i0">I + in the solitary paths have found,</span> <span class="i0">The city + that surround,</span> <span class="i0">That once was mistress of + the world;</span> <span class="i0">And of her fallen power,</span> + <span class="i0">They seemed with silent eloquence to speak</span> + <span class="i0">Unto the thoughtful wanderer.</span> <span class="i0">And now again I see thee on this soil,</span> <span class="i0">Of wretched, world-abandoned spots the friend,</span> + <span class="i0">Of ruined fortunes the companion, still.</span> + <span class="i0">These fields with barren ashes strown,</span> + <span class="i0">And lava, hardened into stone,</span> <span class="i0">Beneath the pilgrim’s feet, that hollow sound,</span> + <span class="i0">Where by their nests the serpents coiled,</span> + <span class="i0">Lie basking in the sun,</span> <span class="i0">And + where the conies timidly</span> <span class="i0">To their familiar + burrows run,</span> <span class="i0">Were cheerful villages and + towns,</span> <span class="i0">With waving fields of golden grain,</span> + <span class="i0">And musical with lowing herds;</span> <span class="i0">Were gardens, and were palaces,</span> <span class="i0">That + to the leisure of the rich</span> <span class="i0">A grateful + shelter gave;</span> <span class="i0">Were famous cities, which the + mountain fierce,</span> <span class="i0">Forth-darting torrents + from his mouth of flame,</span> <span class="i0">Destroyed, with + their inhabitants.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page154" id="page154" title="154"></a>Now all around, one ruin + lies,</span> <span class="i0">Where thou dost dwell, O gentle + flower,</span> <span class="i0">And, as in pity of another’s woe,</span> + <span class="i0">A perfume sweet thou dost exhale,</span> <span class="i0">To heaven an offering,</span> <span class="i0">And + consolation to the desert bring.</span> <span class="i0">Here let + him come, who hath been used</span> <span class="i0">To chant the + praises of our mortal state,</span> <span class="i0">And see the + care,</span> <span class="i0">That loving Nature of her children + takes!</span> <span class="i0">Here may he justly estimate</span> + <span class="i0">The power of mortals, whom</span> <span class="i0">The + cruel nurse, when least they fear,</span> <span class="i0">With + motion light can in a moment crush</span> <span class="i0">In part, + and afterwards, when in the mood,</span> <span class="i0">With + motion not so light, can suddenly,</span> <span class="i0">And + utterly annihilate.</span> <span class="i0">Here, on these blighted + coasts,</span> <span class="i0">May he distinctly trace</span> + <span class="i0">“The princely progress of the human race!”</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Here look, and in a mirror see thyself,</span> + <span class="i0">O proud and foolish age!</span> <span class="i0">That + turn’st thy back upon the path,</span> <span class="i0">That + thought revived</span> <span class="i0">So clearly indicates to + all,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page155" id="page155" title="155"></a>And this, thy movement retrograde,</span> + <span class="i0">Dost <i>Progress</i> call.</span> <span class="i0">Thy + foolish prattle all the minds,</span> <span class="i0">Whose cruel + fate thee for a father gave,</span> <span class="i0">Besmear with + flattery,</span> <span class="i0">Although, among themselves, at + times,</span> <span class="i0">They laugh at thee.</span> + <span class="i0">But I will not to such low arts descend,</span> + <span class="i0">Though envy it would be for me,</span> <span class="i0">The rest to imitate,</span> <span class="i0">And, + raving, wilfully,</span> <span class="i0">To make my song more + pleasing to thy ears:</span> <span class="i0">But I will sooner far + reveal,</span> <span class="i0">As clearly as I can, the deep + disdain</span> <span class="i0">That I for thee within my bosom + feel;</span> <span class="i0">Although I know, oblivion</span> + <span class="i0">Awaits the man who holds his age in scorn:</span> + <span class="i0">But this misfortune, which I share with thee,</span> + <span class="i0">My laughter only moves.</span> <span class="i0">Thou + dream’st of liberty,</span> <span class="i0">And yet thou wouldst + anew that thought enslave,</span> <span class="i0">By which alone + we are redeemed, in part,</span> <span class="i0">From barbarism; + by which alone</span> <span class="i0">True progress is obtained,</span> + <span class="i0">And states are guided to a nobler end.</span> + <span class="i0">And so the truth of our hard lot,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page156" id="page156" title="156"></a>And + of the humble place</span> <span class="i0">Which Nature gave us, + pleased thee not;</span> <span class="i0">And like a coward, thou + hast turned thy back</span> <span class="i0">Upon the light, which + made it evident;</span> <span class="i0">Reviling him who does that + light pursue,</span> <span class="i0">And praising him alone</span> + <span class="i0">Who, in his folly, or from motives base,</span> + <span class="i0">Above the stars exalts the human race.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">A man of poor estate, and weak of limb,</span> + <span class="i0">But of a generous, truthful soul,</span> <span class="i0">Nor calls, nor deems himself</span> <span class="i0">A + Crœsus, or a Hercules,</span> <span class="i0">Nor makes + himself ridiculous</span> <span class="i0">Before the world with + vain pretence</span> <span class="i0">Of vigor or of opulence;</span> + <span class="i0">But his infirmities and needs</span> <span class="i0">He lets appear, and without shame,</span> <span class="i0">And speaking frankly, calls each thing</span> <span class="i0">By its right name.</span> <span class="i0">I deem not <i>him</i> + magnanimous,</span> <span class="i0">But simply, a great fool,</span> + <span class="i0">Who, born to perish, reared in suffering,</span> + <span class="i0">Proclaims his lot a happy one,</span> <span class="i0">And with offensive pride</span> <span class="i0">His + pages fills, exalted destinies</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page157" id="page157" title="157"></a>And joys, + unknown in heaven, much less</span> <span class="i0">On earth, + absurdly promising to those</span> <span class="i0">Who by a wave + of angry sea,</span> <span class="i0">Or breath of tainted air,</span> + <span class="i0">Or shaking of the earth beneath,</span> <span class="i0">Are ruined, crushed so utterly,</span> <span class="i0">As + scarce to be recalled by memory.</span> <span class="i0">But truly + noble, wise is <i>he</i>,</span> <span class="i0">Who bids his + brethren boldly look</span> <span class="i0">Upon our common + misery;</span> <span class="i0">Who frankly tells the naked truth,</span> + <span class="i0">Acknowledging our frail and wretched state,</span> + <span class="i0">And all the ills decreed to us by Fate;</span> + <span class="i0">Who shows himself in suffering brave and strong,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor adds unto his miseries</span> <span class="i0">Fraternal + jealousies and strifes,</span> <span class="i0">The hardest things + to bear of all,</span> <span class="i0">Reproaching man with his + own grief,</span> <span class="i0">But the true culprit</span> + <span class="i0">Who, in our birth, a mother is,</span> <span class="i0">A fierce step-mother in her will.</span> <span class="i0"><i>Her</i> + he proclaims the enemy,</span> <span class="i0">And thinking all + the human race</span> <span class="i0">Against her armed, as is the + case,</span> <span class="i0">E’en from the first, united and + arrayed,</span> <span class="i0">All men esteems confederates,</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page158" id="page158" title="158"></a>And with true love embraces all,</span> <span class="i0">Prompt and efficient aid bestowing, and</span> <span class="i0">Expecting it, in all the pains</span> <span class="i0">And + perils of the common war.</span> <span class="i0">And to resent + with arms all injuries,</span> <span class="i0">Or snares and + pit-falls for a neighbor lay,</span> <span class="i0">Absurd he + deems, as it would be, upon</span> <span class="i0">The field, + surrounded by the enemy,</span> <span class="i0">The foe + forgetting, bitter war</span> <span class="i0">With one’s own + friends to wage,</span> <span class="i0">And in the hottest of the + fight,</span> <span class="i0">With cruel and misguided sword,</span> + <span class="i0">One’s fellow soldiers put to flight.</span> <span class="i0">When truths like these are rendered clear,</span> <span class="i0">As once they were, unto the multitude,</span> <span class="i0">And when that fear, which from the first,</span> <span class="i0">All mortals in a social band</span> <span class="i0">Against + inhuman Nature joined</span> <span class="i0">Anew shall guided be, + in part,</span> <span class="i0">By knowledge true, then social + intercourse,</span> <span class="i0">And faith, and hope, and + charity</span> <span class="i0">Will a far different foundation + have</span> <span class="i0">From that which silly fables give,</span> + <span class="i0">By which supported, public truth and good</span> + <span class="i0">Must still proceed with an unstable foot,</span> + <span class="i0">As all things that in error have their root.</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page159" id="page159" title="159"></a>Oft, on these hills, so desolate,</span> <span class="i0">Which by the hardened flood,</span> <span class="i0">That + seems in waves to rise,</span> <span class="i0">Are clad in + mourning, do I sit at night,</span> <span class="i0">And o’er the + dreary plain behold</span> <span class="i0">The stars above in + purest azure shine,</span> <span class="i0">And in the ocean + mirrored from afar,</span> <span class="i0">And all the world in + brilliant sparks arrayed,</span> <span class="i0">Revolving through + the vault serene.</span> <span class="i0">And when my eyes I fasten + on those lights,</span> <span class="i0">Which seem to them a + point,</span> <span class="i0">And yet are so immense,</span> + <span class="i0">That earth and sea, with them compared,</span> + <span class="i0">Are but a point indeed;</span> <span class="i0">To + whom, not only man,</span> <span class="i0">But this our globe, + where man is nothing, is</span> <span class="i0">Unknown; and when + I farther gaze upon</span> <span class="i0">Those clustered stars, + at distance infinite,</span> <span class="i0">That seem to us like + mist, to whom</span> <span class="i0">Not only man and earth, but + all our stars</span> <span class="i0">At once, so vast in numbers + and in bulk,</span> <span class="i0">The golden sun himself + included, are</span> <span class="i0">Unknown, or else appear, as + they to earth,</span> <span class="i0">A point of nebulous light, + what, then,</span> <span class="i0">Dost <i>thou</i> unto my + thought appear,</span> <span class="i0">O race of men?</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page160" id="page160" title="160"></a>Remembering thy wretched state below,</span> <span class="i0">Of which the soil I tread, the token bears;</span> <span class="i0">And, on the other hand,</span> <span class="i0">That + thou thyself hast deemed</span> <span class="i0">The Lord and end + of all the Universe;</span> <span class="i0">How oft thou hast been + pleased</span> <span class="i0">The idle tale to tell,</span> + <span class="i0">That to this little grain of sand, obscure,</span> + <span class="i0">The name of earth that bears,</span> <span class="i0">The Authors of that Universe</span> <span class="i0">Have, + at thy call, descended oft,</span> <span class="i0">And pleasant + converse with thy children had;</span> <span class="i0">And how, + these foolish dreams reviving, e’en</span> <span class="i0">This + age its insults heaps upon the wise,</span> <span class="i0">Although + it seems all others to excel</span> <span class="i0">In learning, + and in arts polite;</span> <span class="i0">What can I think of + thee</span> <span class="i0">Thou wretched race of men?</span> + <span class="i0">What thoughts discordant then my heart assail,</span> + <span class="i0">In doubt, if scorn or pity should prevail!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">As a small apple, falling from a tree</span> <span class="i0">In autumn, by the force</span> <span class="i0">Of its + own ripeness, to the ground,</span> <span class="i0">The pleasant + homes of a community</span> <span class="i0">Of ants, in the soft + clod</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page161" id="page161" title="161"></a>With careful labor built,</span> <span class="i0">And all their works, and all the wealth,</span> <span class="i0">Which the industrious citizens</span> <span class="i0">Had + in the summer providently stored,</span> <span class="i0">Lays + waste, destroys, and in an instant hides;</span> <span class="i0">So, + falling from on high,</span> <span class="i0">To heaven + forth-darted from</span> <span class="i0">The mountain’s groaning + womb,</span> <span class="i0">A dark destructive mass</span> + <span class="i0">Of ashes, pumice, and of stones,</span> <span class="i0">With boiling streams of lava mixed,</span> <span class="i0">Or, down the mountain’s side</span> <span class="i0">Descending, + furious, o’er the grass,</span> <span class="i0">A fearful flood</span> + <span class="i0">Of melted metals, mixed with burning sand,</span> + <span class="i0">Laid waste, destroyed, and in short time concealed</span> + <span class="i0">The cities on yon shore, washed by the sea,</span> + <span class="i0">Where now the goats</span> <span class="i0">On + this side browse, and cities new</span> <span class="i0">Upon the + other stand, whose foot-stools are</span> <span class="i0">The + buried ones, whose prostrate walls</span> <span class="i0">The + lofty mountain tramples under foot.</span> <span class="i0">Nature + no more esteems or cares for man,</span> <span class="i0">Than for + the ant; and if the race</span> <span class="i0">Is not so oft + destroyed,</span> <span class="i0">The reason we may plainly see;</span> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page162" id="page162" title="162"></a>Because the ants more fruitful are than we.</span> + <span class="i0">Full eighteen hundred years have passed,</span> + <span class="i0">Since, by the force of fire laid waste,</span> + <span class="i0">These thriving cities disappeared;</span> <span class="i0">And now, the husbandman,</span> <span class="i0">His + vineyards tending, that the arid clod,</span> <span class="i0">With + ashes clogged, with difficulty feeds,</span> <span class="i0">Still + raises a suspicious eye</span> <span class="i0">Unto that fatal + crest,</span> <span class="i0">That, with a fierceness not to be + controlled,</span> <span class="i0">Still stands tremendous, + threatens still</span> <span class="i0">Destruction to himself, his + children, and</span> <span class="i0">Their little property.</span> + <span class="i0">And oft upon the roof</span> <span class="i0">Of + his small cottage, the poor man</span> <span class="i0">All night + lies sleepless, often springing up,</span> <span class="i0">The + course to watch of the dread stream of fire</span> <span class="i0">That + from the inexhausted womb doth pour</span> <span class="i0">Along + the sandy ridge,</span> <span class="i0">Its lurid light reflected + in the bay,</span> <span class="i0">From Mergellina unto Capri’s + shore.</span> <span class="i0">And if he sees it drawing near,</span> + <span class="i0">Or in his well</span> <span class="i0">He hears + the boiling water gurgle, wakes</span> <span class="i0">His sons, + in haste his wife awakes,</span> <span class="i0">And, with such + things as they can snatch,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page163" id="page163" title="163"></a>Escaping, + sees from far</span> <span class="i0">His little nest, and the + small field,</span> <span class="i0">His sole resource against + sharp hunger’s pangs,</span> <span class="i0">A prey unto the + burning flood,</span> <span class="i0">That crackling comes, and + with its hardening crust,</span> <span class="i0">Inexorable, + covers all.</span> <span class="i0">Unto the light of day returns,</span> + <span class="i0">After its long oblivion,</span> <span class="i0">Pompeii, + dead, an unearthed skeleton,</span> <span class="i0">Which avarice + or piety</span> <span class="i0">Hath from its grave unto the air + restored;</span> <span class="i0">And from its forum desolate,</span> + <span class="i0">And through the formal rows</span> <span class="i0">Of + mutilated colonnades,</span> <span class="i0">The stranger looks + upon the distant, severed peaks,</span> <span class="i0">And on the + smoking crest,</span> <span class="i0">That threatens still the + ruins scattered round.</span> <span class="i0">And in the horror of + the secret night,</span> <span class="i0">Along the empty theatres,</span> + <span class="i0">The broken temples, shattered houses, where</span> + <span class="i0">The bat her young conceals,</span> <span class="i0">Like + flitting torch, that smoking sheds</span> <span class="i0">A gloom + through the deserted halls</span> <span class="i0">Of palaces, the + baleful lava glides,</span> <span class="i0">That through the + shadows, distant, glares,</span> <span class="i0">And tinges every + object round.</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page164" id="page164" title="164"></a>Thus, paying unto man no + heed,</span> <span class="i0">Or to the ages that he calls antique,</span> + <span class="i0">Or to the generations as they pass,</span> <span class="i0">Nature forever young remains,</span> <span class="i0">Or + at a pace so slow proceeds,</span> <span class="i0">She stationary + seems.</span> <span class="i0">Empires, meanwhile, decline and + fall,</span> <span class="i0">And nations pass away, and languages:</span> + <span class="i0">She sees it not, or <i>will</i> not see;</span> + <span class="i0">And yet man boasts of immortality!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And thou, submissive flower,</span> <span class="i0">That with thy fragrant foliage dost adorn</span> <span class="i0">These desolated plains,</span> <span class="i0">Thou, + too, must fall before the cruel power</span> <span class="i0">Of + subterranean fire,</span> <span class="i0">Which, to its well-known + haunts returning, will</span> <span class="i0">Its fatal border + spread</span> <span class="i0">O’er thy soft leaves and branches + fine.</span> <span class="i0">And thou wilt bow thy gentle head,</span> + <span class="i0">Without a struggle, yielding to thy fate:</span> + <span class="i0">But not with vain and abject cowardice,</span> + <span class="i0">Wilt thy destroyer supplicate;</span> <span class="i0">Nor wilt, erect with senseless haughtiness,</span> <span class="i0">Look up unto the stars,</span> <span class="i0">Or o’er + the wilderness,</span> <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page165" id="page165" title="165"></a>Where, not from choice, but + Fortune’s will,</span> <span class="i0">Thy birthplace thou, and + home didst find;</span> <span class="i0">But wiser, far, than man,</span> + <span class="i0">And far less weak;</span> <span class="i0">For + thou didst ne’er, from Fate, or power of thine,</span> <span class="i0">Immortal life for thy frail children seek.</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + IMITATION. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">Wandering from the parent bough,</span> <span class="i0">Little, trembling leaf,</span> <span class="i0">Whither + goest thou?</span> <span class="i0">“From the beech, where I + was born,</span> <span class="i0">By the north wind was I torn.</span> + <span class="i0">Him I follow in his flight,</span> <span class="i0">Over + mountain, over vale,</span> <span class="i0">From the forest to the + plain,</span> <span class="i0">Up the hill, and down again.</span> + <span class="i0">With him ever on the way:</span> <span class="i0">More + than that, I cannot say.</span> <span class="i0">Where I go, must + all things go,</span> <span class="i0">Gentle, simple, high and + low:</span> <span class="i0">Leaves of laurel, leaves of rose;</span> + <span class="i0">Whither, heaven only knows!”</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page166" id="page166" title="166"></a>SCHERZO. + </h2> + <p> + <span class="i0">When, as a boy, I went</span> <span class="i0">To + study in the Muses’ school,</span> <span class="i0">One of them + came to me, and took</span> <span class="i0">Me by the hand, and + all that day,</span> <span class="i0">She through the work-shop led + me graciously,</span> <span class="i0">The mysteries of the craft + to see.</span> <span class="i0">She guided me</span> <span class="i0">Through every part,</span> <span class="i0">And showed + me all</span> <span class="i0">The instruments of art,</span> + <span class="i0">And did their uses all rehearse,</span> <span class="i0">In works alike of prose and verse.</span> <span class="i0">I looked, and paused awhile,</span> <span class="i0">Then + asked: “O Muse, where is the file?”</span> <span class="i0">“The file is out of order, friend, and we</span> + <span class="i0">Now do without it,” answered she.</span> + <span class="i0">“But, to repair it, then, have you no care?”</span> + <span class="i0">“We <i>should</i>, indeed, but have no time to + spare.”</span> + </p> + <div class='chapter'></div> +<h2> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page167" id="page167" title="167"></a>FRAGMENTS. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + <span class="i0">I round the threshold wandering here,</span> <span class="i0">Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke,</span> <span class="i0">That they may keep my lady prisoner.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And yet the wind was howling in the woods,</span> + <span class="i0">The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds,</span> + <span class="i0">Before the dawn had risen in the sky.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees!</span> + <span class="i0">My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth</span> <span class="i0">Unhappy lovers ever mercy find!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake,</span> + <span class="i0">O’erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun</span> + <span class="i0">To other lands brings back the light of day!</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves</span> + <span class="i0">Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun</span> + <span class="i0">In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines.</span> + </p> + <h3> + <a class="pagebreak" name="page168" id="page168" title="168"></a>II. + </h3> + <p> + <span class="i0">The light of day was fading in the west,</span> + <span class="i0">The smoke no more from village chimneys curled,</span> + <span class="i0">Nor voice of man, nor bark of dog was heard;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">When she, obedient to Love’s rendezvous,</span> + <span class="i0">Had reached the middle of a plain, than which</span> + <span class="i0">No other more bewitching could be found.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The moon on every side her lustre shed,</span> + <span class="i0">And all in robes of silver light arrayed</span> + <span class="i0">The trees with which the place was garlanded.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The rustling boughs were murmuring to the wind,</span> + <span class="i0">And, blending with the plaintive nightingale,</span> + <span class="i0">A rivulet poured forth its sweet lament.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The sea shone in the distance, and the fields</span> + <span class="i0">And groves; and slowly rising, one by one,</span> + <span class="i0">The summits of the mountains were revealed.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">In quiet shade the sombre valley lay,</span> <span class="i0">While all the little hills around were clothed</span> + <span class="i0">With the soft lustre of the dewy moon.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page169" id="page169" title="169"></a>The maiden kept the silent, lonely path,</span> + <span class="i0">And gently passing o’er her face, she felt</span> + <span class="i0">The motion of the perfume-laden breeze.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">If she were happy, it were vain to ask;</span> + <span class="i0">The scene delighted her, and the delight</span> + <span class="i0">Her heart was promising, was greater still.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">How swift your flight, O lovely hours serene!</span> + <span class="i0">No other pleasure here below endures,</span> <span class="i0">Or lingers with us long, save hope alone.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The night began to change, and dark became</span> + <span class="i0">The face of heaven, that was so beautiful,</span> + <span class="i0">And all her pleasure now was turned to fear.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">An angry cloud, precursor of the storm,</span> + <span class="i0">Behind the mountains rose, and still increased,</span> + <span class="i0">Till moon or star no longer could be seen.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">She saw it spreading upon every side,</span> <span class="i0">And by degrees ascending through the air,</span> <span class="i0">And now with its black mantle covering all.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The scanty light more faint and faint became;</span> + <span class="i0">The wind, meanwhile, was rising in the grove,</span> + <span class="i0">That on the farther side the spot enclosed;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page170" id="page170" title="170"></a>And, every moment, was more boisterous;</span> + <span class="i0">Till every bird, awaking in its fright,</span> + <span class="i0">Amidst the trembling leaves was fluttering.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The cloud, increasing still, unto the coast</span> + <span class="i0">Descended, so that one extremity</span> <span class="i0">The mountains touched, the other touched the sea.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And now from out its black and hollow womb,</span> + <span class="i0">The pattering rain-drops, falling fast, were heard,</span> + <span class="i0">The sound increasing as the cloud drew near.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And round her now the glancing lightning flashed</span> + <span class="i0">In fearful mood, and made her shut her eyes;</span> + <span class="i0">The ground was black, the air a mass of flame.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Her trembling knees could scarce her weight sustain;</span> + <span class="i0">The thunder roared with a continuous sound,</span> + <span class="i0">Like torrent, plunging headlong from the cliff.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">At times she paused, the dismal scene to view,</span> + <span class="i0">In blank dismay; then on she ran again,</span> + <span class="i0">Her hair and clothes all streaming in the wind.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">The cruel wind beat hard against her breast,</span> + <span class="i0">And rushing fiercely, with its angry breath,</span> + <span class="i0">The cold drops dashed, remorseless, in her face.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0"><a class="pagebreak" name="page171" id="page171" title="171"></a>The thunder, like a beast, assaulted her,</span> + <span class="i0">With terrible, unintermitting roar;</span> <span class="i0">And more and more the rain and tempest raged.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And from all sides in wild confusion flew</span> + <span class="i0">The dust and leaves, the branches and the stones,</span> + <span class="i0">With hideous tumult, inconceivable.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">Her weary, blinded eyes now covering,</span> <span class="i0">And folding close her clothes against her breast,</span> + <span class="i0">She through the storm her fearful path pursued.</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">But now the lightning glared so in her face,</span> + <span class="i0">That, overcome by fright at last, she went</span> + <span class="i0">No farther, and her heart within her sank;</span> + </p> + <p> + <span class="i0">And back she turned. And, even as she turned,</span> + <span class="i0">The lightning ceased to flash, the air was dark,</span> + <span class="i0">The thunder’s voice was hushed, the wind stood still,</span> + <span class="i0">And all was silent round, and she,—at rest!</span> + </p> + </div> + <p class="central break"> + <big>THE END.</big> + </p> + + + + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF GIACOMO LEOPARDI ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 19315-h.htm or 19315-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/3/1/19315/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9de5cdf --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #19315 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19315) diff --git a/old/19315.txt b/old/19315.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d575708 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/19315.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5049 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Giacomo Leopardi, by Giacomo Leopardi + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Poems of Giacomo Leopardi + +Author: Giacomo Leopardi + +Translator: Frederick Townsend + +Release Date: September 19, 2006 [EBook #19315] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF GIACOMO LEOPARDI *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Daniel Emerson +Griffith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +THE POEMS OF +GIACOMO LEOPARDI + +TRANSLATED BY +FREDERICK TOWNSEND + + + NEW YORK AND LONDON + G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS + The Knickerbocker Press + 1887 + + + COPYRIGHT BY + R. T. TOWNSEND + 1887 + + + Press of + G. P. Putnam's Sons + New York + + + TO M. N. M. + SISTER OF THE TRANSLATOR + THESE POEMS + ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED + BY THE EDITOR + + + + +PREFACE. + + +Giacomo Leopardi is a great name in Italy among philosophers and +poets, but is quite unknown in this country, and Mr. Townsend +has the honor of introducing him, in the most captivating +way, to his countrymen. In Germany and France he has excited +attention. Translations have been made of his works; essays have +been written on his ideas. But in England his name is all but +unheard of. Six or seven years ago Mr. Charles Edwards published +a translation of the essays and dialogues, but no version of the +poems has appeared, so far as I know. Leopardi was substantially +a poet,--that is to say, he had imagination, sentiment, passion, +an intense love of beauty, a powerful impulse towards things +ideal. The sad tone of his speculations about the universe and +human destiny gave an impression of mournfulness to his lines, +but this rather deepened the pathos of his work. In the same +breath he sang of love and the grave, and the love was the more +eager for its brevity. He had the poetic temperament--sensitive, +ardent, aspiring. He possessed the poetic aspect--the broad white +brow, the large blue eyes. Some compared him to Byron, but the +resemblance was external merely. In ideas, purpose, feeling, +he was entirely unlike the Englishman; in the energy and fire +of his style only did he somewhat resemble him. Worshippers +have even ventured to class him with Dante, a comparison which +shows, at least, in what estimation the poet could be held at +home, and how largely the patriotic sentiment entered into the +conception of poetical compositions, how necessary it was that +the singer should be a bard. His verses ranged over a large field. +They were philosophic, patriotic, amorous. There are odes, lyrics, +satires, songs; many very beautiful and feeling; all noble and +earnest. His three poems, "All' Italia," "Sopra il Monumento +di Dante," "A Angelo Mai," gave him a national reputation. They +touch the chords to which he always responded--patriotism, poetry, +learning, a national idealism bearing aloft an enormous weight +of erudition and thought. + +Leopardi was born at Recanati, a small town about fifteen miles +from Ancona, in 1798. He was of noble parentage, though not +rich. His early disposition was joyous, but with the feverish joy +of a highly-strung, nervous organization. He was a great student +from boyhood; and severe application undermined a system that was +never robust, and that soon became hopelessly diseased. Illness, +accompanied with sharp pain, clipped the wings of his ambition, +obliged him to forego preferment, and deepened the hopelessness +that hung over his expectations. His hunger for love could +not be satisfied, for his physical infirmity rendered a union +undesirable, even if possible, while a craving ideality soon +transcended any visible object of affection. He had warm friends +of his own sex, one of whom, Antonio Ranieri, stayed by him +in all vicissitudes, took him to Naples, and closed his eyes, +June 14, 1837. + +To this acute sensibility of frame must be added the torture +of the heart arising from a difference with his father, who, +as a Catholic, was disturbed by the skeptical tendencies of his +son, and the perpetual irritation of a conflict with the large +majority of even philosophical minds. An early death might have +been anticipated. No amount of hopefulness, of zest for life, of +thirst for opportunity, of genius for intellectual productiveness +will counteract such predisposition to decay. The death of +the body, however, has but ensured a speedier immortality of +the soul; for many a thinker has since been busy in gathering +up the fragments of his mind and keeping his memory fresh. His +immense learning has been forgotten. His archaeological knowledge, +which fascinated Niebuhr, is of small account to-day. But his +speculative and poetical genius is a permanent illumination. + +Mr. Townsend, the translator, well known in New York, where he +was born, lived ten years in Italy, and seven in Rome. He was a +studious, thoughtful man; quiet, secluded, scholarly; an eminent +student of Italian literature; a real sympathizer with Italian +progress. By the cast of his mind and the course of his inward +experience he was drawn towards Leopardi. His version adheres +as closely to the original as is compatible with elegance and +the preservation of metrical grace. He has not rendered into +English all Leopardi's poems, but he has presented the best of +them, enough to give an idea of his author's style of feeling +and expression. What he has done, has been performed faithfully. +It is worth remarking that he was attracted by the intense longing +of the poet for love and appreciation, and by keen sympathy +with his unhappy condition. It is needless to say that he did +not share the pessimism that imparts a melancholy hue to the +philosopher's own doctrine, and that might have been modified +if not dispelled by a different experience. The translation +was finished at Siena, the summer of the earthquake, and was +the last work Mr. Townsend ever did, the commotion outside not +interrupting him, or causing him to suspend his application. + + O. B. Frothingham. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + Dedication xiii + To Italy 1 + On Dante's Monument 7 + To Angelo Mai 15 + To His Sister Paolina 23 + To a Victor in the Game of _Pallone_ 27 + The Younger Brutus 30 + To the Spring 35 + Hymn to the Patriarchs 40 + The Last Song of Sappho 45 + First Love 48 + The Lonely Sparrow 53 + The Infinite 56 + The Evening of the Holiday 57 + To The Moon 59 + The Dream 60 + The Lonely Life 64 + Consalvo 68 + To the Beloved 74 + To Count Carlo Pepoli 77 + The Resurrection 84 + To Sylvia 92 + Recollections 95 + Night-Song of a Wandering Shepherd in Asia 102 + Calm after Storm 108 + The Village Saturday-Night 110 + The Ruling Thought 113 + Love and Death 119 + To Himself 124 + Aspasia 125 + On an Old Sepulchral Bas-Relief 130 + On the Portrait of a Beautiful Woman 135 + Palinodia 138 + The Setting of the Moon 149 + The Ginestra 152 + Imitation 165 + Scherzo 166 + Fragments 167 + + + + +Dedication. + +[From the first Florentine Edition of the Poems, in the year 1831.] + + +To my Friends in Tuscany: + +My dear Friends, I dedicate this book to you, in which, as is +oft the case with Poets, I have sought to illustrate my sorrow, +and with which I now--I cannot say it without tears--take leave +of Literature and of my studies. I hoped these dear studies would +have been the consolation of my old age, and thought, after having +lost all the other joys and blessings of childhood and of youth, +I had secured _one_, of which no power, no unhappiness could rob +me. But I was scarcely twenty years old, when that weakness of +nerves and of stomach, which has destroyed my life, and yet gives +me no hope of death, robbed that only blessing of more than half +its value, and, in my twenty-eighth year, has utterly deprived +me of it, and, as I _must_ think, forever. I have not been able +to read these pages, and have been compelled to entrust their +revision to other eyes and other hands. I will utter no more +complaints, my dear friends; the consciousness of the depth of my +affliction admits not of complaints and lamentations. I have lost +all; I am a withered branch, that feels and suffers still. _You_ +only have I won! Your society, which must compensate me for all +my studies, joys, and hopes, would almost outweigh my sorrows, +did not my very sickness prevent me from enjoying it as I could +wish, and did I not know that Fate will soon deprive me of this +benefit, also, and will compel me to spend the remainder of my +days, far from all the delights of civilized life, in a spot, +far better suited to the dead than to the living. Your love, +meanwhile, will ever follow me, and will yet cling to me, perhaps, +when this body, which, indeed, no longer lives, shall be turned +to ashes. Farewell! Your + + Leopardi. + + + + +TO ITALY. (1818.) + + + My country, I the walls, the arches see, + The columns, statues, and the towers + Deserted, of our ancestors; + But, ah, the glory I do not behold, + The laurel and the sword, that graced + Our sires of old. + Now, all unarmed, a naked brow, + A naked breast dost thou display. + Ah, me, how many wounds, what stains of blood! + Oh, what a sight art thou, + Most beautiful of women! I + To heaven cry aloud, and to the world: + "Who hath reduced her to this pass? + Say, say!" And worst of all, alas, + See, both her arms in chains are bound! + With hair dishevelled, and without a veil + She sits, disconsolate, upon the ground, + And hides her face between her knees, + As she bewails her miseries. + Oh, weep, my Italy, for thou hast cause; + Thou, who wast born the nations to subdue, + As victor, and as victim, too! + Oh, if thy eyes two living fountains were, + The volume of their tears could ne'er express + Thy utter helplessness, thy shame; + Thou, who wast once the haughty dame, + And, now, the wretched slave. + Who speaks, or writes of thee, + That must not bitterly exclaim: + "She once was great, but, oh, behold her now"? + Why hast thou fallen thus, oh, why? + Where is the ancient force? + Where are the arms, the valor, constancy? + Who hath deprived thee of thy sword? + What treachery, what skill, what labor vast, + Or what o'erwhelming horde + Whose fierce, invading tide, thou could'st not stem, + Hath robbed thee of thy robe and diadem? + From such a height how couldst thou fall so low? + Will none defend thee? No? + No son of thine? For arms, for arms, I call; + Alone I'll fight for thee, alone will fall. + And from my blood, a votive offering, + May flames of fire in every bosom spring! + Where are thy sons? The sound of arms I hear, + Of chariots, of voices, and of drums; + From foreign lands it comes, + For which thy children fight. + Oh, hearken, hearken, Italy! I see,-- + Or is it but a dream?-- + A wavering of horse and foot, + And smoke, and dust, and flashing swords, + That like the lightning gleam. + Art thou not comforted? Dost turn away + Thy eyes, in horror, from the doubtful fray? + Ye gods, ye gods. Oh, can it be? + The youth of Italy + Their hireling swords for other lands have bared! + Oh, wretched he in war who falls, + Not for his native shores, + His loving wife and children dear, + But, fighting for another's gain, + And by another's foe is slain! + Nor can he say, as his last breath he draws, + "My mother-land, beloved, ah see, + The life thou gav'st, I render back to thee!" + Oh fortunate and dear and blessed, + The ancient days, when rushed to death the brave, + In crowds, their country's life to save! + And you, forever glorious, + Thessalian straits, + Where Persia, Fate itself, could not withstand + The fiery zeal of that devoted band! + Do not the trees, the rocks, the waves, + The mountains, to each passer-by, + With low and plaintive voice tell + The wondrous tale of those who fell, + Heroes invincible who gave + Their lives, their Greece to save? + Then cowardly as fierce, + Xerxes across the Hellespont retired, + A laughing-stock to all succeeding time; + And up Anthela's hill, where, e'en in death + The sacred Band immortal life obtained, + Simonides slow-climbing, thoughtfully, + Looked forth on sea and shore and sky. + And then, his cheeks with tears bedewed, + And heaving breast, and trembling foot, he stood, + His lyre in hand and sang: + "O ye, forever blessed, + Who bared your breasts unto the foeman's lance, + For love of her, who gave you birth; + By Greece revered, and by the world admired, + What ardent love your youthful minds inspired, + To rush to arms, such perils dire to meet, + A fate so hard, with loving smiles to greet? + Her children, why so joyously, + Ran ye, that stern and rugged pass to guard? + As if unto a dance, + Or to some splendid feast, + Each one appeared to haste, + And not grim death Death to brave; + But Tartarus awaited ye, + And the cold Stygian wave; + Nor were your wives or children at your side, + When, on that rugged shore, + Without a kiss, without a tear, ye died. + But not without a fearful blow + To Persians dealt, and their undying shame. + As at a herd of bulls a lion glares, + Then, plunging in, upon the back + Of this one leaps, and with his claws + A passage all along his chine he tears, + And fiercely drives his teeth into his sides, + Such havoc Grecian wrath and valor made + Amongst the Persian ranks, dismayed. + Behold each prostrate rider and his steed; + Behold the chariots, and the fallen tents, + A tangled mass their flight impede; + And see, among the first to fly, + The tyrant, pale, and in disorder wild! + See, how the Grecian youths, + With blood barbaric dyed, + And dealing death on every side, + By slow degrees by their own wounds subdued, + The one upon the other fall. Farewell, + Ye heroes blessed, whose names shall live, + While tongue can speak, or pen your story tell! + Sooner the stars, torn from their spheres, shall hiss, + Extinguished in the bottom of the sea, + Than the dear memory, and love of you, + Shall suffer loss, or injury. + Your tomb an altar is; the mothers here + Shall come, unto their little ones to show + The lovely traces of your blood. Behold, + Ye blessed, myself upon the ground I throw, + And kiss these stones, these clods + Whose fame, unto the end of time, + Shall sacred be in every clime. + Oh, had I, too, been here with you, + And this dear earth had moistened with my blood! + But since stern Fate would not consent + That I for Greece my dying eyes should close, + In conflict with her foes, + Still may the gracious gods accept + The offering I bring, + And grant to me the precious boon, + Your Hymn of Praise to sing!" + + + + +ON DANTE'S MONUMENT, 1818. + +(THEN UNFINISHED.) + + + Though all the nations now + Peace gathers under her white wings, + The minds of Italy will ne'er be free + From the restraints of their old lethargy, + Till our ill-fated land cling fast + Unto the glorious memories of the Past. + Oh, lay it to thy heart, my Italy, + Fit honor to thy dead to pay; + For, ah, their like walk not thy streets to-day! + Nor is there one whom thou canst reverence! + Turn, turn, my country, and behold + That noble band of heroes old, + And weep, and on thyself thy anger vent, + For without anger, grief is impotent: + Oh, turn, and rouse thyself for shame, + Blush at the thought of sires so great, + Of children so degenerate! + + Alien in mien, in genius, and in speech, + The eager guest from far + Went searching through the Tuscan soil to find + Where he reposed, whose verse sublime + Might fitly rank with Homer's lofty rhyme; + And oh! to our disgrace he heard + Not only that, e'er since his dying day, + In other soil his bones in exile lay, + But not a stone within thy walls was reared + To him, O Florence, whose renown + Caused thee to be by all the world revered. + Thanks to the brave, the generous band, + Whose timely labor from our land + Will this sad, shameful stain remove! + A noble task is yours, + And every breast with kindred zeal hath fired, + That is by love of Italy inspired. + + May love of Italy inspire you still, + Poor mother, sad and lone, + To whom no pity now + In any breast is shown, + Now, that to golden days the evil days succeed. + May pity still, ye children dear, + Your hearts unite, your labors crown, + And grief and anger at her cruel pain, + As on her cheeks and veil the hot tears rain! + But how can I, in speech or song, + Your praises fitly sing, + To whose mature and careful thought, + The work superb, in your proud task achieved, + Will fame immortal bring? + What notes of cheer can I now send to you, + That may unto your ardent souls appeal, + And add new fervor to your zeal? + + Your lofty theme will inspiration give, + And its sharp thorns within your bosoms lodge. + Who can describe the whirlwind and the storm + Of your deep anger, and your deeper love? + Who can your wonder-stricken looks portray, + The lightning in your eyes that gleams? + What mortal tongue can such celestial themes + In language fit describe? + Away ye souls, profane, away! + What tears will o'er this marble stone be shed! + How can it fall? How fall your fame sublime, + A victim to the envious tooth of Time? + O ye, that can alleviate our woes, + Sole comfort of this wretched land, + Live ever, ye dear Arts divine, + Amid the ruins of our fallen state, + The glories of the past to celebrate! + I, too, who wish to pay + Due honor to our grieving mother, bring + Of song my humble offering, + As here I sit, and listen, where + Your chisel life unto the marble gives. + O thou, illustrious sire of Tuscan song, + If tidings e'er of earthly things, + Of _her_, whom thou hast placed so high, + Could reach your mansions in the sky, + I know, thou for thyself no joy wouldst feel, + For, with thy fame compared, + Renowned in every land, + Our bronze and marble are as wax and sand; + If thee we _have_ forgotten, _can_ forget, + May suffering still follow suffering, + And may thy race to all the world unknown, + In endless sorrows weep and moan. + + Thou for thyself no joy wouldst feel, + But for thy native land, + If the example of their sires + Could in the cold and sluggish sons + Renew once more the ancient fires, + That they might lift their heads in pride again. + Alas, with what protracted sufferings + Thou seest her afflicted, that, e'en then + Did seem to know no end, + When thou anew didst unto Paradise ascend! + Reduced so low, that, as thou seest her now, + She then a happy Queen appeared. + Such misery her heart doth grieve, + As, seeing, thou canst not thy eyes believe. + And oh, the last, most bitter blow of all, + When on the ground, as she in anguish lay, + It seemed, indeed, thy country's dying day! + + O happy thou, whom Fate did not condemn + To live amid such horrors; who + Italian wives didst not behold + By ruffian troops embraced; + Nor cities plundered, fields laid waste + By hostile spear, and foreign rage; + Nor works divine of genius borne away + In sad captivity, beyond the Alps, + The roads encumbered with the precious prey; + Nor foreign rulers' insolence and pride; + Nor didst insulting voices hear, + Amidst the sound of chains and whips, + The sacred name of Liberty deride. + Who suffers not? Oh! at these wretches' hands, + What have we not endured? + From what unholy deed have they refrained? + What temple, altar, have they not profaned? + Why have we fallen on such evil times? + Why didst thou give us birth, or why + No sooner suffer us to die, + O cruel Fate? We, who have seen + Our wretched country so betrayed, + The handmaid, slave of impious strangers made, + And of her ancient virtues all bereft; + Yet could no aid or comfort give. + Or ray of hope, that might relieve + The anguish of her soul. + Alas, my blood has not been shed for thee, + My country dear! Nor have I died + That thou mightst live! + My heart with anger and with pity bleeds. + Ah, bitter thought! Thy children fought and fell; + But not for dying Italy, ah, no, + But in the service of her cruel foe! + + Father, if this enrage thee not, + How changed art thou from what thou wast on earth! + On Russia's plains, so bleak and desolate, + They died, the sons of Italy; + Ah, well deserving of a better fate! + In cruel war with men, with beasts, + The elements! In heaps they strewed the ground; + Half-clad, emaciated, stained with blood, + A bed of ice for their sick frames they found. + Then, when the parting hour drew near, + In fond remembrance of that mother dear, + They cried: "Oh had we fallen by the foeman's hand, + And not the victims of the clouds and storms, + And for _thy_ good, our native land! + Now, far from thee, and in the bloom of youth, + Unknown to all, we yield our parting breath, + And die for _her_, who caused our country's death!" + + The northern desert and the whispering groves, + Sole witnesses of their lament, + As thus they passed away! + And their neglected corpses, as they lay + Upon that horrid sea of snow exposed, + Were by the beasts consumed; + The memories of the brave and good, + And of the coward and the vile, + Unto the same oblivion doomed! + Dear souls, though infinite your wretchedness, + Rest, rest in peace! And yet what peace is yours, + Who can no comfort ever know + While Time endures! + Rest in the depths of your unmeasured woe, + O ye, _her_ children true, + Whose fate alone with hers may vie, + In endless, hopeless misery! + + But she rebukes you not, + Ah, no, but these alone, + Who forced you with her to contend; + And still her bitter tears she blends with yours, + In wretchedness that knows no end. + Oh that some pity in the heart were born, + For her, who hath all other glories won, + Of one, who from this dark, profound abyss, + Her weak and weary feet could guide! + Thou glorious shade, oh! say, + Does no one love thy Italy? + Say, is the flame that kindled thee extinct? + And will that myrtle never bloom again, + That hath so long consoled us in our pain? + Must all our garlands wither in the dust? + And shall we a redeemer never see, + Who may, in part, at least, resemble thee? + + Are we forever lost? + Is there no limit to our shame? + I, while I live, will never cease to cry: + "Degenerate race, think of thy ancestry! + Behold these ruins vast, + These pictures, statues, temples, poems grand! + Think of the glories of thy native land! + If they thy soul cannot inspire or warn, + Why linger here? Arise! Begone! + This holy ground must not be thus defiled, + And must no shelter give + Unto the coward and the slave! + Far better were the silence of the grave!" + + + + +TO ANGELO MAI, + +ON HIS DISCOVERY OF THE LOST BOOKS OF CICERO, +"DE REPUBLICA." + + + Italian bold, why wilt thou never cease + The fathers from their tombs to summon forth? + Why bring them, with this dead age to converse, + That stifled is by enemies and by sloth? + And why dost thou, voice of our ancestors, + That hast so long been mute, + Resound so loud and frequent in our ears? + Why all these grand discoveries? + As in a flash the fruitful pages come, + What hath this wretched age deserved, + That dusty cloisters have for it reserved + These hidden treasures of the wise and brave? + Illustrious man, with what strange power + Does Fate thy ardent zeal befriend? + Or does Fate vainly with man's will contend? + + Without the lofty counsel of the gods, + It surely could not be, that now, + When we were never sunk so low, + In desperate oblivion of the Past, + Each moment, comes a cry renewed, + From our great sires, to shake our souls, at last! + Heaven still some pity shows for Italy; + Some god hath still our happiness at heart: + Since this, or else no other, is the hour, + Italian virtue to redeem, + And its old lustre once more to impart, + These pleading voices from the grave we hear; + Forgotten heroes rise from earth again, + To see, my country, if at this late day, + Thou still art pleased the coward's part to play. + + And do ye cherish still, + Illustrious shades, some hope of us? + Have we not perished utterly? + To you, perhaps, it is allowed, to read + The book of destiny. _I_ am dismayed, + And have no refuge from my grief; + For dark to me the future is, and all + That I discern is such, as makes hope seem + A fable and a dream. To your old homes + A wretched crew succeed; to noble act or word, + They pay no heed; for your eternal fame + They know no envy, feel no blush of shame. + A filthy mob your monuments defile: + To ages yet unborn, + We have become a by-word and a scorn. + + Thou noble spirit, if no others care + For our great Fathers' fame, oh, care thou still, + Thou, to whom Fate hath so benignant been, + That those old days appear again, + When, roused from dire oblivion's tomb, + Came forth, with all the treasures of their lore, + Those ancient bards, divine, with whom + Great Nature spake, but still behind her veil, + And with her mysteries graced + The holidays of Athens and of Rome. + O times, now buried in eternal sleep! + Our country's ruin was not then complete; + We then a life of wretched sloth disdained; + Still from our native soil were borne afar, + Some sparks of genius by the passing air. + + Thy holy ashes still were warm, + Whom hostile fortune ne'er unmanned; + Unto whose anger and whose grief, + Hell was more grateful than thy native land. + Ah, what, but hell, has Italy become? + And thy sweet cords + Still trembled at the touch of thy right hand, + Unhappy bard of love. + Alas, Italian song is still the child + Of sorrow born. + And yet, less hard to bear, + Consuming grief than dull vacuity! + O blessed thou, whose life was one lament! + Disgust and nothingness are still our doom, + And by our cradle sit, and on our tomb. + + But thy life, then, was with the stars and sea, + Liguria's hardy son, + When thou, beyond the columns and the shores, + Where oft, at set of sun, + The waves are heard to hiss, + As he into their depths has plunged, + Committed to the boundless deep, + Didst find again the sun's declining ray, + The new-born day didst find, + When it from us had passed away; + Defying Nature's every obstacle, + A land unknown didst win, the glorious spoils + Of all thy perils, all thy toils. + And yet, when known, the world seems smaller still; + And earth and ocean, and the heavenly sphere + More vast unto the child, than to the sage appear. + + Where now are all the charming dreams + Of the mysterious retreats + Of dwellers unto us unknown, + Or where, by day, the stars to rest have gone, + Or of the couch remote of Eos bright, + Or of the sun's mysterious sleep at night? + They, in an instant, vanished all; + A little chart portrays this earthly ball. + Lo, all things are alike; discovery + But proves the way for dull vacuity. + Farewell to thee, O Fancy, dear, + If plain, unvarnished truth appear! + Thought more and more is still estranged from thee; + Thy power so mighty once, will soon be gone, + And our poor, wounded hearts be left forlorn. + + But thou for these sweet dreams wast born, + And the _old_ sun upon thee shone, + Delightful singer of the arms, and loves, + That in an age far happier than our own, + Men's lives with pleasing errors filled. + New hope of Italy! O towers, O caves, + O ladies, cavaliers, + O gardens, palaces! Amenites, + At thought of which, the mind + Is lost in thousand splendid reveries! + Ye lovely fables, and ye thoughts grotesque, + Now banished! And what to us remains? + Now that the bloom from all things is removed? + Alas, the sole, the certain thought, + That all except our wretchedness, is nought. + + Torquato, O Torquato, heaven to us + The rich gift of thy genius gave, to thee + Nought else but misery. + Ill-starred Torquato, whom thy song, + So sweet, could not console, + Nor melt the ice, to which + The genial current of thy soul + Was turned, by private envy, princely hate; + And then, by Love abandoned, life's last dream! + To thee, nought real seemed but nothingness, + The world a dreary wilderness. + Too late the honors came, so long deferred; + And yet, to die was unto thee a gain. + Who knows the evils of our mortal state, + Demands but death, no garland asks, of Fate. + + Return, return to us, + Rise from thy silent, dreary tomb, + And feast thine eyes on our distress, + O thou, whose life was crowned with wretchedness! + Far worse than what appeared to thee so sad + And infamous, have all our lives become. + Dear friend, who now would pity thee, + When none save for himself hath thought or care? + Who would not thy keen anguish folly call, + When all things great and rare the name of folly bear? + When envy, no, but worse than envy, far, + Indifference pervades our rulers all? + Ah, who would now, when we all think + Of song so little, and so much of gain, + A laurel for thy brow prepare again? + + Ah, since thy day, there has appeared but one, + Who has the fame of Italy redeemed: + Too good for his vile age, he stands alone; + One of the fierce Allobroges, + Whose manly virtue was derived + Direct from heavenly powers, + Not from this dry, unfruitful earth of ours; + Whence he alone, unarmed,-- + O matchless courage!--from the stage, + Did war upon the ruthless tyrants wage; + The only war, the only weapon left, + Against the crimes and follies of the age. + First, and alone, he took the field: + None followed him; all else were cowards tame, + Lost to all sense of honor, or of shame. + + Devoured by anger and by grief, + His spotless life he passed, + Till from worse scenes released by death, at last. + O my Victorio, this was not for thee + The fitting age, or land. + Great souls congenial times and climes demand. + In mere repose we live content, + And vulgar mediocrity; + The wise man sinks, the mob ascends, + Till all at last in one dread level ends. + Go on, thou great discoverer! + Revive the dead, since all the living sleep! + Dead tongues of ancient heroes arm anew; + Till this vile age a new life strive to win + By noble deeds, or perish in its sin! + + + + +TO HIS SISTER PAOLINA, + +ON HER APPROACHING MARRIAGE. + + + Since now thou art about to leave + Thy father's quiet house, + And all the phantoms and illusions dear, + That heaven-born fancies round it weave, + And to this lonely region lend their charm, + Unto the dust and noise of life condemned, + By destiny, soon wilt thou learn to see + Our wretchedness and infamy, + My sister dear, who, in these mournful times, + Alas, wilt more unhappy souls bestow + On our unhappy Italy! + With strong examples strengthen thou their minds; + For cruel fate propitious gales + Hath e'er to virtue's course denied, + Nor in weak souls can purity reside. + + Thy sons must either poor, or cowards be. + Prefer them poor. It is the custom still. + Desert and fortune never yet were friends; + The strife between them never ends. + Unhappy they, who in these evil days + Are born when all things totter to their fall! + But that we must to heaven leave. + Be this, above all things, thy care, + Thy children still to rear, + As those who court not Fortune's smiles, + Nor playthings are of idle hope, or fear: + And so the future age will call them blessed; + For, in this slothful and deceitful world, + The living virtue ever we despise, + The dead we load with eulogies. + + Women, to you our country looks, + For the redemption of her fame: + Ah, not unto our injury and shame, + On the soft lustre of your eyes + A power far mightier was conferred + Than that of fire or sword! + The wise and strong, in thought and act, are by + Your judgment led; nay all who live + Beneath the sun, to you still bend the knee. + On you I call, then; answer me! + Have _you_ youth's holy aspirations quenched? + And are our natures broken, crushed by _you_? + These sluggish minds, these low desires, + These nerveless arms, these feeble knees. + Say, say, are you to blame for these? + + Love is the spur to noble deeds, + To him its worth who knows; + And beauty still to lofty love inspires. + Love never in his spirit glows, + Whose heart exults not in his breast, + When angry winds in fight descend, + And heaven gathers all its clouds, + And mountain crests the lightnings rend. + O wives, O maidens, he + Who shrinks from danger, turns his back upon + His country in her need, and only seeks + His base desires and appetites to feed, + Excites your hatred and your scorn; + If ye for men, and not for milk-sops, feel + The glow of love o'er your soft bosoms steal. + + The mothers of unwarlike sons + O may ye ne'er be called! + Your children still inure + For virtue's sake all trials to endure; + To scorn the vices of this wretched age; + To cherish loyal thoughts, and high desires; + And learn how much they owe unto their sires. + The sons of Sparta thus became, + Amid the memories of heroes old, + Deserving of the Grecian name; + While the young spouse the trusty sword + Upon the loved one's side would gird, + And, afterwards, with her black locks, + The bloodless, naked corpse concealed, + When homeward borne upon the faithful shield. + + Virginia, thy soft cheek + In Beauty's finest mould was framed; + But thy disdain Rome's haughty lord inflamed. + How lovely wast thou, in thy youth's sweet prime, + When the rough dagger of thy sire + Thy snowy breast did smite, + And thou, a willing victim, didst descend + Into realms of night! + "May old age wither and consume my frame, + O father,"--thus she said; + "And may they now for me the tomb prepare, + E'er I the impious bed + Of that foul tyrant share: + And if my blood new life and liberty + May give to Rome, by thy hand let me die!" + + Ah, in those better days + When more propitious shone the sun than now, + Thy tomb, dear child, was not left comfortless, + But honored with the tears of all. + Behold, around thy lovely corpse, the sons + Of Romulus with holy wrath inflamed; + Behold the tyrants locks with dust besmeared; + In sluggish breasts once more + The sacred name of Liberty revered; + Behold o'er all the subjugated earth, + The troops of Latium march triumphant forth, + From torrid desert to the gloomy pole. + And thus eternal Rome, + That had so long in sloth oblivious lain, + A daughter's sacrifice revives again. + + + + +TO A VICTOR IN THE GAME OF PALLONE. + + + The face of glory and her pleasant voice, + O fortunate youth, now recognize, + And how much nobler than effeminate sloth + Are manhood's tested energies. + Take heed, O generous champion, take heed, + If thou thy name by worthy thought or deed, + From Time's all-sweeping current couldst redeem; + Take heed, and lift thy heart to high desires! + The amphitheatre's applause, the public voice, + Now summon thee to deeds illustrious; + Exulting in thy lusty youth. + In thee, to-day, thy country dear + Beholds her heroes old again appear. + + _His_ hand was ne'er with blood barbaric stained, + At Marathon, + Who on the plain of Elis could behold + The naked athletes, and the wrestlers bold, + And feel no glow of emulous zeal within, + The laurel wreath of victory to win. + And he, who in Alpheus stream did wash + The dusty manes and foaming flanks + Of his victorious mares, _he_ best could lead + The Grecian banners and the Grecian swords + Against the flying, panic-stricken ranks + Of Medes, who, dying, Asia's shore + And great Euphrates will behold no more. + + And will you call that vain, which seeks + The latent sparks of virtue to evolve, + Or animate anew to high resolve, + The drooping fervor of our weary souls? + What but a game have mortal works e'er been, + Since Phoebus first his weary wheels did urge? + And is not truth, no less than falsehood, vain? + And yet, with pleasing phantoms, fleeting shows, + Nature herself to our relief has come; + And custom, aiding nature, still must strive + These strong illusions to revive; + Or else all thirst for noble deeds is gone, + Is lost in sloth, and blind oblivion. + + The time may come, perchance, when midst + The ruins of Italian palaces, + Will herds of cattle graze, + And all the seven hills the plough will feel; + Not many years will have elapsed, perchance, + E'er all the towns of Italy + Will the abode of foxes be, + And dark groves murmur 'mid the lofty walls; + Unless the Fates from our perverted minds + Remove this sad oblivion of the Past; + And heaven by grateful memories appeased, + Relenting, in the hour of our despair, + The abject nations, ripe for slaughter, spare. + + But thou, O worthy youth, wouldst grieve, + Thy wretched country to survive. + Thou once through her mightst have acquired renown, + When on her brow she wore the glittering crown, + Now lost! Our fault, and Fate's! That time is o'er; + Ah, such a mother who could honor, more? + But for thyself, O lift thy thoughts on high! + What is our life? A thing to be despised: + Least wretched, when with perils so beset, + It must, perforce, its wretched self forget, + Nor heed the flight of slow-paced, worthless hours; + Or, when, to Lethe's dismal shore impelled, + It hath once more the light of day beheld. + + + + +THE YOUNGER BRUTUS. + + + When in the Thracian dust uprooted lay, + In ruin vast, the strength of Italy, + And Fate had doomed Hesperia's valleys green, + And Tiber's shores, + The trampling of barbarian steeds to feel, + And from the leafless groves, + On which the Northern Bear looks down, + Had called the Gothic hordes, + That Rome's proud walls might fall before their swords; + Exhausted, wet with brothers' blood, + Alone sat Brutus, in the dismal night; + Resolved on death, the gods implacable + Of heaven and hell he chides, + And smites the listless, drowsy air + With his fierce cries of anger and despair. + + "O foolish virtue, empty mists, + The realms of shadows, are thy schools, + And at thy heels repentance follows fast. + To you, ye marble gods + (If ye in Phlegethon reside, or dwell + Above the clouds), a mockery and scorn + Is the unhappy race, + Of whom you temples ask, + And fraudulent the law that you impose. + Say, then, does earthly piety provoke + The anger of the gods? + O Jove, dost thou protect the impious? + And when the storm-cloud rushes through the air, + And thou thy thunderbolts dost aim, + Against the _just_ dost thou impel the sacred flame? + Unconquered Fate and stern necessity + Oppress the feeble slaves of Death: + Unable to avert their injuries, + The common herd endure them patiently. + But is the ill less hard to bear, + Because it has no remedy? + Does he who knows no hope no sorrow feel? + The hero wages war with thee, + Eternal deadly war, ungracious Fate, + And knows not how to yield; and thy right hand, + Imperious, proudly shaking off, + E'en when it weighs upon him most, + Though conquered, is triumphant still, + When his sharp sword inflicts the fatal blow; + And seeks with haughty smile the shades below. + + "Who storms the gates of Tartarus, + Offends the gods. + Such valor does not suit, forsooth, + Their soft, eternal bosoms; no? + Or are our toils and miseries, + And all the anguish of our hearts, + A pleasant sport, their leisure to beguile? + Yet no such life of crime and wretchedness, + But pure and free as her own woods and fields, + Nature to us prescribed; a queen + And goddess once. Since impious custom, now, + Her happy realm hath scattered to the winds, + And other laws on this poor life imposed, + Will Nature of fool-hardiness accuse + The manly souls, who such a life refuse? + + "Of crime, and their own sufferings ignorant, + Serene old age the beasts conducts + Unto the death they ne'er foresee. + But if, by misery impelled, they sought + To dash their heads against the rugged tree, + Or, plunging headlong from the lofty rock, + Their limbs to scatter to the winds. + No law mysterious, misconception dark, + Would the sad wish refuse to grant. + Of all that breathe the breath of life, + You, only, children of Prometheus, feel + That life a burden hard to bear; + Yet, would you seek the silent shores of death, + If sluggish fate the boon delay, + To you, alone, stern Jove forbids the way. + + "And thou, white moon, art rising from the sea, + That with our blood is stained; + The troubled night dost thou survey, + And field, so fatal unto Italy. + On brothers' breasts the conqueror treads; + The hills with fear are thrilled; + From her proud heights Rome totters to her fall. + And smilest thou upon the dismal scene? + Lavinia's children from their birth, + And all their prosperous years, + And well-earned laurels, hast thou seen; + And thou _wilt_ smile, with ray unchanged, + Upon the Alps, when, bowed with grief and shame, + The haughty city, desolate and lone, + Beneath the tread of Gothic hordes shall groan. + + "Behold, amid the naked rocks, + Or on the verdant bough, the beast and bird, + Whose breasts are ne'er by thought or memory stirred, + Of the vast ruin take no heed, + Or of the altered fortunes of the world; + And when the humble herdsman's cot + Is tinted with the earliest rays of dawn, + The one will wake the valleys with his song, + The other, o'er the cliffs, the frightened throng + Of smaller beasts before him drive. + O foolish race! Most wretched we, of all! + Nor are these blood-stained fields, + These caverns, that our groans have heard, + Regardful of our misery; + Nor shines one star less brightly in the sky. + Not the deaf kings of heaven or hell, + Or the unworthy earth, + Or night, do I in death invoke, + Or thee, last gleam the dying hour that cheers, + The voice of coming ages. I no tomb + Desire, to be with sobs disturbed, or with + The words and gifts of wretched fools adorned. + The times grow worse and worse; + And who, unto a vile posterity, + The honor of great souls would trust, + Or fit atonement for their wrongs? + Then let the birds of prey around me wheel: + And let my wretched corpse + The lightning blast, the wild beast tear; + And let my name and memory melt in air!" + + + + +TO THE SPRING. + +OR OF THE FABLES OF THE ANCIENTS. + + + Now that the sun the faded charms + Of heaven again restores, + And gentle zephyr the sick air revives, + And the dark shadows of the clouds + Are put to flight, + And birds their naked breasts confide + Unto the wind, and the soft light, + With new desire of love, and with new hope, + The conscious beasts, in the deep woods, + Amid the melting frosts, inspires; + May not to you, poor human souls, + Weary, and overborne with grief, + The happy age return, which misery, + And truth's dark torch, before its time, consumed? + Have not the golden rays + Of Phoebus vanished from your gaze + Forever? Say, O gentle Spring, + Canst thou this icy heart inspire, and melt, + That in the bloom of youth, the frost of age hath felt? + + O holy Nature, art thou still alive? + Alive? And does the unaccustomed ear + Of thy maternal voice the accents hear? + Of white nymphs once, the streams were the abode. + And in the clear founts mirrored were their forms. + Mysterious dances of immortal feet + The mountain tops and lofty forests shook,-- + To-day the lonely mansions of the winds;-- + And when the shepherd-boy the noontide shade + Would seek, or bring his thirsty lambs + Unto the flowery margin of the stream, + Along the banks the clear song would he hear, + And pipe of rustic Fauns; + Would see the waters move, + And stand amazed, when, hidden from the view, + The quiver-bearing goddess would descend + Into the genial waves, + And from her snow-white arms efface + The dust and blood of the exciting chase. + + The flowers, the herbs _once_ lived, + The groves with life were filled: + Soft airs, and clouds, and every shining light + Were with the human race in sympathy, + When thee, fair star of Venus, o'er + The hills and dales, + The traveller, in the lonely night, + Pursuing with his earnest gaze, + The sweet companion of his path, + The loving friend of mortals deemed: + When he, who, fleeing from the impious strife + Of cities filled with mutiny and shame, + In depths of woods remote, + The rough trees clasping to his breast, + The vital flame seemed in their veins to feel, + The breathing leaves of Daphne, or of Phyllis sad; + And seemed the sisters' tears to see, still shed + For him who, smitten by the lightning's blast, + Into the swift Eridanus was cast. + + Nor were ye deaf, ye rigid rocks, + To human sorrow's plaintive tones, + While in your dark recesses Echo dwelt, + No idle plaything of the winds, + But spirit sad of hapless nymph, + Whom unrequited love, and cruel fate, + Of her soft limbs deprived. She o'er the grots, + The naked rocks, and mansions desolate, + Unto the depths of all-embracing air, + Our sorrows, not to her unknown, + Our broken, loud laments conveyed. + And _thou_, if fame belie thee not, + Didst sound the depths of human woe, + Sweet bird, that comest to the leafy grove, + The new-born Spring to greet, + And when the fields are hushed in sleep, + To chant into the dark and silent air, + The ancient wrongs, and cruel treachery, + That stirred the pity of the gods, to see. + But, no, thy race is not akin to ours; + No sorrow framed thy melodies; + Thy voice of crime unconscious, pleases less, + Along the dusky valley heard. + Ah, since the mansions of Olympus all + Are desolate, and without guide, the bolt, + That, wandering o'er the cloud-capped mountain-tops, + In horror cold dissolves alike + The guilty and the innocent; + Since this, our earthly home, + A stranger to her children has become, + And brings them up, to misery; + Lend thou an ear, dear Nature, to the woes + And wretched fate of mortals, and revive + The ancient spark within my breast; + If thou, indeed, dost live, if aught there is, + In heaven, or on the sun-lit earth, + Or in the bosom of the sea, + That pities? No; but _sees_ our misery. + + + + +HYMN TO THE PATRIARCHS. + +OR OF THE BEGINNINGS OF THE HUMAN RACE. + + + Illustrious fathers of the human race, + Of you, the song of your afflicted sons + Will chant the praise; of you, more dear, by far, + Unto the Great Disposer of the stars, + Who were not born to wretchedness, like ours. + Immedicable woes, a life of tears, + The silent tomb, eternal night, to find + More sweet, by far, than the ethereal light, + These things were not by heaven's gracious law + Imposed on you. If ancient legends speak + Of sins of yours, that brought calamity + Upon the human race, and fell disease, + Alas, the sins more terrible, by far, + Committed by your children, and their souls + More restless, and with mad ambition fixed, + Against them roused the wrath of angry gods, + The hand of all-sustaining Nature armed, + By them so long neglected and despised. + Then life became a burden and a curse, + And every new-born babe a thing abhorred, + And hell and chaos reigned upon the earth. + + Thou first the day, and thou the shining lights + Of the revolving stars didst see, the fields, + And their new flocks and herds, O leader old + And father of the human family! + The wandering air that o'er the meadows played, + When smote the rocks, and the deserted vales, + The torrent, rustling headlong from the Alps, + With sound, till then, unheard; and o'er the sites + Of future nations, noisy cities, yet unknown + To fame, a peace profound, mysterious reigned; + And o'er the unploughed hills, in silence, rose + The ray of Phoebus, and the golden moon. + O world, how happy in thy loneliness, + Of crimes and of disasters ignorant! + Oh, how much wretchedness Fate had in store + For thy poor race, unhappy father, what + A series vast of terrible events! + Behold, the fields, scarce tilled, with blood are stained, + A brother's blood, in sudden frenzy shed; + And now, alas, first hears the gentle air + The whirring of the fearful wings of Death. + The trembling fratricide, a fugitive, + The lonely shades avoids; in every blast + That sweeps the groves, a voice of wrath he hears. + _He_ the first city builds, abode and realm + Of wasting cares; repentance desperate, + Heart-sick, and groaning, thus unites and binds + Together blind and sinful souls, and first + A refuge offers unto mutual guilt. + The wicked hand now scorns the crooked plough; + The sweat of honest labor is despised; + Now sloth possession of the threshold takes; + The sluggish frames their native vigor lose; + The minds in hopeless indolence are sunk; + And slavery, the crowning curse of all, + Degrades and crushes poor humanity. + + And thou from heaven's wrath, and ocean's waves, + That bellowed round the cloud-capped mountain-tops, + The sinful brood didst save; thou, unto whom, + From the dark air and wave-encumbered hills, + The white dove brought the sign of hope renewed, + And sinking in the west, the shipwrecked sun, + His bright rays darting through the angry clouds, + The dark sky painted with the lovely bow. + The race restored, to earth returned, begins anew + The same career of wickedness and lust, + With their attendant ills. Audacious man + Defies the threats of the avenging sea, + And to new shores and to new stars repeats + The same sad tale of infamy and woe. + + And now of thee I think, the just and brave, + The Father of the faithful, and the sons + Thy honored name that bore. Of thee I speak, + Whom, sitting, thoughtful, in the noontide shade, + Before thy humble cottage, near the banks, + That gave thy flocks both rest and nourishment, + The minds ethereal of celestial guests + With blessings greeted; and of thee, O son + Of wise Rebecca, how at eventide, + In Aran's valley sweet, and by the well, + Where happy swains in friendly converse met, + Thou didst with Laban's daughter fall in love; + Love, that to exile long, and suffering, + And to the odious yoke of servitude, + Thy patient soul a willing martyr led. + + Oh, surely once,--for not with idle tales + And shadows, the Aonian song, and voice + Of Fame, the eager list'ners feed,--once was + This wretched earth more friendly to our race, + Was more beloved and dear, and golden flew + The days, that now so laden are with care. + Not that the milk, in waves of purest white, + Gushed from the rocks, and flowed along the vales; + Or that the tigers mingled with the sheep, + To the same fold were led; or shepherd-boys + With playful wolves would frolic at the spring; + But of its own lot ignorant, and all + The sufferings that were in store, devoid + Of care it lived: a soft, illusive veil + Of error hid the stern realities, + The cruel laws of heaven and of fate. + Life glided on, with cheerful hope content; + And tranquil, sought the haven of its rest. + + So lives, in California's forests vast, + A happy race, whose life-blood is not drained + By pallid care, whose limbs are not by fierce + Disease consumed: the woods their food, their homes + The hollow rock, the streamlet of the vale + Its waters furnishes, and, unforeseen, + Dark death upon them steals. Ah, how unarmed, + Wise Nature's happy votaries, are ye, + Against our impious audacity! + Our fierce, indomitable love of gain + Your shores, your caves, your quiet woods invades; + Your minds corrupts, your bodies enervates; + And happiness, a naked fugitive, + Before it drives, to earth's remotest bounds. + + + + +THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO. + + + Thou tranquil night, and thou, O gentle ray + Of the declining moon; and thou, that o'er + The rock appearest, 'mid the silent grove, + The messenger of day; how dear ye were, + And how delightful to these eyes, while yet + Unknown the furies, and grim Fate! But now, + No gentle sight can soothe this wounded soul. + Then, only, can forgotten joy revive, + When through the air, and o'er the trembling fields + The raging south wind whirls its clouds of dust; + And when the car, the pondrous car of Jove, + Omnipotent, high-thundering o'er our heads, + A pathway cleaves athwart the dusky sky. + Then would I love with storm-charged clouds to fly + Along the cliffs, along the valleys deep, + The headlong flight of frightened flocks to watch, + Or hear, upon some swollen river's shore + The angry billows' loud, triumphant roar. + + How beautiful thou art, O heaven divine, + And thou, O dewy earth! Alas no part + Of all this beauty infinite, the gods + And cruel fate to wretched Sappho gave! + To thy proud realms, O Nature, I, a poor, + Unwelcome guest, rejected lover, come; + To all thy varied forms of loveliness, + My heart and eyes, a suppliant, lift in vain. + The sun-lit shore hath smiles no more for me, + Nor radiant morning light at heaven's gate; + The birds no longer greet me with their songs, + Nor whispering trees with gracious messages; + And where, beneath the bending willows' shade, + The limpid stream its bosom pure displays, + As I, with trembling and uncertain foot, + Oppressed with grief, upon its margin pause, + The dimpled waves recoil, as in disdain, + And urge their flight along the flowery plain. + + What fearful crime, what hideous excess + Have so defiled me, e'en before my birth, + That heaven and fortune frown upon me thus? + Wherein have I offended, as a child, + When we of evil deeds are ignorant, + That thus disfigured, of the bloom of youth + Bereft, my little thread of life has from + The spindle of the unrelenting Fate + Been drawn? Alas, incautious are thy words! + Mysterious counsels all events control, + And all, except our grief, is mystery. + Deserted children, we were born to weep; + But why, is known to those above, alone. + O vain the cares, the hopes of earlier years! + To idle shows Jove gives eternal sway + O'er human hearts. Unless in shining robes arrayed, + All manly deeds in arms, or art, or song, + Appeal in vain unto the vulgar throng. + + I die! This wretched veil to earth I cast, + And for my naked soul a refuge seek + Below, and for the cruel faults atone + Of gods, the blind dispensers of events. + And thou, to whom I have been bound so long, + By hopeless love, and lasting faith, and by + The frenzy vain of unappeased desire, + Live, live, and if thou canst, be happy here! + My cup o'erflows with bitterness, and Jove + Has from his vase no drop of sweetness shed, + For all my childhood's hopes and dreams have fled. + The happiest day the soonest fades away; + And then succeed disease, old age, the shade + Of icy death. Behold, alas! Of all + My longed-for laurels, my illusions dear, + The end,--the gulf of hell! My spirit proud + Must to the realm of Proserpine descend, + The Stygian shore, the night that knows no end. + + + + +FIRST LOVE. + + + Ah, well can I the day recall, when first + The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said: + If _this_ be love, how hard it is to bear! + + With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground, + I saw but _her_, whose artless innocence, + Triumphant took possession of this heart. + + Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me! + Why should affection so sincere and pure, + Bring with it such desire, such suffering? + + Why not serene, and full, and free from guile + But sorrow-laden, and lamenting sore, + Should joy so great into my heart descend? + + O tell me, tender heart, that sufferest so, + Why with that thought such anguish should be blent, + Compared with which, all other thoughts were naught? + + That thought, that ever present in the day, + That in the night more vivid still appeared, + When all things round in sweet sleep seemed to rest: + + Thou, restless, both with joy and misery + Didst with thy constant throbbings weary so + My breast, as panting in my bed I lay. + + And when worn out with grief and weariness, + In sleep my eyes I closed, ah, no relief + It gave, so broken and so feverish! + + How brightly from the depths of darkness, then, + The lovely image rose, and my closed eyes, + Beneath their lids, their gaze upon it fed! + + O what delicious impulses, diffused, + My weary frame with sweet emotion filled! + What myriad thoughts, unstable and confused, + + Were floating in my mind! As through the leaves + Of some old grove, the west wind, wandering, + A long, mysterious murmur leaves behind. + + And as I, silent, to their influence yield, + What saidst thou, heart, when she departed, who + Had caused thee all thy throbs, and suffering? + + No sooner had I felt within, the heat + Of love's first flame, than with it flew away + The gentle breeze, that fanned it into life. + + Sleepless I lay, until the dawn of day; + The steeds, that were to leave me desolate, + Their hoofs were beating at my father's gate. + + And I, in mute suspense, poor timid fool, + With eye that vainly would the darkness pierce, + And eager ear intent, lay, listening, + + That voice to hear, if, for the last time, I + Might catch the accents from those lovely lips; + The voice alone; all else forever lost! + + How many vulgar tones my doubtful ear + Would smite, with deep disgust inspiring me, + With doubt tormented, holding hard my breath! + + And when, at last, that voice into my heart + Descended, passing sweet, and when the sound + Of horses and of wheels had died away; + + In utter desolation, then, my head + I in my pillow buried, closed my eyes, + And pressed my hand against my heart, and sighed. + + Then, listlessly, my trembling knees across + The silent chamber dragging, I exclaimed, + "Nothing on earth can interest me more!" + + The bitter recollection cherishing + Within my breast, to every voice my heart, + To every face, insensible remained. + + Long I remained in hopeless sorrow drowned; + As when the heavens far and wide their showers + Incessant pour upon the fields around. + + Nor had I, Love, thy cruel power known, + A boy of eighteen summers flown, until + That day, when I thy bitter lesson learned; + + When I each pleasure held in scorn, nor cared + The shining stars to see, or meadows green, + Or felt the charm of holy morning light; + + The love of glory, too, no longer found + An echo in my irresponsive breast, + That, once, the love of beauty with it shared. + + My favorite studies I neglected quite; + And those things vain appeared, compared with which, + I used to think all other pleasures vain. + + Ah! how could I have changed so utterly? + How could one passion all the rest destroy? + Indeed, what helpless mortals are we all! + + My heart my only comfort was, and with + That heart, in conference perpetual, + A constant watch upon my grief to keep. + + My eye still sought the ground, or in itself + Absorbed, shrank from encountering the glance + Of lovely or unlovely countenance; + + The stainless image fearing to disturb, + So faithfully reflected in my breast; + As winds disturb the mirror of the lake. + + And that regret, that I could not enjoy + Such happiness, which weighs upon the mind, + And turns to poison pleasure that has passed, + + Did still its thorn within my bosom lodge, + As I the past recalled; but shame, indeed, + Left not its cruel sting within this heart. + + To heaven, to you, ye gentle souls, I swear, + No base desire intruded on my thought; + But with a pure and sacred flame I burned. + + That flame still lives, and that affection pure; + Still in my thought that lovely image breathes, + From which, save heavenly, I no other joy, + + Have ever known; my only comfort, now! + + + + +THE LONELY SPARROW. + + + Thou from the top of yonder antique tower, + O lonely sparrow, wandering, hast gone, + Thy song repeating till the day is done, + And through this valley strays the harmony. + How Spring rejoices in the fields around, + And fills the air with light, + So that the heart is melted at the sight! + Hark to the bleating flocks, the lowing herds! + In sweet content, the other birds + Through the free sky in emulous circles wheel, + In pure enjoyment of their happy time: + Thou, pensive, gazest on the scene apart, + Nor wilt thou join them in the merry round; + Shy playmate, thou for mirth hast little heart; + And with thy plaintive music, dost consume + Both of the year, and of thy life, the bloom. + + Alas, how much my ways + Resemble thine! The laughter and the sport, + That fill with glee our youthful days, + And thee, O love, who art youth's brother still, + Too oft the bitter sigh of later years, + I care not for; I know not why, + But from them ever distant fly: + Here in my native place, + As if of alien race, + My spring of life I like a hermit pass. + This day, that to the evening now gives way, + Is in our town an ancient holiday. + Hark, through the air, that voice of festal bell, + While rustic guns in frequent thunders sound, + Reverberated from the hills around. + In festal robes arrayed, + The neighboring youth, + Their houses leaving, o'er the roads are spread; + They pleasant looks exchange, and in their hearts + Rejoice. I, lonely, in this distant spot, + Along the country wandering, + Postpone all pleasure and delight + To some more genial time: meanwhile, + As through the sunny air around I gaze, + My brow is smitten by his rays, + As after such a day serene, + Dropping behind yon distant hills, + He vanishes, and seems to say, + That thus all happy youth must pass away. + + Thou, lonely little bird, when thou + Hast reached the evening of the days + Thy stars assign to thee, + Wilt surely not regret thy ways; + For all thy wishes are + Obedient to Nature's law. But ah! + If I, in spite of all my prayers, + Am doomed the hateful threshold of old age + To cross, when these dull eyes will give + No response to another's heart, + The world to them a void will be, + Each day become more full of misery, + How then, will this, my wish appear + In those dark hours, that dungeon drear? + My blighted youth, my sore distress, + Alas, will _then_ seem happiness! + + + + +THE INFINITE. + + + This lonely hill to me was ever dear, + This hedge, which shuts from view so large a part + Of the remote horizon. As I sit + And gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceive + The boundless spaces that beyond it range, + The silence supernatural, and rest + Profound; and for a moment I am calm. + And as I listen to the wind, that through + These trees is murmuring, its plaintive voice + I with that infinite compare; + And things eternal I recall, and all + The seasons dead, and this, that round me lives, + And utters its complaint. Thus wandering + My thought in this immensity is drowned; + And sweet to me is shipwreck on this sea. + + + + +THE EVENING OF THE HOLIDAY. + + + The night is mild and clear, and without wind, + And o'er the roofs, and o'er the gardens round + The moon shines soft, and from afar reveals + Each mountain-peak serene. O lady, mine, + Hushed now is every path, and few and dim + The lamps that glimmer through the balconies. + Thou sleepest! in thy quiet rooms, how light + And easy is thy sleep! No care thy heart + Consumes; and little dost thou know or think, + How deep a wound thou in my heart hast made. + Thou sleepest; I to yonder heaven turn, + That seems to greet me with a loving smile, + And to that Nature old, omnipotent, + That doomed me still to suffer. "I to thee + All hope deny," she said, "e'en hope; nor may + Those eyes of thine e'er shine, save through their tears." + + This was a holiday; its pleasures o'er, + Thou seek'st repose; and happy in thy dreams + Recallest those whom thou hast pleased to-day, + And those who have pleased thee: not I, indeed,-- + I hoped it not,--unto thy thoughts occur. + Meanwhile, I ask, how much of life remains + To me; and on the earth I cast myself, + And cry, and groan. How wretched are my days, + And still so young! Hark, on the road I hear, + Not far away, the solitary song + Of workman, who returns at this late hour, + In merry mood, unto his humble home; + And in my heart a cruel pang I feel, + At thought, how all things earthly pass away, + And leave no trace behind. This festal day + Hath fled; a working-day now follows it, + And all, alike, are swept away by Time. + Where is the glory of the antique nations now? + Where now the fame of our great ancestors? + The empire vast of Rome, the clash of arms? + Now all is peace and silence, all the world + At rest; their very names are heard no more. + E'en from my earliest years, when we + Expect so eagerly a holiday, + The moment it was past, I sought my couch, + Wakeful and sad; and at the midnight hour, + When I the song heard of some passer-by, + That slowly in the distance died away, + The same deep anguish felt I in my heart. + + + + +TO THE MOON. + + + O lovely moon, how well do I recall + The time,--'tis just a year--when up this hill + I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee: + And thou suspended wast o'er yonder grove, + As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill. + But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared + Thy countenance to me, because my eyes + Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed; + For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome, + And _is_ so still, unchanged, beloved moon! + And yet this recollection pleases me, + This computation of my sorrow's age. + How pleasant is it, in the days of youth, + When hope a long career before it hath, + And memories are few, upon the past + To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last! + + + + +THE DREAM. + + + It was the morning; through the shutters closed, + Along the balcony, the earliest rays + Of sunlight my dark room were entering; + When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes + Its softest and most grateful shadows casts, + There stood beside me, looking in my face, + The image dear of her, who taught me first + To love, then left me to lament her loss. + To me she seemed not dead, but sad, with such + A countenance as the unhappy wear. + Her right hand near my head she sighing placed; + "Dost thou still live," she said to me, "and dost + Thou still remember what we _were_ and are?" + And I replied: "Whence comest thou, and how, + Beloved and beautiful? Oh how, how I + Have grieved, still grieve for thee! Nor did I think + Thou e'er couldst know it more; and oh, that thought + My sorrow rendered more disconsolate! + But art thou now again to leave me? + I fear so. Say, what hath befallen thee? + Art thou the same? What preys upon thee thus?" + "Oblivion weighs upon thy thoughts, and sleep + Envelops them," she answered; "I am dead, + And many months have passed, since last we met." + What grief oppressed me, as these words I heard! + And she continued: "In the flower of youth + Cut off, when life is sweetest, and before + The heart that lesson sad and sure hath learnt, + The utter vanity of human hope! + The sick man may e'en covet, as a boon, + That which withdraws him from all suffering; + But to the young, Death comes, disconsolate; + And hard the fate of hope, that in the grave + Is quenched! And yet, how vain that knowledge is, + That Nature from the inexperienced hides! + And a blind sorrow is to be preferred + To wisdom premature!"--"Hush, hush!" I cried, + "Unhappy one, and dear! My heart is crushed + With these thy words! And art thou dead, indeed, + O my beloved? and am I still alive? + And was it, then, in heaven decreed, that this, + Thy tender body the last damps of death + Should feel, and my poor, wretched frame remain + Unharmed? Oh, often, often as I think + That thou no longer livest, and that I + Shall never see thee on the earth again, + Incredible it seems! Alas, alas! + What _is_ this thing, that they call death? Oh, would + That I, this day, the mystery could solve, + And my defenceless head withdraw from Fate's + Relentless hate! I still am young, and still + Feel all the blight and misery of age, + Which I so dread; and distant far it seems; + But, ah, how little different from age, + The flower of my years!"--"We both were born," + She said, "to weep; unhappy were our lives, + And heaven took pleasure in our sufferings." + "Oh if my eyes with tears," I added, "then, + My face with pallor veiled thou seest, for loss + Of thee, and anguish weighing on my heart; + Tell me, was any spark of pity or of love + For the poor lover kindled in thy heart, + While thou didst live? I, then, between my hope + And my despair, passed weary nights and days; + And now, my mind is with vain doubts oppressed. + Oh if but once compassion smote thee for + My darkened life, conceal it not from me, + I pray thee; let the memory console me, + Since of their future our young days were robbed!" + And she: "Be comforted, unhappy one! + I was not churlish of my pity whilst + I lived, and am not now, myself so wretched! + Oh, do not chide this most unhappy child!" + "By all our sufferings, and by the love + Which preys upon me," I exclaimed, "and by + Our youth, and by the hope that faded from + Our lives, O let me, dearest, touch thy hand!" + And sweetly, sadly, she extended it. + And while I covered it with kisses, while + With sorrow and with rapture quivering, + I to my panting bosom fondly pressed it, + With fervent passion glowed my face and breast, + My trembling voice refused its utterance, + And all things swam before my sight; when she, + Her eyes fixed tenderly on mine, replied: + "And dost thou, then, forget, dear friend, that I + Am of my beauty utterly deprived? + And vainly thou, unhappy one, dost yield + To passion's transports. Now, a last farewell! + Our wretched minds, our feeble bodies, too, + Eternally are parted. Thou to me + No longer livest, nevermore shall live. + Fate hath annulled the faith that thou hast sworn." + Then, in my anguish as I seemed to cry + Aloud, convulsed, my eyes o'erflowing with + The tears of utter, helpless misery, + I started from my sleep. The image still + Was seen, and in the sun's uncertain light + Above my couch she seemed to linger still. + + + + +THE LONELY LIFE. + + + The morning rain, when, from her coop released, + The hen, exulting, flaps her wings, when from + The balcony the husbandman looks forth, + And when the rising sun his trembling rays + Darts through the falling drops, against my roof + And windows gently beating, wakens me. + I rise, and grateful, bless the flying clouds, + The cheerful twitter of the early birds, + The smiling fields, and the refreshing air. + For I of you, unhappy city walls, + Enough have seen and known; where hatred still + Companion is to grief; and grieving still + I live, and so shall die, and that, how soon! + But here some pity Nature shows, though small, + Once in this spot to me so courteous! + Thou, too, O Nature, turn'st away thy gaze + From misery; thou, too, thy sympathy + Withholding from the suffering and the sad, + Dost homage pay to royal happiness. + No friend in heaven, on earth, the wretched hath, + No refuge, save his trusty dagger's edge. + Sometimes I sit in perfect solitude, + Upon a hill, that overlooks a lake, + That is encircled quite with silent trees. + There, when the sun his mid-day course hath reached, + His tranquil face he in a mirror sees: + Nor grass nor leaf is shaken by the wind; + There is no ripple on the wave, no chirp + Of cricket, rustling wing of bird in bush, + Nor hum of butterfly; no motion, voice, + Or far or near, is either seen or heard. + Its shores are locked in quiet most profound; + So that myself, the world I quite forget, + As motionless I sit; my limbs appear + To lie dissolved, of breath and sense deprived; + As if, in immemorial rest, they seemed + Confounded with the silent scene around. + + O love, O love, long since, thou from this breast + Hast flown, that was so warm, so ardent, once. + Misfortune in her cold and cruel grasp + Has held it fast, and it to ice has turned, + E'en in the flower of my youth. The time + I well recall, when thou this heart didst fill; + That sweet, irrevocable time it was, + When this unhappy scene of life unto + The ardent gaze of youth reveals itself, + Expands, and wears the smile of Paradise. + How throbs the heart within the boyish breast, + By virgin hope and fond desire impelled! + The wretched dupe for life's hard work prepares, + As if it were a dance, or merry game. + But when _I_ first, O love, thy presence felt, + Misfortune had already crushed my life, + And these poor eyes with constant tears were filled. + Yet if, at times, upon the sun-lit slopes, + At silent dawn, or when, in broad noonday, + The roofs and hills and fields are shining bright, + I of some lonely maiden meet the gaze; + Or when, in silence of the summer night, + My wandering steps arresting, I before + The houses of the village pause, to gaze + Upon the lonely scene, and hear the voice, + So clear and cheerful, of the maiden, who, + Her ditty chanting, in her quiet room, + Her daily task protracts into the night, + Ah, then this stony heart will throb once more; + But soon, alas, its lethargy returns, + For all things sweet are strangers to this breast! + + Beloved moon, beneath whose tranquil rays + The hares dance in the groves, and at the dawn + The huntsman, vexed at heart, beholds the tracks + Confused and intricate, that from their forms + His steps mislead; hail, thou benignant Queen + Of Night! How unpropitious fall thy rays, + Among the cliffs and thickets, or within + Deserted buildings, on the gleaming steel + Of robber pale, who with attentive ear + Unto the distant noise of horses and + Of wheels, is listening, or the tramp of feet + Upon the silent road; then, suddenly, + With sound of arms, and hoarse, harsh voice, and look + Of death, the traveller's heart doth chill, + Whom he half-dead, and naked, shortly leaves + Among the rocks. How unpropitious, too, + Is thy bright light along the city streets, + Unto the worthless paramour, who picks + His way, close to the walls, in anxious search + Of friendly shade, and halts, and dreads the sight + Of blazing lamps, and open balconies. + To evil spirits unpropitious still, + To _me_ thy face will ever seem benign, + Along these heights, where nought save smiling hills, + And spacious fields, thou offer'st to my view. + And yet it was my wayward custom once, + Though I was innocent, thy gracious ray + To chide, amid the haunts of men, whene'er + It would my face to them betray, and when + It would their faces unto me reveal. + Now will I, grateful, sing its constant praise, + When I behold thee, sailing through the clouds, + Or when, mild sovereign of the realms of air, + Thou lookest down on this, our vale of tears. + Me wilt thou oft behold, mute wanderer + Among the groves, along the verdant banks, + Or seated on the grass, content enough, + If heart and breath are left me, for a sigh! + + + + +CONSALVO. + + + Approaching now the end of his abode + On earth, Consalvo lay; complaining once, + Of his hard fate, but now quite reconciled, + When, in the midst of his fifth lustre, o'er + His head oblivion, so longed-for, hung. + As for some time, so, on his dying day, + He lay, abandoned by his dearest friends: + For in the world, few friends to _him_ will cling, + Who shows that he is weary of the world. + Yet _she_ was at his side, by pity led, + In his lone wretchedness to comfort him, + Who was alone and ever in his thought; + Elvira, for her loveliness renowned; + And knowing well her power; that a look, + A single sweet and gracious word from _her_, + A thousand-fold repeated in the heart, + Devoted, of her hapless lover, still + His consolation and support had been, + Although no word of love had she from him + E'er heard. For ever in his soul the power + Of great desire had been rebuked and crushed + By sovereign fear. So great a child and slave + Had he become, through his excess of love! + But death at last the cruel silence broke; + For being by sure signs convinced, that now + The day of his deliverance had come, + Her white hand taking, as she was about + To leave, and gently pressing it, he said: + "Thou goest; it is time for thee to go; + Farewell, Elvira! I shall never see + Thee more; too well I know it; so, farewell! + I thank thee for thy gentle sympathy, + So far as my poor lips my thanks can speak. + _He_ will reward thee, who alone has power, + If heaven e'er rewards the merciful." + Pale turned the fair one at these words; a sigh + Her bosom heaved; for e'en a stranger's heart + A throb responsive feels, when she departs, + And says farewell forever. Fain would she + Have contradicted him, the near approach + Of fate concealing from the dying man. + But he, her thought anticipating, said: + "Ah, much desired, as well thou knowest, death, + Much prayed for, and not dreaded, comes to me; + Nay, joyful seems to me this fatal day, + Save for the thought of losing thee forever; + Alas, forever do I part from thee! + In saying this my heart is rent in twain. + Those eyes I shall no more behold, nor hear + Thy voice. But, O Elvira, say, before + Thou leavest me forever, wilt thou not + One kiss bestow? A single kiss, in all + My life? A favor asked, who can deny + Unto a dying man? Of the sweet gift + I ne'er can boast, so near my end, whose lips + To-day will by a stranger's hand be closed + Forever." Saying this, with a deep sigh, + Her hand beloved he with his cold lips pressed. + + The lovely woman stood irresolute, + And thoughtful, for a moment, with her look, + In which a thousand charms were radiant, + Intent on that of the unhappy man, + Where the last tear was glittering. Nor would + Her heart permit her to refuse with scorn + His wish, and by refusal, make more sad + The sad farewell; but she compassion took + Upon his love, which she had known so long; + And that celestial face, that mouth, which he + So long had coveted, which had, for years, + The burden been of all his dreams and sighs, + Close bringing unto his, so sad and wan, + Discolored by his mortal agony, + Kiss after kiss, all goodness, with a look + Of deep compassion, on the trembling lips + Of the enraptured lover she impressed. + + What didst thou then become? How in thy eyes + Appeared life, death, and all thy suffering, + Consalvo, in thy flight now pausing? He + The hand, which still he held, of his beloved + Elvira, placing on his heart, whose last + Pulsations love with death was sharing, said: + "Elvira, my Elvira, am I still + On earth? Those lips, were they thy lips? O, say! + And do I press thy hand? Alas, it seems + A dead man's vision, or a dream, or thing + Incredible! How much, Elvira, O, + How much I owe to death! Long has my love + Been known to thee, and unto others, for + True love cannot be hidden on the earth. + Too manifest it was to thee, in looks, + In acts, in my unhappy countenance, + But never in my words. For then, and now, + Forever would the passion infinite, + That rules my heart, be silent, had not death + With courage filled it. I shall die content; + Henceforth, with destiny, no more regret + That I e'er saw the light. I have not lived + In vain, now that my lips have been allowed + Thy lips to press. Nay, happy I esteem + My lot. Two precious things the world still gives + To mortals, Love and Death. To one, heaven guides + Me now, in youth; and in the other, I + Am fortunate. Ah, hadst thou once, but once, + Responded to my long-enduring love, + To my changed eyes this earth for evermore + Had been transformed into a Paradise. + E'en to old age, detestable old age, + Could I have been resigned and reconciled. + To bear its heavy load, the memory + Of one transcendent moment had sufficed, + When I was happier than the happiest, + But, ah, such bliss supreme the envious gods + To earthly natures ne'er have given! Love + In such excess ne'er leads to happiness. + And yet, thy love to win, I would have borne + The tortures of the executioner; + Have faced the rack and fagot, dauntlessly; + Would from thy loving arms have rushed into + The fearful flames of hell, with cheerfulness. + + "Elvira, O Elvira, happy he, + Beyond all mortal happiness, on whom + Thou dost the smile of love bestow! And next + Is he, who can lay down his life for thee! + It _is_ permitted, it is not a dream, + As I, alas, have always fancied it, + To man, on earth true happiness to find. + I knew it well, the day I looked on thee. + That look to me, indeed, has fatal been: + And yet, I could not bring myself, midst all + My sufferings, that cruel day to blame. + + "Now live, Elvira, happy, and adorn + The world with thy fair countenance. None e'er + Will love thee as I loved thee. Such a love + Will ne'er be seen on earth. How much, alas, + How long a time by poor Consalvo hast + Thou been with sighs and bitter tears invoked! + How, when I heard thy name, have I turned pale! + How have I trembled, and been sick at heart, + As timidly thy threshold I approached, + At that angelic voice, at sight of that + Fair brow, I, who now tremble not at death! + But breath and life no longer will respond + Unto the voice of love. The time has passed; + Nor can I e'er this happy day recall. + Farewell, Elvira! With its vital spark + Thy image so beloved is from my heart + Forever fading. Oh, farewell! If this, + My love offend thee not, to-morrow eve + One sigh wilt thou bestow upon my bier." + He ceased; and soon he lost his consciousness: + Ere evening came, his first, his only day + Of happiness had faded from his sight. + + + + +TO THE BELOVED. + + + Beauty beloved, who hast my heart inspired, + Seen from afar, or with thy face concealed, + Save, when in visions of the night revealed, + Or seen in daydreams bright, + When all the fields are filled with light, + And Nature's smile is sweet, + Say, hast thou blessed + Some golden age of innocence, + And floatest, now, a shadow, o'er the earth? + Or hath Fate's envious doom + Reserved thee for some happier day to come? + + To see thee e'er alive, + No hope remains to me; + Unless perchance, when from this body free, + My wandering spirit, lone, + O'er some new path, to some new world hath flown. + E'en here, at first, I, at the dawn + Of this, my day, so dreary and forlorn, + Sought thee, to guide me on my weary way: + But none on earth resembles thee. E'en if + One were in looks and acts and words thy peer, + Though like thee, she less lovely would appear. + + Amidst the deepest grief + That fate hath e'er to human lot assigned, + Could one but love thee on this earth, + Alive, and such as my thought painteth thee, + He would be happy in his misery: + And I most clearly see, how, still, + As in my earliest days, + Thy love would make me cling to virtue's ways. + Unto _my_ grief heaven hath no comfort brought; + And yet with thee, this mortal life would seem + Like that in heaven, of which we fondly dream. + + Along the valleys where is heard + The song of the laborious husbandman, + And where I sit and moan + O'er youth's illusions gone; + Along the hills, where I recall with tears, + The vanished joys and hopes of earlier years, + At thought of thee, my heart revives again. + O could I still thy image dear retain, + In this dark age, and in this baleful air! + To loss of thee, O let me be resigned, + And in thy image still some comfort find! + + If thou art one of those + Ideas eternal, which the Eternal Mind + Refused in earthly form to clothe, + Nor would subject unto the pain and strife + Of this, our frail and dreary life; + Or if thou hast a mansion fair, + Amid the boundless realms of space, + That lighted is by a more genial sun, + And breathest there a more benignant air; + From here, where brief and wretched are our days, + Receive thy humble lover's hymn of praise! + + + + +TO COUNT CARLO PEPOLI. + + + This wearisome and this distressing sleep + That we call life, O how dost thou support, + My Pepoli? With what hopes feedest thou + Thy heart? Say in what thoughts, and in what deeds, + Agreeable or sad, dost thou invest + The idleness thy ancestors bequeathed + To thee, a dull and heavy heritage? + All life, indeed, in every walk of life, + Is idleness, if we may give that name + To every work achieved, or effort made, + That has no worthy aim in view, or fails + That aim to reach. And if you idle call + The busy crew, that daily we behold, + From tranquil morn unto the dewy eve, + Behind the plough, or tending plants and flocks, + Because they live simply to keep alive, + And life is worthless for itself alone, + The honest truth you speak. His nights and days + The pilot spends in idleness; the toil + And sweat in workshops are but idleness; + The soldier's vigils, perils of the field, + The eager merchant's cares are idle all; + Because true happiness, for which alone + Our mortal nature longs and strives, no man, + Or for himself, or others, e'er acquires + Through toil or sweat, through peril, or through care. + Yet for this fierce desire, which mortals still + From the beginning of the world have felt, + But ever felt in vain, for happiness, + By way of soothing remedy devised, + Nature, in this unhappy life of ours, + Had manifold necessities prepared, + Not without thought or labor satisfied; + So that the days, though ever sad, less dull + Might seem unto the human family; + And this desire, bewildered and confused, + Might have less power to agitate the heart. + So, too, the various families of brutes, + Who have, no less than we, and vainly, too, + Desire for happiness; but they, intent + On that which is essential to their life, + Consume their days more pleasantly, by far, + Nor chide, with us, the dulness of the hours. + But _we_, who unto other hands commit + The furnishing of our immediate wants, + Have a necessity more grave to meet, + For which no other ever can provide, + With ennui laden, and with suffering; + The stern necessity of killing time; + That cruel, obstinate necessity, + From which, nor hoarded gold, nor wealth of flocks, + Nor fertile fields, nor sumptuous palaces, + Nor purple robes, the race of man can save. + And if one, scorning such a barren life, + And hating to behold the light of day, + Turns not a homicidal hand upon + Himself, anticipating sluggish Fate, + For the sharp sting of unappeased desire, + That vainly calls for happiness, he seeks, + In desperate chase, on every side, in vain, + A thousand inefficient remedies, + In lieu of that, which Nature gives to all. + + One to his dress devotes himself, and hair, + His gait and gesture and the learned lore + Of horses, carriages, to crowded halls, + To thronged piazzas, and to gardens gay; + Another gives his nights and days to games, + And feasts, and dances with the reigning belles: + A smile perpetual is on his lips; + But in his breast, alas, stern and severe, + Like adamantine column motionless, + Eternal ennui sits, against whose might + Avail not vigorous youth, nor prattle fond + That falls from rosy lips, nor tender glance + That trembles in two dark and lustrous eyes; + The most bewildering of mortal things, + Most precious gift of heaven unto man. + + Another, as if hoping to escape + Sad destiny, in changing lands and climes + His days consuming, wandering o'er sea + And hills, the whole earth traverses; each spot + That Nature, in her infinite domain, + To restless man hath made accessible, + He visits in his wanderings. Alas, + Black care is seated on the lofty prow; + Beneath each clime, each sky, he asks in vain + For happiness; sadness still lives and reigns. + + Another in the cruel deeds of war + Prefers to pass his hours, and dips his hand, + For his diversion, in his brother's blood: + Another in his neighbor's misery + His comfort finds, and artfully contrives + To kill the time, in making others sad. + _This_ man still walks in wisdom's ways, or art + Pursues; _that_ tramples on the people's rights, + At home, abroad; the ancient rest disturbs + Of distant shores, on fraudful gain intent, + With cruel war, or sharp diplomacy; + And so his destined part of life consumes. + + Thee a more gentle wish, a care more sweet + Leads and controls, still in the flower of youth, + In the fair April of thy days, to most + A time so pleasant, heaven's choicest gift; + But heavy, bitter, wearisome to _him_ + Who has no country. Thee the love of song + Impels, and of portraying in thy speech + The beauty, that so seldom in the world + Appears and fades so soon, and _that_, more rare + Which fond imagination, kinder far + Than Nature, or than heaven, so bounteously + For our entranced, deluded souls provides. + Oh, fortunate a thousand-fold is he, + Who loses not his fancy's freshness as + The years roll by; whom envious Fate permits + To keep eternal sunshine in his heart, + Who, in his ripe and his declining years, + As was his custom in his glorious youth, + In his deep thought enhances Nature's charms, + Gives life to death, and to the desert, bloom. + May heaven this fortune give to thee; and may + The spark that now so warms thy breast, make thee + In thy old age a votary of song! + _I_ feel no more the sweet illusions of + That happy time; those charming images + Have faded from my eyes, that I so loved, + And which, unto my latest hour, will be + Remembered still, with hopeless sighs and tears. + And when this breast to all things has become + Insensible and cold, nor the sweet smile + And rest profound of lonely sun-lit plains, + Nor cheerful morning song of birds in spring, + Nor moonlight soft, that rests on hills and fields, + Beneath the limpid sky, will move my heart; + When every beauty, both of Nature, and + Of Art, to me will be inanimate + And mute; each tender feeling, lofty thought, + Unknown and strange; my only comfort, then, + Poor beggar, must I find in studies more + Severe; to them, thenceforward, must devote + The wretched remnant of unhappy life: + The bitter truth must I investigate, + The destinies mysterious, alike + Of mortal and immortal things; + For what was suffering humanity, + Bowed down beneath the weight of misery, + Created; to what final goal are Fate + And Nature urging it; to whom can our + Great sorrow any pleasure, profit give; + Beneath what laws and orders, to what end, + The mighty Universe revolves--the theme + Of wise men's praise, to _me_ a mystery? + + I in these speculations will consume + My idleness; because the truth, when known, + Though sad, has yet its charms. And if, at times, + The truth discussing, my opinions should + Unwelcome be, or not be understood, + I shall not grieve, indeed, because in me + The love of fame will be extinguished quite; + Of fame, that idol frivolous and blind; + More blind by far than Fortune, or than Love. + + + + +THE RESURRECTION. + + + I thought I had forever lost, + Alas, though still so young, + The tender joys and sorrows all, + That unto youth belong; + + The sufferings sweet, the impulses + Our inmost hearts that warm; + Whatever gives this life of ours + Its value and its charm. + + What sore laments, what bitter tears + O'er my sad state I shed, + When first I felt from my cold heart + Its gentle pains had fled! + + Its throbs I felt no more; my love + Within me seemed to die; + Nor from my frozen, senseless breast + Escaped a single sigh! + + I wept o'er my sad, hapless lot; + The life of life seemed lost; + The earth an arid wilderness, + Locked in eternal frost; + + The day how dreary, and the night + How dull, and dark, and lone! + The moon for me no brightness had, + No star in heaven shone. + + And yet the old love was the cause + Of all the tears I shed; + Still in my inmost breast I felt + The heart was not yet dead. + + My weary fancy still would crave + The images it loved, + And its capricious longings still + A source of sorrow proved. + + But e'en that lingering spark of grief + Was soon within me spent, + And I the strength no longer had + To utter a lament. + + And there I lay, stunned, stupefied, + Nor asked for comfort more; + My heart to hopeless, blank despair + Itself had given o'er. + + How changed, alas, was I from him + Who once with passion thrilled, + Whose ardent soul was ever, once, + With sweet illusions filled! + + The swallow to my window, still, + Would come, to greet the dawn; + But his sweet song no echo found + In my poor heart, forlorn. + + Nor pleased me more, in autumn gray, + Upon the hill-side lone, + The cheerful vesper-bell, or light + Of the departing sun. + + In vain the evening star I saw + Above the silent vale, + And vainly warbled in the grove + The plaintive nightingale. + + And you, ye furtive glances, bright, + From gentle eyes that rove, + The sweet, the gracious messages + Of first immortal Love; + + The soft, white hand, that tenderly + My own hand seemed to woo; + All, all your magic spells were vain, + My torpor to subdue. + + Of every pleasure quite bereft, + Sad but of tranquil mien; + A state of perfect littleness, + Yet with a face serene; + + Save for the lingering wish, indeed, + In death to sink to rest, + The force of all desire was spent + In my exhausted breast. + + As some poor, feeble wanderer, + With age and sorrow bent, + The April of my years, alas, + Thus listlessly I spent; + + Thus listlessly, thus wearily, + Didst thou consume, O heart, + Those golden days, ineffable, + So swiftly that depart. + + _Who_, from this heavy, heedless rest + Awakens me again? + What new, what magic power is this, + I feel within me reign? + + Ye motions sweet, ye images, + Ye throbs, illusions blest, + Ah, no,--ye are not then shut out + Forever from this breast? + + The glorious light of golden days + Do ye again unfold? + The old affections that I lost, + Do I once more behold? + + Now, as I gaze upon the sky, + Or on the verdant fields, + Each thing with sorrow me inspires, + And each a pleasure yields. + + The mountain, forest, and the shore + Once more my heart rejoice; + The fountain speaks to me once more, + The sea hath found a voice. + + Who, after all this apathy, + Restores to me my tears? + Each moment, as I look around, + How changed the world appears! + + Hath hope, perchance, O my poor heart, + Beguiled thee of thy pain? + Ah, no, the gracious smile of hope + I ne'er shall see again. + + Nature bestowed these impulses, + And these illusions blest; + Their inborn influence, in me, + By suffering was suppressed; + + But not annulled, not overcome + By cruel blows of Fate; + Nor by the inauspicious frown + Of Truth, importunate! + + I know she has no sympathy + For fond imaginings; + I know that Nature, too, is deaf, + Nor heeds our sufferings; + + That for our _good_ she nothing cares, + Our _being_, only heeds; + And with the sight of our distress + Her wild caprices feeds. + + I know the poor man pleads in vain, + For others' sympathy; + That scornfully, or heedlessly, + All from his presence flee; + + That both for genius and for worth, + This age has no respect; + That all who cherish lofty aims + Are left to cold neglect. + + And you, ye eyes so tremulous + With lustre all divine, + I know how false your splendors are, + Where no true love doth shine. + + No love mysterious and profound + Illumes you with its glow; + Nor gleams one spark of genial fire + Beneath that breast of snow. + + Nay, it is wont to laugh to scorn + Another's tender pain; + The fervent flame of heavenly love + To treat with cold disdain. + + Yet I with thankfulness once more + The old illusions greet, + And feel, with shock of pleased surprise, + The heart within me beat. + + To thee alone this force renewed, + This vital power I owe; + From thee alone, my faithful heart, + My only comforts flow. + + I feel it is the destiny + Of every noble mind, + In Fate, in Fortune, Beauty, and the World, + An enemy to find: + + But while thou liv'st, nor yield'st to Fate, + Contending without fear, + I will not tax with cruelty + The power that placed me here. + + + + +TO SYLVIA. + + + O Sylvia, dost thou remember still + That period of thy mortal life, + When beauty so bewildering + Shone in thy laughing, glancing eyes, + As thou, so merry, yet so wise, + Youth's threshold then wast entering? + + How did the quiet rooms, + And all the paths around, + With thy perpetual song resound, + As thou didst sit, on woman's work intent, + Abundantly content + With the vague future, floating on thy mind! + Thy custom thus to spend the day + In that sweet time of youth and May! + + How could I, then, at times, + In those fair days of youth, + The only happy days I ever knew, + My hard tasks dropping, or my careless rhymes, + My station take, on father's balcony, + And listen to thy voice's melody, + And watch thy hands, as they would deftly fly + O'er thy embroidery! + I gazed upon the heaven serene, + The sun-lit paths, the orchards green, + The distant mountain here, + And there, the far-off sea. + Ah, mortal tongue cannot express + What then I felt of happiness! + + What gentle thoughts, what hopes divine, + What loving hearts, O Sylvia mine! + In what bright colors then portrayed + Were human life and fate! + Oh, when I think of such fond hopes betrayed, + A feeling seizes me + Of bitterness and misery, + And tenfold is my grief renewed! + O Nature, why this treachery? + Why thus, with broken promises, + Thy children's hearts delude? + + Thou, ere the grass was touched with winter's frost, + By fell disease attacked and overcome, + O tender plant, didst die! + The flower of thy days thou ne'er didst see; + Nor did thy soft heart move + Now of thy raven locks the tender praise, + Now of thy eyes, so loving and so shy; + Nor with thee, on the holidays, + Did thy companions talk of love. + + So perished, too, erelong, + My own sweet hope; + So too, unto my years + Did Fate their youth deny. + Alas, alas the day, + Lamented hope, companion dear, + How hast thou passed away! + Is _this_ that world? These the delights, + The love, the labors, the events, + Of which we once so fondly spoke? + And must _all_ mortals wear this weary yoke? + Ah, when the truth appeared, + It better seemed to die! + Cold death, the barren tomb, didst thou prefer + To harsh reality. + + + + +RECOLLECTIONS. + + + Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think + I should again be turning, as I used, + To see you over father's garden shine, + And from the windows talk with you again + Of this old house, where as a child I dwelt, + And where I saw the end of all my joys. + What charming images, what fables, once, + The sight of you created in my thought, + And of the lights that bear you company! + Silent upon the verdant clod I sat, + My evening thus consuming, as I gazed + Upon the heavens, and listened to the chant + Of frogs that in the distant marshes croaked; + While o'er the hedges, ditches, fire-flies roamed, + And the green avenues and cypresses + In yonder grove were murmuring to the wind; + While in the house were heard, at intervals, + The voices of the servants at their work. + What thoughts immense in me the sight inspired + Of that far sea, and of the mountains blue, + That yonder I behold, and which I thought + One day to cross, mysterious worlds and joys + Mysterious in the future fancying! + Of my hard fate unconscious, and how oft + This sorrowful and barren life of mine + I willingly would have for death exchanged! + + Nor did my heart e'er tell me, I should be + Condemned the flower of my youth to spend + In this wild native region, and amongst + A wretched, clownish crew, to whom the names + Of wisdom, learning, are but empty sounds, + Or arguments of laughter and of scorn; + Who hate, avoid me; not from envy, no; + For they do not esteem me better than + Themselves, but fancy that I, in my heart, + That feeling cherish; though I strive, indeed, + No token of such feeling to display. + And here I pass my years, abandoned, lost, + Of love deprived, of life; and rendered fierce, + 'Mid such a crowd of evil-minded ones, + My pity and my courtesy I lose, + And I become a scorner of my race, + By such a herd surrounded; meanwhile, fly + The precious hours of youth, more precious far + Than fame, or laurel, or the light of day, + Or breath of life: thus uselessly, without + One joy, I lose thee, in this rough abode, + Whose only guests are care and suffering, + O thou, the only flower of barren life! + + The wind now from the tower of the town + The deep sound of the bell is bringing. Oh, + What comfort was that sound to me, a child, + When in my dark and silent room I lay, + Besieged by terrors, longing for the dawn! + Whate'er I see or hear, recalls to mind + Some vivid image, recollection sweet; + Sweet in itself, but O how bitter made + By painful sense of present suffering, + By idle longing for the past, though sad, + And by the still recurring thought, "_I was_"! + Yon gallery that looks upon the west; + Those frescoed walls, these painted herds, the sun + Just rising o'er the solitary plain, + My idle hours with thousand pleasures filled, + While busy Fancy, at my side, still spread + Her bright illusions, wheresoe'er I went. + In these old halls, when gleamed the snow without, + And round these ample windows howled the wind, + My sports resounded, and my merry words, + In those bright days, when all the mysteries + And miseries of things an aspect wear, + So full of sweetness; when the ardent youth + Sees in his untried life a world of charms, + And, like an unexperienced lover, dotes + On heavenly beauty, creature of his dreams! + + O hopes, illusions of my early days!-- + Of you I still must speak, to you return; + For neither flight of time, nor change of thoughts, + Or feelings, can efface you from my mind. + Full well I know that honor and renown + Are phantoms; pleasures but an idle dream; + That life, a useless misery, has not + One solid fruit to show; and though my days + Are empty, wearisome, my mortal state + Obscure and desolate, I clearly see + That Fortune robs me but of little. Yet, + Alas! as often as I dwell on you, + Ye ancient hopes, and youthful fancy's dreams, + And then look at the blank reality, + A life of ennui and of wretchedness; + And think, that of so vast a fund of hope, + Death is, to-day, the only relic left, + I feel oppressed at heart, I feel myself + Of every comfort utterly bereft. + And when the death, that I have long invoked, + Shall be at hand, the end be reached of all + My sufferings; when this vale of tears shall be + To me a stranger, and the future fade, + Fade from sight forever; even then, shall I + Recall you; and your images will make + Me sigh; the thought of having lived in vain, + Will then intrude, with bitterness to taint + The sweetness of that day of destiny. + + Nay, in the first tumultuous days of youth, + With all its joys, desires, and sufferings, + I often called on death, and long would sit + By yonder fountain, longing, in its waves + To put an end alike to hope and grief. + And afterwards, by lingering sickness brought + Unto the borders of the grave, I wept + O'er my lost youth, the flower of my days, + So prematurely fading; often, too, + At late hours sitting on my conscious bed, + Composing, by the dim light of the lamp, + I with the silence and the night would moan + O'er my departing soul, and to myself + In languid tones would sing my funeral-song. + + Who can remember you without a sigh, + First entrance into manhood, O ye days + Bewitching, inexpressible, when first + On the enchanted mortal smiles the maid, + And all things round in emulation smile; + And envy holds its peace, not yet awake, + Or else in a benignant mood; and when, + --O marvel rare!--the world a helping hand + To him extends, his faults excuses, greets + His entrance into life, with bows and smiles + Acknowledges his claims to its respect? + O fleeting days! How like the lightning's flash, + They vanish! And what mortal can escape + Unhappiness, who has already passed + That golden period, his own _good_ time, + That comes, alas, so soon to disappear? + + And thou, Nerina, does not every spot + Thy memory recall? And couldst thou e'er + Be absent from my thought? Where art thou gone, + That here I find the memory alone, + Of thee, my sweet one? Thee thy native place + Beholds no more; that window, whence thou oft + Wouldst talk with me, which sadly now reflects + The light of yonder stars, is desolate. + Where art thou, that I can no longer hear + Thy gentle voice, as in those days of old, + When every faintest accent from thy lips + Was wont to turn me pale? Those days have gone. + They _have been_, my sweet love! And thou with them + Hast passed. To others now it is assigned + To journey to and fro upon the earth, + And others dwell amid these fragrant hills. + How quickly thou hast passed! Thy life was like + A dream. While dancing there, joy on thy brow + Resplendent shone, anticipations bright + Shone in thy eyes, the light of youth, when Fate + Extinguished them, and thou didst prostrate lie. + Nerina, in my heart the old love reigns. + If I at times still go unto some feast, + Or social gathering, unto myself + I say: "Nerina, thou no more to feast + Dost go, nor for the ball thyself adorn." + If May returns, when lovers offerings + Of flowers and of songs to maidens bring, + I say: "Nerina mine, to thee spring ne'er + Returns, and love no more its tribute brings." + Each pleasant day, each flowery field that I + Behold, each pleasure that I taste, the thought + Suggest: "Nerina pleasure knows no more, + The face of heaven and earth no more beholds." + Ah, thou hast passed, for whom I ever sigh! + Hast passed; and still the memory of thee + Remains, and with each thought and fancy blends + Each varying emotion of the heart; + And _will_ remain, so bitter, yet so sweet! + + + + +NIGHT SONG OF A WANDERING SHEPHERD IN ASIA. + + + What doest thou in heaven, O moon? + Say, silent moon, what doest thou? + Thou risest in the evening; thoughtfully + Thou wanderest o'er the plain, + Then sinkest to thy rest again. + And art thou never satisfied + With going o'er and o'er the selfsame ways? + Art never wearied? Dost thou still + Upon these valleys love to gaze? + How much thy life is like + The shepherd's life, forlorn! + He rises in the early dawn, + He moves his flock along the plain; + The selfsame flocks, and streams, and herbs + He sees again; + Then drops to rest, the day's work o'er; + And hopes for nothing more. + Tell me, O moon, what signifies his life + To him, thy life to thee? Say, whither tend + My weary, short-lived pilgrimage, + Thy course, that knows no end? + + And old man, gray, infirm, + Half-clad, and barefoot, he, + Beneath his burden bending wearily, + O'er mountain and o'er vale, + Sharp rocks, and briars, and burning sand, + In wind, and storm, alike in sultry heat + And in the winter's cold, + His constant course doth hold; + On, on, he, panting, goes, + Nor pause, nor rest he knows; + Through rushing torrents, over watery wastes; + He falls, gets up again, + And ever more and more he hastes, + Torn, bleeding, and arrives at last + Where ends the path, + Where all his troubles end; + A vast abyss and horrible, + Where plunging headlong, he forgets them all. + Such scene of suffering, and of strife, + O moon, is this our mortal life. + In travail man is born; + His birth too oft the cause of death, + And with his earliest breath + He pain and torment feels: e'en from the first, + His parents fondly strive + To comfort him in his distress; + And if he lives and grows, + They struggle hard, as best they may, + With pleasant words and deeds to cheer him up, + And seek with kindly care, + To strengthen him his cruel lot to bear. + This is the best that they can do + For the poor child, however fond and true. + But wherefore give him life? + Why bring him up at all, + If _this_ be all? + If life is nought but pain and care, + Why, why should we the burden bear? + O spotless moon, such _is_ + Our mortal life, indeed; + But thou immortal art, + Nor wilt, perhaps, unto my words give heed. + + Yet thou, eternal, lonely wanderer, + Who, thoughtful, lookest on this earthly scene, + Must surely understand + What all our sighs and sufferings mean; + What means this death, + This color from our cheeks that fades, + This passing from the earth, and losing sight + Of every dear, familiar scene. + Well must thou comprehend + The reason of these things; must see + The good the morning and the evening bring: + Thou knowest, thou, what love it is + That brings sweet smiles unto the face of spring; + The meaning of the Summer's glow, + And of the Winter's frost and snow, + And of the silent, endless flight of Time. + A thousand things to thee their secrets yield, + That from the simple shepherd are concealed. + Oft as I gaze at thee, + In silence resting o'er the desert plain, + Which in the distance borders on the sky, + Or following me, as I, by slow degrees, + My flocks before me drive; + And when I gaze upon the stars at night, + In thought I ask myself, + "Why all these torches bright? + What mean these depths of air, + This vast, this silent sky, + This nightly solitude? And what am I?" + Thus to myself I talk; and of this grand, + Magnificent expanse, + And its untold inhabitants, + And all this mighty motion, and this stir + Of things above, and things below, + No rest that ever know, + But as they still revolve, must still return + Unto the place from which they came,-- + Of this, alas, I find nor end nor aim! + But thou, immortal, surely knowest all. + _This_ I well know, and feel; + From these eternal rounds, + And from my being frail, + Others, perchance, may pleasure, profit gain; + To _me_ life is but pain. + + My flock, now resting there, how happy thou, + That knowest not, I think, thy misery! + O how I envy thee! + Not only that from suffering + Thou seemingly art free; + That every trouble, every loss, + Each sudden fear, thou canst so soon forget; + But more because thou sufferest + No weariness of mind. + When in the shade, upon the grass reclined, + Thou seemest happy and content, + And great part of the year by thee + In sweet release from care is spent. + But when _I_ sit upon the grass + And in the friendly shade, upon my mind + A weight I feel, a sense of weariness, + That, as I sit, doth still increase + And rob me of all rest and peace. + And yet I wish for nought, + And have, till now, no reason to complain. + What joy, how much I cannot say; + But thou _some_ pleasure dost obtain. + My joys are few enough; + But not for that do I lament. + Ah, couldst thou speak, I would inquire: + Tell me, dear flock, the reason why + Each weary breast can rest at ease, + While all things round him seem to please; + And yet, if _I_ lie down to rest, + I am by anxious thoughts oppressed? + + Perhaps, if I had wings + Above the clouds to fly, + And could the stars all number, one by one, + Or like the lightning leap from rock to rock, + I might be happier, my dear flock, + I might be happier, gentle moon! + Perhaps my thought still wanders from the truth, + When I at others' fortunes look: + Perhaps in every state beneath the sun, + Or high, or low, in cradle or in stall, + The day of birth is fatal to us all. + + + + +CALM AFTER STORM. + + + The storm hath passed; + I hear the birds rejoice; the hen, + Returned into the road again, + Her cheerful notes repeats. The sky serene + Is, in the west, upon the mountain seen: + The country smiles; bright runs the silver stream. + Each heart is cheered; on every side revive + The sounds, the labors of the busy hive. + The workman gazes at the watery sky, + As standing at the door he sings, + His work in hand; the little wife goes forth, + And in her pail the gathered rain-drops brings; + The vendor of his wares, from lane to lane, + Begins his daily cry again. + The sun returns, and with his smile illumes + The villas on the neighboring hills; + Through open terraces and balconies, + The genial light pervades the cheerful rooms; + And, on the highway, from afar are heard + The tinkling of the bells, the creaking wheels + Of waggoner, his journey who resumes. + + Cheered is each heart. + Whene'er, as now, doth life appear + A thing so pleasant and so dear? + When, with such love, + Does man unto his books or work return? + Or on himself new tasks impose? + When is he less regardful of his woes? + O pleasure, born of pain! + O idle joy, and vain, + Fruit of the fear just passed, which shook + The wretch who life abhorred, yet dreaded death! + With which each neighbor held his breath, + Silent, and cold, and wan, + Affrighted sore to see + The lightnings, clouds, and winds arrayed, + To do us injury! + + O Nature courteous! + These are thy boons to us, + These the delights to mortals given! + Escape from pain, best gift of heaven! + Thou scatterest sorrows with a bounteous hand; + Grief springs spontaneous; + If, by some monstrous growth, miraculous, + Pleasure at times is born of pain, + It is a precious gain! + O human race, unto the gods so dear! + Too happy, in a respite brief + From any grief! + Then only blessed, + When Death releases thee unto thy rest! + + + + +THE VILLAGE SATURDAY NIGHT. + + + The damsel from the field returns, + The sun is sinking in the west; + Her bundle on her head she sets, + And in her hand she bears + A bunch of roses and of violets. + To-morrow is a holiday, + And she, as usual, must them wear + Upon her bodice, in her hair. + The old crone sits among her mates, + Upon the stairs, and spins; + And, looking at the fading light, + Of good old-fashioned times she prates, + When she, too, dressed for holidays, + And with light heart, and limb as light, + Would dance at night + With the companions of her merry days. + The twilight shades around us close, + The sky to deepest blue is turned; + From hills and roofs the shadows fall, + And the new moon her face of silver shows. + And now the cheerful bell + Proclaims the coming festival. + By its familiar voice + How every heart is cheered! + The children all in troops, + Around the little square + Go, leaping here and there, + And make a joyful sound. + Meanwhile the ploughman, whistling, returns + Unto his humble nest, + And thinks with pleasure of his day of rest. + + Then, when all other lights are out, + And all is silent round, + The hammer's stroke we hear, + We hear the saw of carpenter, + Who with closed doors his vigil keeps, + Toils o'er his lamp and strives so hard, + His work to finish ere the dawn appear. + + The dearest day of all the week + Is this, of hope and joy so full; + To-morrow, sad and dull, + The hours will bring, for each must in his thought + His customary task-work seek. + + Thou little, sportive boy, + This blooming age of thine + Is like to-day, so full of joy; + And is the day, indeed, + That must the sabbath of thy life precede. + + Enjoy, it, then, my darling child, + Nor speed the flying hours! + I say to thee no more: + Alas, in this sad world of ours, + How far exceeds the holiday, + The day that goes before! + + + + +THE RULING THOUGHT. + + + Most sweet, most powerful, + Controller of my inmost soul; + The terrible, yet precious gift + Of heaven, companion kind + Of all my days of misery, + O thought, that ever dost recur to me; + + Of thy mysterious power + Who speaketh not? Who hath not felt + Its subtle influence? + Yet, when one is by feeling deep impelled + Its secret joys and sorrows to unfold, + The theme seems ever new however old. + + How isolated is my mind, + Since thou in it hast come to dwell! + As by some magic spell, + My other thoughts have all, + Like lightning, disappeared; + And thou, alone, like some huge tower, + In a deserted plain, + Gigantic, solitary, dost remain. + + How worthless quite, + Save but for thee, have in my sight + All earthly things, and life itself become! + How wearisome its days; + And all its works, and all its plays, + A vain pursuit of pleasures vain, + Compared with the felicity, + The heavenly joy, that springs from thee! + + As from the naked rocks + Of the rough Apennine, + The weary pilgrim turns his longing eyes + To the bright plain that in the distance lies; + So from the rough and barren intercourse + Of worldly men, to thee I gladly turn, + As to a Paradise, my weary mind, + And sweet refreshment for my senses find. + + It seems to me incredible, that I + This dreary world, this wretched life, + So full of folly and of strife, + Without thy aid, could have so long endured; + Nor can I well conceive, + How one's desires _could_ cling + To other joys than those which thou dost bring. + + Never, since first I knew + By hard experience what life is, + Could fear of death my soul subdue. + To-day, a jest to me appears, + That which the silly world, + Praising at times, yet ever hates and fears, + The last extremity! + If danger comes, I, with undaunted mien, + Its threats encounter with a smile serene. + + I always hated coward souls, + And meanness held in scorn. + _Now_, each unworthy act + At once through all my senses thrills; + Each instance vile of human worthlessness, + My soul with holy anger fills. + This arrogant, this foolish age, + Which feeds itself on empty hopes, + Absorbed in trifles, virtue's enemy, + Which idly clamors for utility, + And has not sense enough to see + How _useless_ all life thenceforth must become, + I feel _beneath_ me, and its judgments laugh + To scorn. The motley crew, + The foes of every lofty thought, + Who laugh at _thee_, I trample under foot. + + To that, which thee inspires, + What passion yieldeth not? + What other, save this one, + Controls our hearts' desires? + Ambition, avarice, disdain, and hate, + The love of power, love of fame, + What are they but an empty name, + Compared with it? And this, + The source, the spring of all, + That sovereign reigns within the breast, + Eternal laws have on our hearts impressed. + + Life hath no value, meaning hath, + Save but for thee, our only hope and stay; + The sole excuse for Fate, + That cruelly hath placed us here, + To undergo such useless misery; + For thee alone, the wise man, not the fool, + To life still fondly clings, + Nor calls on death to end his sufferings. + + Thy joys to gather, thou sweet thought, + Long years of sorrow I endure, + And bear of weary life the strain; + But not in vain! + And I would still return, + In spite of all my sad experience, + Towards such a goal, my course to recommence; + For through the sands, and through the viper-brood + Of this, our mortal wilderness, + My steps I ne'er so wearily have dragged + To thee, that all the danger and distress + Were not repaid by such pure happiness. + + O what a world, what new immensity, + What paradise is that, + To which, so oft, by thy stupendous charm + Impelled, I seem to soar! Where I + Beneath a brighter light am wandering, + And my poor earthly state, + And all life's bitter truths forget! + Such are, I ween, the dreams + Of the Immortals. Ah, what _but_ a dream, + Art thou, sweet thought, + The truth, that thus embellished? + A dream, an error manifest! + But of a nature, still divine, + An error brave and strong, + That will with truth the fight prolong, + And oft for truth doth compensate; + Nor leave us e'er, till summoned hence by Fate. + And surely thou, my thought, + Thou sole sustainer of my days, + The cause beloved of sorrows infinite, + In Death alone wilt be extinguished quite; + For by sure signs within my soul I feel + Thy sovereign sway, perpetual. + All other fancies sweet + The aspect of the truth + Hath weakened ever. But whene'er I turn + To gaze again on her, of whom with thee + To speak, is all I live for, ah, + That great delight increases still, + That frenzy fine, the breath of life, to me! + + Angelic beauty! Every lovely face, + On which I gaze, + A phantom seems to me, + That vainly strives to copy thee, + Of all the graces that our souls inthral, + Sole fount, divine original! + + Since first I thee beheld, + Of what most anxious care of mine, + Hast thou not been the end and aim? + What day has ever passed, what hour, + When I thought not of thee? What dream of mine + Has not been haunted by thy face divine? + Angelic countenance, that we + In dreams, alas, alone may see, + What else on earth, what in the universe, + Do I e'er ask, or hope for, more, + Than those dear eyes forever to behold? + Than thy sweet thought still in my heart to hold? + + + + +LOVE AND DEATH. + + + Children of Fate, in the same breath + Created were they, Love and Death. + Such fair creations ne'er were seen, + Or here below, or in the heaven serene. + The first, the source of happiness, + The fount whence flows the greatest bliss + That in the sea of being e'er is found; + The last each sorrow gently lulls, + Each harsh decree of Fate annuls. + Fair child with beauty crowned, + Sweet to behold, not such + As cowards paint her in their fright, + She in young Love's companionship + Doth often take delight, + As they o'er mortal paths together fly, + Chief comforters of every loyal heart. + Nor ever is the heart more wise + Than when Love smites it, nor defies + More scornfully life's misery, + And for no other lord + Will it all dangers face so readily. + When thou thy aid dost lend, + O Love, is courage born, or it revives; + And wise in deeds the race of man becomes, + And not, as it is prone, + In fruitless thought alone. + + And when first in our being's depth + This passion deep is born, + Though happy, we are still forlorn; + A languor strange doth o'er us steal; + A strange desire of death we feel. + I know not why, but such we ever prove + The first effect of true and potent love. + It may be, that this wilderness + Then first appals our sight; + And earth henceforth to us a dreary waste + Appears, without that new, supreme delight, + That in our thought is fondly traced; + And yet our hearts, foreboding, feel the storm + Within, that it may cause, the misery. + We long for rest, we long to flee, + Hoping some friendly haven may be found + Of refuge from the fierce desire, + That raging, roaring, darkens all around. + + And when this formidable power + Hath his whole soul possessed, + And raging care will give his heart no rest, + How many times implored + With most intense desire, + Art thou, O Death, by the poor wretch, forlorn! + How oft at eve, how oft at dawn, + His weary frame upon the couch he throws, + Too happy, if he never rose, + In hopeless conflict with his pain, + Nor e'er beheld the bitter light again! + And oft, at sound of funeral bell, + And solemn chant, that guides + Departed souls unto eternal rest, + With sighs most ardent from his inmost breast, + How hath he envied him, + Who with the dead has gone to dwell! + The very humblest of his kind, + The simple, rustic hind, who knows + No charm that knowledge gives; + The lowliest country lass that lives, + Who, at the very thought of death, + Doth feel her hair in horror rise, + Will calmly face its agonies, + Upon the terrors of the tomb will gaze + With fixed, undaunted look, + Will o'er the steel and poison brood, + In meditative mood, + And in her narrow mind, + The kindly charm of dying comprehend: + So much the discipline of Love + Hath unto Death all hearts inclined! + Full often when this inward woe + Such pass has reached as mortal strength + No longer can endure, + The feeble body yields at length, + To its fierce blows, and timely, then, + Benignant Death her friendly power doth show: + Or else Love drives her hapless victims so, + Alike the simple clown, + And tender country lass, + That on themselves their desperate hands they lay, + And so are borne unto the shades below. + The world but laughs at their distress, + Whom heaven with peace and length of days doth bless. + To fervid, happy, restless souls + May fate the one or other still concede, + Sweet sovereigns, friendly to our race, + Whose power, throughout the universe, + Such miracles hath wrought, + As naught resembles, nor can aught, + Save that of Fate itself, exceed. + And thou, whom from my earliest years, + Still honored I invoke, + O lovely Death! the only friend + Of sufferers in this vale of tears, + If I have ever sought + Thy princely state to vindicate + From the affronts of the ungrateful crowd, + Do not delay, incline thy ear + Unto thy weary suppliant here! + These sad eyes close forever to the light, + And let me rest in peace serene, + O thou, of all the ages Queen! + Me surely wilt thou find, whate'er the hour, + When thou thy wings unfoldest to my prayer, + With front erect, the cruel power + Defying still, of Fate; + Nor will I praise, in fulsome mood, + The scourging hand, that with my blood, + The blood of innocence, is stained. + Nor bless it, as the human race + Is wont, through custom old and base: + Each empty hope, with which the world + Itself and children would beguile, + I'll cast aside, each comfort false and vile; + In thee alone my hope I'll place, + Thou welcome minister of grace! + In that sole thought supremely blest, + That day, when my unconscious head + May on thy virgin bosom rest. + + + + +TO HIMSELF. + + + Nor wilt thou rest forever, weary heart. + The last illusion is destroyed, + That I eternal thought. Destroyed! + I feel all hope and all desire depart, + For life and its deceitful joys. + Forever rest! Enough! Thy throbbings cease! + Naught can requite thy miseries; + Nor is earth worthy of thy sighs. + Life is a bitter, weary load, + The world a slough. And now, repose! + Despair no more, but find in Death + The only boon Fate on our race bestows! + Still, Nature, art thou doomed to fall, + The victim scorned of that blind, brutal power + That rules and ruins all. + + + + +ASPASIA. + + + At times thy image to my mind returns, + Aspasia. In the crowded streets it gleams + Upon me, for an instant, as I pass, + In other faces; or in lonely fields, + At noon-tide bright, beneath the silent stars, + With sudden and with startling vividness, + As if awakened by sweet harmony, + The splendid vision rises in my soul. + How worshipped once, ye gods, what a delight + To me, what torture, too! Nor do I e'er + The odor of the flowery fields inhale, + Or perfume of the gardens of the town, + That I recall thee not, as on that day, + When in thy sumptuous rooms, so redolent + Of all the fragrant flowers of the spring, + Arrayed in robe of violet hue, thy form + Angelic I beheld, as it reclined + On dainty cushions languidly, and by + An atmosphere voluptuous surrounded; + When thou, a skilful Syren, didst imprint + Upon thy children's round and rosy lips + Resounding, fervent kisses, stretching forth + Thy neck of snow, and with thy lovely hand, + The little, unsuspecting innocents + Didst to thy hidden, tempting bosom press. + The earth, the heavens transfigured seemed to me, + A ray divine to penetrate my soul. + Then in my side, not unprotected quite, + Deep driven by thy hand, the shaft I bore, + Lamenting sore; and not to be removed, + Till twice the sun his annual round had made. + + A ray divine, O lady! to my thought + Thy beauty seemed. A like effect is oft + By beauty caused, and harmony, that seem + The mystery of Elysium to reveal. + The stricken mortal fondly worships, then, + His own ideal, creature of his mind, + Which of his heaven the greater part contains. + Alike in looks, in manners, and in speech, + The real and ideal seem to him, + In his confused and passion-guided soul. + But not the woman, but the dream it is, + That in his fond caresses, he adores. + At last his error finding, and the sad exchange, + He is enraged, and most unjustly, oft, + The woman chides. For rarely does the mind + Of woman to that high ideal rise; + And that which her own beauty oft inspires + In generous lovers, she imagines not, + Nor could she comprehend. Those narrow brows, + Cannot such great conceptions hold. The man, + Deceived, builds false hopes on those lustrous eyes, + And feelings deep, ineffable, nay, more + Than manly, vainly seeks in her, who is + By nature so inferior to man. + For as her limbs more soft and slender are, + So is her mind less capable and strong. + + Nor hast thou ever known, Aspasia, + Or couldst thou comprehend the thoughts that once + Thou didst inspire in me. Thou knowest not + What boundless love, what sufferings intense, + What ravings wild, what savage impulses, + Thou didst arouse in me; nor will the time + E'er come when thou could'st understand them. So, + Musicians, too, are often ignorant + Of the effects they with the hand and voice + Produce on him that listens. Dead is _that_ + Aspasia, that I so loved, aye, dead + Forever, who was once sole object of + My life; save as a phantom, ever dear, + That comes from time to time, and disappears. + Thou livest still, not only beautiful, + But in thy beauty still surpassing all; + But oh, the flame thou didst enkindle once, + Long since has been extinguished; _thee_, indeed, + I never loved, but that Divinity, + Once living, buried now within my heart. + Her, long time, I adored; and was so pleased + With her celestial beauty, that, although + I from the first thy nature knew full well, + And all thy artful and coquettish ways, + Yet _her_ fair eyes beholding still in _thine_, + I followed thee, delighted, while she lived; + Deceived? Ah, no! But by the pleasure led, + Of that sweet likeness, that allured me so, + A long and heavy servitude to bear. + + Now boast; thou can'st! Say, that to thee alone + Of all thy sex, my haughty head I bowed, + To thee alone, of my unconquered heart + An offering made. Say, that thou wast the first-- + And surely wast the last--that in my eye + A suppliant look beheld, and me before + Thee stand, timid and trembling (how I blush, + In saying it, with anger and with shame), + Of my own self deprived, thy every wish, + Thy every word submissively observing, + At every proud caprice becoming pale, + At every sign of favor brightening, + And changing color at each look of thine. + The charm is over, and, with it, the yoke + Lies broken, scattered on the ground; and I + Rejoice. 'Tis true my days are laden with + Ennui; yet after such long servitude, + And such infatuation, I am glad + My judgment, freedom to resume. For though + A life bereft of love's illusions sweet, + Is like a starless night, in winter's midst, + Yet some revenge, some comfort can I find + For my hard fate, that here upon the grass, + Outstretched in indolence I lie, and gaze + Upon the earth and sea and sky, and smile. + + + + +ON AN OLD SEPULCHRAL BAS-RELIEF. + +WHERE IS SEEN A YOUNG MAIDEN, DEAD, IN THE ACT OF DEPARTING, +TAKING LEAVE OF HER FAMILY. + + + Where goest thou? Who calls + Thee from my dear ones far away? + Most lovely maiden, say! + Alone, a wanderer, dost thou leave + Thy father's roof so soon? + Wilt thou unto its threshold e'er return? + Wilt thou make glad one day, + Those, who now round thee, weeping, mourn? + + Fearless thine eye, and spirited thy act; + And yet thou, too, art sad. + If pleasant or unpleasant be the road, + If gay or gloomy be the new abode, + To which thou journeyest, indeed, + In that grave face, how difficult to read! + Ah, hard to me the problem still hath seemed; + Not hath the world, perhaps, yet understood, + If thou beloved, or hated by the gods, + If happy, or unhappy shouldst be deemed. + + Death calls thee; in thy morn of life, + Its latest breath. Unto the nest + Thou leavest, thou wilt ne'er return; wilt ne'er + The faces of thy kindred more behold; + And under ground, + The place to which thou goest will be found; + And for all time will be thy sojourn there. + Happy, perhaps, thou art: but he must sigh + Who, thoughtful, contemplates thy destiny. + + Ne'er to have seen the light, e'en at the time, + I think; but, born, e'en at the time, + When regal beauty all her charms displays, + Alike in form and face, + And at her feet the admiring world + Its distant homage pays; + When every hope is in its flower, + Long, long ere dreary winter flash + His baleful gleams against the joyous brow; + Like vapor gathered in the summer cloud, + That melting in the evening sky is seen + To disappear, as if one ne'er had been; + And to exchange the brilliant days to come, + For the dark silence of the tomb; + The intellect, indeed, + May call this, happiness; but still + It may the stoutest breasts with pity fill. + + Thou mother, dreaded and deplored + From birth, by all the world that lives, + Nature, ungracious miracle, + That bringest forth and nourishest, to kill, + If death untimely be an evil thing, + Why on these innocent heads + Wilt thou that evil bring? + If good, why, why, + Beyond all other misery, + To him who goes, to him who must remain, + Hast thou such parting crowned with hopeless pain? + + Wretched, where'er we look, + Whichever way we turn, + Thy suffering children are! + Thee it hath pleased, that youthful hope + Should ever be by life beguiled; + The current of our years with woes be filled, + And death against all ills the only shield: + And this inevitable seal, + And this immutable decree, + Hast thou assigned to human destiny, + Why, after such a painful race, + Should not the goal, at least, + Present to us a cheerful face? + Why that, which we in constant view, + Must, while we live, forever bear, + Sole comfort in our hour of need, + Thus dress in weeds of woe, + And gird with shadows so, + And make the friendly port to us appear + More frightful than the tempest drear? + + If death, indeed, be a calamity, + Which thou intendest for us all, + Whom thou, against our knowledge and our will, + Hast forced to draw this mortal breath, + Then, surely, he who dies, + A lot more enviable hath + Then he who feels his loved one's death. + But, if the truth it be, + As I most firmly think, + That life is the calamity, + And death the boon, alas! who ever _could_, + What yet he _should_, + Desire the dying day of those so dear, + That he may linger here, + Of his best self deprived, + May see across his threshold borne, + The form beloved of her, + With whom so many years he lived, + And say to her farewell, + Without the hope of meeting here again; + And then alone on earth to dwell, + And, looking round, the hours and places all, + Of lost companionship recall? + + Ah, Nature! how, how _couldst_ thou have the heart, + From the friend's arms the friend to tear, + The brother from the brother part, + The father from the child, + The lover from his love, + And, killing one, the other keep alive? + What dire necessity + Compels such misery + That lover should the loved one e'er survive? + But Nature in her cruel dealings still, + Pays little heed unto our good or ill. + + + + +ON THE PORTRAIT OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, +CARVED ON HER MONUMENT. + + + Such _wast_ thou: now in earth below, + Dust and a skeleton thou art. + Above thy bones and clay, + Here vainly placed by loving hands, + Sole guardian of memory and woe, + The image of departed beauty stands. + Mute, motionless, it seems with pensive gaze + To watch the flight of the departing days. + That gentle look, that, wheresoe'er it fell, + As now it seems to fall, + Held fast the gazer with its magic spell; + That lip, from which as from some copious urn, + Redundant pleasure seems to overflow; + That neck, on which love once so fondly hung; + That loving hand, whose tender pressure still + The hand it clasped, with trembling joy would thrill; + That bosom, whose transparent loveliness + The color from the gazer's cheek would steal; + All these _have been_; and now remains alone + A wretched heap of bones and clay, + Concealed from sight by this benignant stone. + + To this hath Fate reduced + The form, that, when with life it beamed, + To us heaven's liveliest image seemed. + O Nature's endless mystery! + To-day, of grand and lofty thoughts the source, + And feelings not to be described, + Beauty rules all, and seems, + Like some mysterious splendor from on high + Forth-darted to illuminate + This dreary wilderness; + Of superhuman fate, + Of fortunate realms, and golden worlds, + A token, and a hope secure + To give our mortal state; + To-morrow, for some trivial cause, + Loathsome to sight, abominable, base + Becomes, what but a little time before + Wore such an angel face; + And from our minds, in the same breath, + The grand conception it inspired, + Swift vanishes and leaves no trace. + What infinite desires, + What visions grand and high, + In our exalted thought, + With magic power creates, true harmony! + O'er a delicious and mysterious sea, + The exulting spirit glides, + As some bold swimmer sports in Ocean's tides: + But oh, the mischief that is wrought, + If but one accent out of tune + Assaults the ear! Alas, how soon + Our paradise is turned to naught! + + O human nature, why is this? + If frail and vile throughout, + If shadow, dust thou art, say, why + Hast thou such fancies, aspirations high? + And yet, if framed for nobler ends, + Alas, why are we doomed + To see our highest motives, truest thoughts, + By such base causes kindled, and consumed? + + + + +PALINODIA. + +TO THE MARQUIS GINO CAPPONI. + + + I was mistaken, my dear Gino. Long + And greatly have I erred. I fancied life + A vain and wretched thing, and this, our age, + Now passing, vainest, silliest of all. + Intolerable seemed, and _was_, such talk + Unto the happy race of mortals, if, + Indeed, man ought or could be mortal called. + 'Twixt anger and surprise, the lofty creatures laughed + Forth from the fragrant Eden where they dwell; + Neglected, or unfortunate, they called me; + Of joy incapable, or ignorant, + To think my lot the common lot of all, + Mankind, the partner in my misery. + At length, amid the odor of cigars, + The crackling sound of dainty pastry, and + The orders loud for ices and for drinks, + 'Midst clinking glasses, and 'midst brandished spoons, + The daily light of the gazettes flashed full + On my dim eyes. I saw and recognized + The public joy, and the felicity + Of human destiny. The lofty state + I saw, and value of all human things; + Our mortal pathway strewed with flowers; I saw + How naught displeasing here below endures. + Nor less I saw the studies and the works + Stupendous, wisdom, virtue, knowledge deep + Of this our age. From far Morocco to + Cathay, and from the Poles unto the Nile, + From Boston unto Goa, on the track + Of flying Fortune, emulously panting, + The empires, kingdoms, dukedoms of the earth + I saw, now clinging to her waving locks, + Now to the end of her encircling boa. + Beholding this, and o'er the ample sheets + Profoundly meditating, I became + Of my sad blunder, and myself, ashamed. + + The age of gold the spindles of the Fates, + O Gino, are evolving. Every sheet, + In each variety of speech and type, + The splendid promise to the world proclaims, + From every quarter. Universal love, + And iron roads, and commerce manifold, + Steam, types, and cholera, remotest lands, + Most distant nations will together bind; + Nor need we wonder if the pine or oak + Yield milk and honey, or together dance + Unto the music of the waltz. So much + The force already hath increased, both of + Alembics, and retorts, and of machines, + That vie with heaven in working miracles, + And will increase, in times that are to come: + For, evermore, from better unto best, + Without a pause, as in the past, the race + Of Shem, and Ham, and Japhet will progress. + + And yet, on acorns men will never feed, + Unless compelled by hunger; never will + Hard iron lay aside. Full oft, indeed, + They gold and silver will despise, bills of + Exchange preferring. Often, too, the race + Its generous hands with brothers' blood will stain, + With fields of carnage filling Europe, and + The other shore of the Atlantic sea, + The new world, that the old still nourishes, + As often as it sends its rival bands + Of armed adventurers, in eager quest + Of pepper, cinnamon, or other spice, + Or sugar-cane, aught that ministers + Unto the universal thirst for gold. + True worth and virtue, modesty and faith, + And love of justice, in whatever land, + From public business will be still estranged, + Or utterly humiliated and + O'erthrown; condemned by Nature still, + To sink unto the bottom. Insolence + And fraud, with mediocrity combined, + Will to the surface ever rise, and reign. + Authority and strength, howe'er diffused, + However concentrated, will be still + Abused, beneath whatever name concealed, + By him who wields them; this the law by Fate + And nature written first, in adamant: + Nor can a Volta with his lightnings, nor + A Davy cancel it, nor England with + Her vast machinery, nor this our age + With all its floods of Leading Articles. + The good man ever will be sad, the wretch + Will keep perpetual holiday; against + All lofty souls both worlds will still be armed + Conspirators; true honor be assailed + By calumny, and hate, and envy; still + The weak will be the victim of the strong; + The hungry man upon the rich will fawn, + Beneath whatever form of government, + Alike at the Equator and the Poles; + So will it be, while man on earth abides, + And while the sun still lights him on his way. + + These signs and tokens of the ages past + Must of necessity their impress leave + Upon our brightly dawning age of gold: + Because society from Nature still + Receives a thousand principles and aims, + Diverse, discordant; which to reconcile, + No wit or power of man hath yet availed, + Since first our race, illustrious, was born; + Nor _will_ avail, or treaty or gazette, + In any age, however wise or strong. + But in things more important, how complete, + Ne'er seen, till now, will be our happiness! + More soft, from day to day, our garments will + Become, of woollen or of silk. Their rough + Attire the husbandman and smith will cast + Aside, will swathe in cotton their rough hides, + And with the skins of beavers warm their backs. + More serviceable, more attractive, too, + Will be our carpets and our counterpanes, + Our curtains, sofas, tables, and our chairs; + Our beds, and their attendant furniture, + Will a new grace unto our chambers lend; + And dainty forms of kettles and of pans, + On our dark kitchens will their lustre shed. + From Paris unto Calais, and from there + To London, and from there to Liverpool, + More rapid than imagination can + Conceive, will be the journey, nay the flight; + While underneath the ample bed of Thames, + A highway will be made, immortal work, + That _should_ have been completed, years ago. + Far better lighted, and perhaps as safe, + At night, as now they are, will be the lanes + And unfrequented streets of Capitals; + Perhaps, the main streets of the smaller towns. + Such privileges, such a happy lot, + Kind heaven reserves unto the coming race. + + How fortunate are they, whom, as I write, + Naked and whimpering, in her arms receives + The midwife! They those longed-for days may hope + To see, when, after careful studies we + Shall know, and every nursling shall imbibe + That knowledge with the milk of the dear nurse, + How many hundred-weight of salt, and how + Much flesh, how many bushels, too, of flour, + His native town in every month consumes; + How many births and deaths in every year + The parish priest inscribes: when by the aid + Of mighty steam, that, every second, prints + Its millions, hill and dale, and ocean's vast + Expanse, e'en as we see a flock of cranes + Aerial, that suddenly the day obscure, will with Gazettes be overrun; + Gazettes, of the great Universe the life + And soul, sole fount of wisdom and of wit, + To this, and unto every coming age! + + E'en as a child, who carefully constructs, + Of little sticks and leaves, an edifice, + In form of temple, palace, or of tower; + And, soon as he beholds the work complete, + The impulse feels, the structure to destroy, + Because the self-same sticks and leaves he needs, + To carry out some other enterprise; + So Nature every work of hers, however + It may delight us with its excellence, + No sooner sees unto perfection brought, + Than she proceeds to pull it all to pieces, + For other structures using still the parts. + And vainly seeks the human race, itself + Or others from the cruel sport to save, + The cause of which is hidden from its sight + Forever, though a thousand means it tries, + With skilful hand devising remedies: + For cruel Nature, child invincible, + Our efforts laughs to scorn, and still its own + Caprices carries out, without a pause, + Destroying and creating, for its sport. + And hence, a various, endless family + Of ills incurable and sufferings + Oppresses the frail mortal, doomed to death + Irreparably; hence a hostile force, + Destructive, smites him from within, without, + On every side, perpetual, e'en from + The day of birth, and wearies and exhausts, + Itself untiring, till he drops at last, + By the inhuman mother crushed, and killed. + Those crowning miseries, O gentle friend, + Of this our mortal life, old age and death, + E'en then commencing, when the infant lip + The tender breast doth press, that life instils, + This happy nineteenth century, I think, + Can no more help, than could the ninth, or tenth, + Nor will the coming ages, more than this. + Indeed, if we may be allowed to call + The truth by its right name, no other than + Supremely wretched must each mortal be, + In every age, and under every form + Of government, and walk and mode of life; + By nature hopelessly incurable, + Because a universal law hath so + Decreed, which heaven and earth alike obey. + And yet the lofty spirits of our age + A new discovery have made, almost + Divine; for, though they cannot make + A single person happy on the earth, + The man forgetting, they have gone in quest + Of universal happiness, and this, + Forsooth, have found so easily, that out + Of many wretched individuals, + They can a happy, joyful people make. + And at this miracle, not yet explained + By quarterly reviews, or pamphlets, or + Gazettes, the common herd in wonder smile. + + O minds, O wisdom, insight marvellous + Of this our passing age! And what profound + Philosophy, what lessons deep, O Gino, + In matters more sublime and recondite, + This century of thine and mine will teach + To those that follow! With what constancy, + What yesterday it scorned, upon its knees + To-day it worships, and will overthrow + To-morrow, merely to pick up again + The fragments, to the idol thus restored, + To offer incense on the following day! + How estimable, how inspiring, too, + This unanimity of thought, not of + The age alone, but of each passing year! + How carefully should we, when we our thought + With this compare, however different + From that of next year it may be, at least + Appearance of diversity avoid! + What giant strides, compared with those of old, + Our century in wisdom's school has made! + + One of thy friends, O worthy Gino, once, + A master poet, nay, of every Art, + And Science, every human faculty, + For past, and present, and for future times, + A learned expositor, remarked to me: + "Of thy own feelings, care to speak no more! + Of them, this manly age makes no account, + In economic problems quite absorbed, + And with an eye for politics alone, + Of what avail, thy own heart to explore? + Seek not within thyself material + For song; but sing the needs of this our age, + And consummation of its ripening hope!" + O memorable words! Whereat I laughed + Like chanticleer, the name of _hope_ to hear + Thus strike upon my ear profane, as if + A jest it were, or prattle of a child + Just weaned. But now a different course I take, + Convinced by many shining proofs, that he + Must not resist or contradict the age, + Who seeketh praise or pudding at its hands, + But faithfully and servilely obey; + And so will find a short and easy road + Unto the stars. And I who long to reach + The stars will not, howe'er, select the needs + Of this our age for burden of my song; + For these, increasing constantly, are still + By merchants and by work-shops amply met; + But I will sing of hope, of hope whereof + The gods now grant a pledge so palpable. + The first-fruits of our new felicity + Behold, in the enormous growth of hair, + Upon the lip, upon the cheek, of youth! + + O hail, thou salutary sign, first beam + Of light of this our wondrous, rising age! + See, how before thee heaven and earth rejoice, + How sparkle all the damsels' eyes with joy, + How through all banquets and all festivals + The fame of the young bearded heroes flies! + Grow for your country's sake, ye manly youth! + Beneath the shadow of your fleecy locks, + Will Italy increase, and Europe from + The mouths of Tagus to the Hellespont, + And all the world will taste the sweets of peace. + And thou, O tender child, for whom these days + Of gold are yet in store, begin to greet + Thy bearded father with a smile, nor fear + The harmless blackness of his loving face. + Laugh, darling child; for thee are kept the fruits + Of so much dazzling eloquence. Thou shalt + Behold joy reign in cities and in towns, + Old age and youth alike contented dwell, + And undulating beards of two spans long! + + + + +THE SETTING OF THE MOON. + + + As, in the lonely night, + Above the silvered fields and streams + Where zephyr gently blows, + And myriad objects vague, + Illusions, that deceive, + Their distant shadows weave + Amid the silent rills, + The trees, the hedges, villages, and hills; + Arrived at heaven's boundary, + Behind the Apennine or Alp, + Or into the deep bosom of the sea, + The moon descends, the world grows dim; + The shadows disappear, darkness profound + Falls on each hill and vale around, + And night is desolate, + And singing, with his plaintive lay, + The parting gleam of friendly light + The traveller greets, whose radiance bright, + Till now, hath guided him upon his way; + + So vanishes, so desolate + Youth leaves our mortal state. + The shadows disappear, + And the illusions dear; + And in the distance fading all, are seen + The hopes on which our suffering natures lean. + Abandoned and forlorn + Our lives remain; + And the bewildered traveller, in vain, + As he its course surveys, + To find the end, or object tries, + Of the long path that still before him lies. + A hopeless darkness o'er him steals; + Himself an alien on the earth he feels. + + Too happy, and too gay + Would our hard lot appear + To those who placed us here, if youth, + Whose every joy is born of pain, + Through all our days were suffered to remain; + Too merciful the law, + That sentences each animal to death, + Did not the road that leads to it, + E'er half-completed, unto us appear + Than death itself more sad and drear. + Thou blest invention of the Gods, + And worthy of their intellects divine, + Old age, the last of all our ills, + When our desires still linger on, + Though every ray of hope is gone; + When pleasure's fountains all are dried, + Our pains increasing, every joy denied! + + Ye hills, and vales, and fields, + Though in the west hath set the radiant orb + That shed its lustre on the veil of night, + Will not long time remain bereft, + In hopeless darkness left? + Ye soon will see the eastern sky + Grow white again, the dawn arise, + Precursor of the sun, + Who with the splendor of his rays + Will all the scene irradiate, + And with his floods of light + The fields of heaven and earth will inundate. + But mortal life, + When lovely youth has gone, + Is colored with no other light, + And knows no other dawn. + The rest is hopeless wretchedness and gloom; + The journey's end, the dark and silent tomb. + + + + +THE GINESTRA, + +OR THE FLOWER OF THE WILDERNESS. + + + Here, on the arid ridge + Of dead Vesuvius, + Exterminator terrible, + That by no other tree or flower is cheered, + Thou scatterest thy lonely leaves around, + O fragrant flower, + With desert wastes content. Thy graceful stems + I in the solitary paths have found, + The city that surround, + That once was mistress of the world; + And of her fallen power, + They seemed with silent eloquence to speak + Unto the thoughtful wanderer. + And now again I see thee on this soil, + Of wretched, world-abandoned spots the friend, + Of ruined fortunes the companion, still. + These fields with barren ashes strown, + And lava, hardened into stone, + Beneath the pilgrim's feet, that hollow sound, + Where by their nests the serpents coiled, + Lie basking in the sun, + And where the conies timidly + To their familiar burrows run, + Were cheerful villages and towns, + With waving fields of golden grain, + And musical with lowing herds; + Were gardens, and were palaces, + That to the leisure of the rich + A grateful shelter gave; + Were famous cities, which the mountain fierce, + Forth-darting torrents from his mouth of flame, + Destroyed, with their inhabitants. + Now all around, one ruin lies, + Where thou dost dwell, O gentle flower, + And, as in pity of another's woe, + A perfume sweet thou dost exhale, + To heaven an offering, + And consolation to the desert bring. + Here let him come, who hath been used + To chant the praises of our mortal state, + And see the care, + That loving Nature of her children takes! + Here may he justly estimate + The power of mortals, whom + The cruel nurse, when least they fear, + With motion light can in a moment crush + In part, and afterwards, when in the mood, + With motion not so light, can suddenly, + And utterly annihilate. + Here, on these blighted coasts, + May he distinctly trace + "The princely progress of the human race!" + + Here look, and in a mirror see thyself, + O proud and foolish age! + That turn'st thy back upon the path, + That thought revived + So clearly indicates to all, + And this, thy movement retrograde, + Dost _Progress_ call. + Thy foolish prattle all the minds, + Whose cruel fate thee for a father gave, + Besmear with flattery, + Although, among themselves, at times, + They laugh at thee. + But I will not to such low arts descend, + Though envy it would be for me, + The rest to imitate, + And, raving, wilfully, + To make my song more pleasing to thy ears: + But I will sooner far reveal, + As clearly as I can, the deep disdain + That I for thee within my bosom feel; + Although I know, oblivion + Awaits the man who holds his age in scorn: + But this misfortune, which I share with thee, + My laughter only moves. + Thou dream'st of liberty, + And yet thou wouldst anew that thought enslave, + By which alone we are redeemed, in part, + From barbarism; by which alone + True progress is obtained, + And states are guided to a nobler end. + And so the truth of our hard lot, + And of the humble place + Which Nature gave us, pleased thee not; + And like a coward, thou hast turned thy back + Upon the light, which made it evident; + Reviling him who does that light pursue, + And praising him alone + Who, in his folly, or from motives base, + Above the stars exalts the human race. + + A man of poor estate, and weak of limb, + But of a generous, truthful soul, + Nor calls, nor deems himself + A Croesus, or a Hercules, + Nor makes himself ridiculous + Before the world with vain pretence + Of vigor or of opulence; + But his infirmities and needs + He lets appear, and without shame, + And speaking frankly, calls each thing + By its right name. + I deem not _him_ magnanimous, + But simply, a great fool, + Who, born to perish, reared in suffering, + Proclaims his lot a happy one, + And with offensive pride + His pages fills, exalted destinies + And joys, unknown in heaven, much less + On earth, absurdly promising to those + Who by a wave of angry sea, + Or breath of tainted air, + Or shaking of the earth beneath, + Are ruined, crushed so utterly, + As scarce to be recalled by memory. + But truly noble, wise is _he_, + Who bids his brethren boldly look + Upon our common misery; + Who frankly tells the naked truth, + Acknowledging our frail and wretched state, + And all the ills decreed to us by Fate; + Who shows himself in suffering brave and strong, + Nor adds unto his miseries + Fraternal jealousies and strifes, + The hardest things to bear of all, + Reproaching man with his own grief, + But the true culprit + Who, in our birth, a mother is, + A fierce step-mother in her will. + _Her_ he proclaims the enemy, + And thinking all the human race + Against her armed, as is the case, + E'en from the first, united and arrayed, + All men esteems confederates, + And with true love embraces all, + Prompt and efficient aid bestowing, and + Expecting it, in all the pains + And perils of the common war. + And to resent with arms all injuries, + Or snares and pit-falls for a neighbor lay, + Absurd he deems, as it would be, upon + The field, surrounded by the enemy, + The foe forgetting, bitter war + With one's own friends to wage, + And in the hottest of the fight, + With cruel and misguided sword, + One's fellow soldiers put to flight. + When truths like these are rendered clear, + As once they were, unto the multitude, + And when that fear, which from the first, + All mortals in a social band + Against inhuman Nature joined + Anew shall guided be, in part, + By knowledge true, then social intercourse, + And faith, and hope, and charity + Will a far different foundation have + From that which silly fables give, + By which supported, public truth and good + Must still proceed with an unstable foot, + As all things that in error have their root. + Oft, on these hills, so desolate, + Which by the hardened flood, + That seems in waves to rise, + Are clad in mourning, do I sit at night, + And o'er the dreary plain behold + The stars above in purest azure shine, + And in the ocean mirrored from afar, + And all the world in brilliant sparks arrayed, + Revolving through the vault serene. + And when my eyes I fasten on those lights, + Which seem to them a point, + And yet are so immense, + That earth and sea, with them compared, + Are but a point indeed; + To whom, not only man, + But this our globe, where man is nothing, is + Unknown; and when I farther gaze upon + Those clustered stars, at distance infinite, + That seem to us like mist, to whom + Not only man and earth, but all our stars + At once, so vast in numbers and in bulk, + The golden sun himself included, are + Unknown, or else appear, as they to earth, + A point of nebulous light, what, then, + Dost _thou_ unto my thought appear, + O race of men? + Remembering thy wretched state below, + Of which the soil I tread, the token bears; + And, on the other hand, + That thou thyself hast deemed + The Lord and end of all the Universe; + How oft thou hast been pleased + The idle tale to tell, + That to this little grain of sand, obscure, + The name of earth that bears, + The Authors of that Universe + Have, at thy call, descended oft, + And pleasant converse with thy children had; + And how, these foolish dreams reviving, e'en + This age its insults heaps upon the wise, + Although it seems all others to excel + In learning, and in arts polite; + What can I think of thee + Thou wretched race of men? + What thoughts discordant then my heart assail, + In doubt, if scorn or pity should prevail! + + As a small apple, falling from a tree + In autumn, by the force + Of its own ripeness, to the ground, + The pleasant homes of a community + Of ants, in the soft clod + With careful labor built, + And all their works, and all the wealth, + Which the industrious citizens + Had in the summer providently stored, + Lays waste, destroys, and in an instant hides; + So, falling from on high, + To heaven forth-darted from + The mountain's groaning womb, + A dark destructive mass + Of ashes, pumice, and of stones, + With boiling streams of lava mixed, + Or, down the mountain's side + Descending, furious, o'er the grass, + A fearful flood + Of melted metals, mixed with burning sand, + Laid waste, destroyed, and in short time concealed + The cities on yon shore, washed by the sea, + Where now the goats + On this side browse, and cities new + Upon the other stand, whose foot-stools are + The buried ones, whose prostrate walls + The lofty mountain tramples under foot. + Nature no more esteems or cares for man, + Than for the ant; and if the race + Is not so oft destroyed, + The reason we may plainly see; + Because the ants more fruitful are than we. + Full eighteen hundred years have passed, + Since, by the force of fire laid waste, + These thriving cities disappeared; + And now, the husbandman, + His vineyards tending, that the arid clod, + With ashes clogged, with difficulty feeds, + Still raises a suspicious eye + Unto that fatal crest, + That, with a fierceness not to be controlled, + Still stands tremendous, threatens still + Destruction to himself, his children, and + Their little property. + And oft upon the roof + Of his small cottage, the poor man + All night lies sleepless, often springing up, + The course to watch of the dread stream of fire + That from the inexhausted womb doth pour + Along the sandy ridge, + Its lurid light reflected in the bay, + From Mergellina unto Capri's shore. + And if he sees it drawing near, + Or in his well + He hears the boiling water gurgle, wakes + His sons, in haste his wife awakes, + And, with such things as they can snatch, + Escaping, sees from far + His little nest, and the small field, + His sole resource against sharp hunger's pangs, + A prey unto the burning flood, + That crackling comes, and with its hardening crust, + Inexorable, covers all. + Unto the light of day returns, + After its long oblivion, + Pompeii, dead, an unearthed skeleton, + Which avarice or piety + Hath from its grave unto the air restored; + And from its forum desolate, + And through the formal rows + Of mutilated colonnades, + The stranger looks upon the distant, severed peaks, + And on the smoking crest, + That threatens still the ruins scattered round. + And in the horror of the secret night, + Along the empty theatres, + The broken temples, shattered houses, where + The bat her young conceals, + Like flitting torch, that smoking sheds + A gloom through the deserted halls + Of palaces, the baleful lava glides, + That through the shadows, distant, glares, + And tinges every object round. + Thus, paying unto man no heed, + Or to the ages that he calls antique, + Or to the generations as they pass, + Nature forever young remains, + Or at a pace so slow proceeds, + She stationary seems. + Empires, meanwhile, decline and fall, + And nations pass away, and languages: + She sees it not, or _will_ not see; + And yet man boasts of immortality! + + And thou, submissive flower, + That with thy fragrant foliage dost adorn + These desolated plains, + Thou, too, must fall before the cruel power + Of subterranean fire, + Which, to its well-known haunts returning, will + Its fatal border spread + O'er thy soft leaves and branches fine. + And thou wilt bow thy gentle head, + Without a struggle, yielding to thy fate: + But not with vain and abject cowardice, + Wilt thy destroyer supplicate; + Nor wilt, erect with senseless haughtiness, + Look up unto the stars, + Or o'er the wilderness, + Where, not from choice, but Fortune's will, + Thy birthplace thou, and home didst find; + But wiser, far, than man, + And far less weak; + For thou didst ne'er, from Fate, or power of thine, + Immortal life for thy frail children seek. + + + + +IMITATION. + + + Wandering from the parent bough, + Little, trembling leaf, + Whither goest thou? + "From the beech, where I was born, + By the north wind was I torn. + Him I follow in his flight, + Over mountain, over vale, + From the forest to the plain, + Up the hill, and down again. + With him ever on the way: + More than that, I cannot say. + Where I go, must all things go, + Gentle, simple, high and low: + Leaves of laurel, leaves of rose; + Whither, heaven only knows!" + + + + +SCHERZO. + + + When, as a boy, I went + To study in the Muses' school, + One of them came to me, and took + Me by the hand, and all that day, + She through the work-shop led me graciously, + The mysteries of the craft to see. + She guided me + Through every part, + And showed me all + The instruments of art, + And did their uses all rehearse, + In works alike of prose and verse. + I looked, and paused awhile, + Then asked: "O Muse, where is the file?" + "The file is out of order, friend, and we + Now do without it," answered she. + "But, to repair it, then, have you no care?" + "We _should_, indeed, but have no time to spare." + + + + +FRAGMENTS. + + +I. + + I round the threshold wandering here, + Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke, + That they may keep my lady prisoner. + + And yet the wind was howling in the woods, + The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds, + Before the dawn had risen in the sky. + + O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees! + My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth + Unhappy lovers ever mercy find! + + Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake, + O'erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun + To other lands brings back the light of day! + + Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves + Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun + In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines. + + +II. + + The light of day was fading in the west, + The smoke no more from village chimneys curled, + Nor voice of man, nor bark of dog was heard; + + When she, obedient to Love's rendezvous, + Had reached the middle of a plain, than which + No other more bewitching could be found. + + The moon on every side her lustre shed, + And all in robes of silver light arrayed + The trees with which the place was garlanded. + + The rustling boughs were murmuring to the wind, + And, blending with the plaintive nightingale, + A rivulet poured forth its sweet lament. + + The sea shone in the distance, and the fields + And groves; and slowly rising, one by one, + The summits of the mountains were revealed. + + In quiet shade the sombre valley lay, + While all the little hills around were clothed + With the soft lustre of the dewy moon. + + The maiden kept the silent, lonely path, + And gently passing o'er her face, she felt + The motion of the perfume-laden breeze. + + If she were happy, it were vain to ask; + The scene delighted her, and the delight + Her heart was promising, was greater still. + + How swift your flight, O lovely hours serene! + No other pleasure here below endures, + Or lingers with us long, save hope alone. + + The night began to change, and dark became + The face of heaven, that was so beautiful, + And all her pleasure now was turned to fear. + + An angry cloud, precursor of the storm, + Behind the mountains rose, and still increased, + Till moon or star no longer could be seen. + + She saw it spreading upon every side, + And by degrees ascending through the air, + And now with its black mantle covering all. + + The scanty light more faint and faint became; + The wind, meanwhile, was rising in the grove, + That on the farther side the spot enclosed; + + And, every moment, was more boisterous; + Till every bird, awaking in its fright, + Amidst the trembling leaves was fluttering. + + The cloud, increasing still, unto the coast + Descended, so that one extremity + The mountains touched, the other touched the sea. + + And now from out its black and hollow womb, + The pattering rain-drops, falling fast, were heard, + The sound increasing as the cloud drew near. + + And round her now the glancing lightning flashed + In fearful mood, and made her shut her eyes; + The ground was black, the air a mass of flame. + + Her trembling knees could scarce her weight sustain; + The thunder roared with a continuous sound, + Like torrent, plunging headlong from the cliff. + + At times she paused, the dismal scene to view, + In blank dismay; then on she ran again, + Her hair and clothes all streaming in the wind. + + The cruel wind beat hard against her breast, + And rushing fiercely, with its angry breath, + The cold drops dashed, remorseless, in her face. + + The thunder, like a beast, assaulted her, + With terrible, unintermitting roar; + And more and more the rain and tempest raged. + + And from all sides in wild confusion flew + The dust and leaves, the branches and the stones, + With hideous tumult, inconceivable. + + Her weary, blinded eyes now covering, + And folding close her clothes against her breast, + She through the storm her fearful path pursued. + + But now the lightning glared so in her face, + That, overcome by fright at last, she went + No farther, and her heart within her sank; + + And back she turned. And, even as she turned, + The lightning ceased to flash, the air was dark, + The thunder's voice was hushed, the wind stood still, + And all was silent round, and she,--at rest! + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Giacomo Leopardi, by Giacomo Leopardi + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF GIACOMO LEOPARDI *** + +***** This file should be named 19315.txt or 19315.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/3/1/19315/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Daniel Emerson +Griffith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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