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diff --git a/39496.txt b/39496.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9b63de1 --- /dev/null +++ b/39496.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4146 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems on Travel, by Various + +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/license + + +Title: Poems on Travel + +Author: Various + +Release Date: April 21, 2012 [EBook #39496] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ON TRAVEL *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +OXFORD GARLANDS + +POEMS ON TRAVEL + +SELECTED BY + +R. M. LEONARD + + + How much a dunce that has been sent to roam + Excels a dunce that has been kept at home. + COWPER. + + +HUMPHREY MILFORD +OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS +LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW NEW YORK +TORONTO MELBOURNE BOMBAY +1914 + + +OXFORD: HORACE HART + +PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY + + + + +INDEX OF AUTHORS + + + ARNOLD, MATTHEW (1822-88), 12, 13, 35, 38, 79, 95 + BLUNT, WILFRID SCAWEN (b. 1840), 78 + BRIDGES, ROBERT (b. 1844), 11 + BROWNING, ROBERT (1812-89), 49, 77, 91 + BUTLER, ARTHUR GREY (1831-1909), 29 + BYRON, GEORGE GORDON, + LORD (1788-1824), 25, 47, 53, 56, 60, 80, 87, 88, 96 + CALVERLEY, CHARLES STUART (1831-84), 99 + CLEVELAND, JOHN (1613-58), 121 + CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH (1819-61), 7, 18, 23, 48, 55, 64 + COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR (1772-1834), 14, 98 + COWPER, WILLIAM (1731-1800), 118 + FABER, FREDERICK WILLIAM (1814-63), 107 + GODLEY, ALFRED DENIS (b. 1856), 26 + GOLDSMITH, OLIVER (1728-74), 8 + HARDY, THOMAS (b. 1840), 31, 62 + HOOD, THOMAS (1799-1845), 97, 99, 116 + KEATS, JOHN (1795-1821), 39 + LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE (1775-1864), 46, 74, 89 + LOCKER-LAMPSON, FREDERICK (1821-95), 56 + LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH (1807-82), 5, 44, 69, 103, 108 + MANGAN, JAMES CLARENCE (1803-49), 120 + MARVELL, ANDREW (1621-78), 113 + NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY (1801-90), 75, 76 + PHILLIMORE, JOHN SWINNERTON (b. 1873), 73 + PRIOR, MATTHEW (1664-1721,) 114 + RODD, SIR RENNELL (b. 1858), 83, 85 + ROGERS, SAMUEL (1763-1855), 51, 66 + ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL (1828-82), 112 + SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE (1792-1822), 52, 86 + STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS (1850-94), 121 + SYMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON (1840-93), 38 + TENNYSON, ALFRED, LORD (1809-92), 7, 20, 21, 22, 40, 81 + TRENCH, RICHARD CHENEVIX (1807-86), 68, 77 + WATTS-DUNTON, THEODORE (1832-1914), 32, 33 + WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM (1770-1850), 9, 10, 34, 62, 65, 108 + + + + +POEMS ON TRAVEL + + +TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE + + The ceaseless rain is falling fast, + And yonder gilded vane, + Immovable for three days past, + Points to the misty main. + + It drives me in upon myself 5 + And to the fireside gleams, + To pleasant books that crowd my shelf, + And still more pleasant dreams. + + I read whatever bards have sung + Of lands beyond the sea, 10 + And the bright days when I was young + Come thronging back to me. + + In fancy I can hear again + The Alpine torrent's roar, + The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, 15 + The sea at Elsinore. + + I see the convent's gleaming wall + Rise from its groves of pine, + And towers of old cathedrals tall, + And castles by the Rhine. 20 + + I journey on by park and spire, + Beneath centennial trees, + Through fields with poppies all on fire, + And gleams of distant seas. + + I fear no more the dust and heat, 25 + No more I fear fatigue, + While journeying with another's feet + O'er many a lengthening league. + + Let others traverse sea and land, + And toil through various climes, 30 + I turn the world round with my hand + Reading these poets' rhymes. + + From them I learn whatever lies + Beneath each changing zone, + And see, when looking with their eyes, 35 + Better than with mine own. + + H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + +FANCIES FOR MEMORIES + + Over the great windy waters, and over the clear-crested summits, + Unto the sun and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth, + Come, let us go,--to a land wherein gods of the old time wandered, + Where every breath even now changes to ether divine. + Come, let us go; though withal a voice whisper, 'The world + that we live in, 5 + Whithersoever we turn, still is the same narrow crib; + 'Tis but to prove limitation, and measure a cord, that we travel; + Let who would 'scape and be free go to his chamber and think; + 'Tis but to change idle fancies for memories wilfully falser; + 'Tis but to go and have been.'--Come, little bark! let us go. 10 + + A. H. CLOUGH. + + +THE CRY OF ULYSSES + + I cannot rest from travel: I will drink + Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed + Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those + That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when + Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 5 + Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name; + For always roaming with a hungry heart + Much have I seen and known; cities of men, + And manners, climates, councils, governments, + Myself not least, but honoured of them all; 10 + And drunk delight of battle with my peers, + Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. + I am a part of all that I have met; + Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough + Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades + For ever and for ever when I move. 16 + + LORD TENNYSON. + + +THE TRAVELLER + + Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, + Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po; + Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor + Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; + Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 5 + A weary waste expanding to the skies: + Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, + My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee; + Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, + And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 10 + In all my wanderings round this world of care, + In all my griefs--and God has given my share-- + still had hopes my latest hours to crown, + Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; + To husband out life's taper at the close, 15 + And keep the flame from wasting by repose. + I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, + Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, + Around my fire an evening group to draw, + And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; 20 + And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, + Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, + I still had hopes, my long vexations passed, + Here to return--and die at home at last. + + O. GOLDSMITH. + + +I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN + + I travelled among unknown men, + In lands beyond the sea; + Nor, England! did I know till then + What love I bore to thee. + + 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! 5 + Nor will I quit thy shore + A second time; for still I seem + To love thee more and more. + + Among thy mountains did I feel + The joy of my desire; 10 + And she I cherished turned her wheel + Beside an English fire. + + Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed, + The bowers where Lucy played; + And thine too is the last green field 15 + That Lucy's eyes surveyed. + + W. WORDSWORTH. + + +WHERE LIES THE LAND + + Where lies the land to which yon ship must go? + Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day, + Festively she puts forth in trim array; + Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow? + What boots the inquiry?--Neither friend nor foe 5 + She cares for; let her travel where she may, + She finds familiar names, a beaten way + Ever before her, and a wind to blow. + Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark? + And, almost as it was when ships were rare, 10 + (From time to time, like pilgrims, here and there + Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark, + Of the old sea some reverential fear, + Is with me at thy farewell, joyous bark! + + W. WORDSWORTH. + + +A PASSER-BY + + Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, + Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, + That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding, + Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest? + Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest, 5 + When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling, + Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or rest + In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling. + + I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest, + Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air: 10 + I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest, + And anchor queen of the strange shipping there, + Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare; + Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, grandest + Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair 15 + Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest. + + And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless, + I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine + That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless, + Thy port assured in a happier land than mine. 20 + But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine, + As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding, + From the proud nostril curve of a prow's line + In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding. + + R. BRIDGES. + + +AT CARNAC + + Far on its rocky knoll descried + Saint Michael's chapel cuts the sky. + I climbed;--beneath me, bright and wide, + Lay the lone coast of Brittany. + + Bright in the sunset, weird and still 5 + It lay beside the Atlantic wave, + As if the wizard Merlin's will + Yet charmed it from his forest grave. + + Behind me on their grassy sweep, + Bearded with lichen, scrawled and grey, 10 + The giant stones of Carnac sleep, + In the mild evening of the May. + + No priestly stern procession now + Streams through their rows of pillars old; + No victims bleed, no Druids bow; 15 + Sheep make the furze-grown aisles their fold. + + From bush to bush the cuckoo flies, + The orchis red gleams everywhere; + Gold broom with furze in blossom vies, + The blue-bells perfume all the air. 20 + + And o'er the glistening, lonely land, + Rise up, all round, the Christian spires. + The church of Carnac, by the strand, + Catches the westering sun's last fires. + + And there across the watery way, 25 + See, low above the tide at flood, + The sickle-sweep of Quiberon bay + Whose beach once ran with loyal blood! + + And beyond that, the Atlantic wide!-- + All round, no soul, no boat, no hail! 30 + But, on the horizon's verge descried, + Hangs, touched with light, one snowy sail! + + M. ARNOLD. + + +THE GRAND CHARTREUSE + + Through Alpine meadows, soft-suffused + With rain, where thick the crocus blows, + Past the dark forges long disused, + The mule-track from Saint Laurent goes. + The bridge is crossed, and slow we ride, 5 + Through forest, up the mountain-side. + + The autumnal evening darkens round + The wind is up, and drives the rain; + While hark! far down, with strangled sound + Doth the Dead Guiers' stream complain, 10 + Where that wet smoke among the woods + Over his boiling cauldron broods. + + Swift rush the spectral vapours white + Past limestone scars with ragged pines, + Showing--then blotting from our sight. 15 + Halt! through the cloud-drift something shines! + High in the valley, wet and drear, + The huts of Courrerie appear. + + _Strike leftward!_ cries our guide; and higher + Mounts up the stony forest-way. 20 + At last the encircling trees retire; + Look! through the showery twilight grey + What pointed roofs are these advance? + A palace of the Kings of France? + + Approach, for what we seek is here. 25 + Alight and sparely sup and wait + For rest in this outbuilding near; + Then cross the sward and reach that gate; + Knock; pass the wicket! Thou art come + To the Carthusians' world-famed home. 30 + + M. ARNOLD. + + +HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI + + Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star + In his steep course? So long he seems to pause + On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC, + The Arve and Arveiron at thy base + Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! 5 + Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, + How silently! Around thee and above + Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, + An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, + As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10 + It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, + Thy habitation from eternity + O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, + Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, + Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer 15 + I worshipped the Invisible alone. + + Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, + So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, + Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, + Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret joy: 20 + Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, + Into the mighty vision passing--there + As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven! + + Awake, my soul! not only passive praise + Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, 25 + Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, + Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! + Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. + + Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the Vale! + O struggling with the darkness all the night, 30 + And visited all night by troops of stars, + Or when they climb the sky or when they sink: + Companion of the morning-star at dawn, + Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn + Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise! 35 + Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth? + Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? + Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? + + And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! + Who called you forth from night and utter death, 40 + From dark and icy caverns called you forth, + Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, + For ever shattered and the same for ever? + Who gave you your invulnerable life, + Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 45 + Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? + And who commanded (and the silence came), + Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? + + Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow + Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- 50 + Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, + And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! + Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! + Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven + Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun 55 + Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers + Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-- + GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, + Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD! + GOD! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! 60 + Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! + And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, + And in their perilous fall shall thunder, GOD! + + Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! + Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 65 + Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! + Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! + Ye signs and wonders of the element! + Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! + + Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, 70 + Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, + Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene + Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast-- + Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou + That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 75 + In adoration, upward from thy base + Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, + Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, + To rise before me--Rise, O ever rise, + Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth! 80 + Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, + Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, + Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, + And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun + Earth, with her thousand voices, praises GOD. 85 + + S. T. COLERIDGE. + + +HOME, ROSE, AND HOME, PROVENCE AND LA PALIE + +ITE DOMUM SATURAE, VENIT HESPERUS + + The skies have sunk, and hid the upper snow, + (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie,) + The rainy clouds are filing fast below, + And wet will be the path, and wet shall we. + Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. 5 + + Ah dear, and where is he, a year agone + Who stepped beside and cheered us on and on? + My sweetheart wanders far away from me, + In foreign land or on a foreign sea. + Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. 10 + + The lightning zigzags shoot across the sky, + (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie,) + And through the vale the rains go sweeping by; + Ah me, and when in shelter shall we be? + Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. 15 + + Cold, dreary cold, the stormy winds feel they + O'er foreign lands and foreign seas that stray. + (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.) + And doth he e'er, I wonder, bring to mind + The pleasant huts and herds he left behind? 20 + And doth he sometimes in his slumbering see + The feeding kine and doth he think of me, + My sweetheart wandering wheresoe'er it be? + Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. + + The thunder bellows far from snow to snow, 25 + (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie,) + And loud and louder roars the flood below. + Heigh-ho! but soon in shelter shall we be: + Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. + + Or shall he find before his term be sped, 30 + Some comelier maid that he shall wish to wed? + (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.) + For weary is work, and weary day by day + To have your comfort miles on miles away. + Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. 35 + + Or may it be that I shall find my mate, + And he returning see himself too late? + For work we must, and what we see, we see. + And God he knows, and what must be, must be, + When sweethearts wander far away from me. 40 + Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. + + The sky behind is brightening up anew, + (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie,) + The rain is ending, and our journey too; + Heigh-ho! aha! for here at home are we:-- 45 + In, Rose, and in, Provence and La Palie. + + A. H. CLOUGH. + + +THERE LIES A VALE IN IDA + + There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier + Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. + The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, + Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, + And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 5 + The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down + Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars + The long brook falling through the clov'n ravine + In cataract after cataract to the sea. + Behind the valley topmost Gargarus 10 + Stands up and takes the morning: but in front + The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal + Troas and Ilion's columned citadel, + The crown of Troas. + Hither came at noon + Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn 15 + Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. + Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck + Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest. + She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, + Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade 20 + Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. + 'O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, + Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. + For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: + The grasshopper is silent in the grass: 25 + The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, + Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps. + The purple flowers droop: the golden bee + Is lily-cradled: I alone awake. + My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, 30 + My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, + And I am all aweary of my life.' + + LORD TENNYSON. + + +COME DOWN, O MAID + + Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: + What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang), + In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? + But cease to move so near the heavens, and cease + To glide a sunbeam by the blasted pine, 5 + To sit a star upon the sparkling spire; + And come, for Love is of the valley, come, + For Love is of the valley, come thou down + And find him; by the happy threshold, he, + Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, 10 + Or red with spirted purple of the vats, + Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk + With Death and Morning on the silver horns, + Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, + Nor find him dropped upon the firths of ice, 15 + That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls + To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: + But follow: let the torrent dance thee down + To find him in the valley; let the wild + Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave 20 + The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill + Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, + That like a broken purpose waste in air: + So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales + Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth 25 + Arise to thee; the children call, and I + Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, + Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; + Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, + The moan of doves in immemorial elms, 30 + And murmuring of innumerable bees. + + LORD TENNYSON. + + +IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ + + All along the valley, stream that flashest white, + Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night, + All along the valley, where thy waters flow, + I walked with one I loved two and thirty years ago. + All along the valley while I walked to-day, 5 + The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away; + For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed, + Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead, + And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree, + The voice of the dead was a living voice to me. 10 + + LORD TENNYSON. + + +CURRENTE CALAMO + + Quick, painter, quick, the moment seize + Amid the snowy Pyrenees; + More evanescent than the snow, + The pictures come, are seen, and go: + Quick, quick, _currente calamo_. 5 + I do not ask the tints that fill + The gate of day 'twixt hill and hill; + I ask not for the hues that fleet + Above the distant peaks; my feet + Are on a poplar-bordered road, 10 + Where with a saddle and a load + A donkey, old and ashen-grey, + Reluctant works his dusty way. + Before him, still with might and main + Pulling his rope, the rustic rein, 15 + A girl: before both him and me, + Frequent she turns and lets me see, + Unconscious, lets me scan and trace + The sunny darkness of her face + And outlines full of southern grace. 20 + Following I notice, yet and yet, + Her olive skin, dark eyes deep set, + And black, and blacker e'en than jet, + The escaping hair that scantly showed, + Since o'er it in the country mode, 25 + For winter warmth and summer shade, + The lap of scarlet cloth is laid. + And then, back-falling from the head, + A crimson kerchief overspread + Her jacket blue; thence passing down, 30 + A skirt of darkest yellow-brown, + Coarse stuff, allowing to the view + The smooth limb to the woollen shoe. + But who--here's some one following too,-- + A priest, and reading at his book! 35 + Read on, O priest, and do not look; + Consider,--she is but a child,-- + Yet might your fancy be beguiled. + Read on, O priest, and pass and go! + But see, succeeding in a row, 40 + Two, three, and four, a motley train, + Musicians wandering back to Spain; + With fiddle and with tambourine, + A man with women following seen. + What dresses, ribbon ends, and flowers! 45 + And,--sight to wonder at for hours,-- + The man,--to Phillip has he sat?-- + With butterfly-like velvet hat; + One dame his big bassoon conveys, + On one his gentle arm he lays; 50 + They stop, and look, and something say, + And to 'Espana' ask the way. + But while I speak, and point them on; + Alas, my dearer friends are gone, + The dark-eyed maiden and the ass 55 + Have had the time the bridge to pass. + Vainly, beyond it far descried, + Adieu, and peace with you abide, + Grey donkey, and your beauteous guide. + The pictures come, the pictures go, 60 + Quick, quick, _currente calamo_. + + A. H. CLOUGH. + + +CINTRA + + Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes + In variegated maze of mount and glen. + Ah me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, + To follow half on which the eye dilates + Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken 5 + Than those whereof such things the bard relates, + Who to the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium's gates? + + The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, + The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, + The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, 10 + The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, + The tender azure of the unruffled deep, + The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, + The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, + The vine on high, the willow branch below, 15 + Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. + + LORD BYRON. + + +SWITZERLAND + + In the steamy, stuffy Midlands, 'neath an English summer sky, + When the holidays are nearing with the closing of July, + And experienced Alpine stagers and impetuous recruits + Are renewing with the season their continual disputes-- + Those inveterate disputes 5 + On the newest Alpine routes-- + And inspecting the condition of their mountaineering boots: + + You may stifle your reflections, you may banish them afar, + You may try to draw a solace from the thought of 'Naechstes Jahr'-- + But your heart is with those climbers, and you'll feverishly yearn 10 + To be crossing of the Channel with your luggage labelled 'Bern', + Leaving England far astern + With a ticket through to Bern, + And regarding your profession with a lordly unconcern! + + _They_ will lie beside the torrent, just as you were wont to do, 15 + With the woodland green around them and a snow-field shining through: + They will tread the higher pastures, where celestial breezes blow, + While the valley lies in shadow and the peaks are all aglow-- + Where the airs of heaven blow + 'Twixt the pine woods and the snow, 20 + And the shades of evening deepen in the valley far below: + + They will scale the mountain strongholds that in days of old you won, + They will plod behind a lantern ere the rising of the sun, + On a 'grat' or in a chimney, on the steep and dizzy slope, + For a foothold or a handhold they will diligently grope-- + On the rocky, icy slope 26 + (Where we'll charitably hope + 'Tis assistance only Moral that they're getting from a rope); + + They will dine on mule and marmot, and on mutton made of goats, + They will face the various horrors of Helvetian table d'hotes: 30 + But whate'er the paths that lead them, and the food whereon they fare, + They will taste the joy of living, as you only taste it there, + As you taste it Only There + In the higher, purer air, + Unapproachable by worries and oblivious quite of care! 35 + + Place me somewhere in the Valais, 'mid the mountains west of Binn, + West of Binn and east of Savoy, in a decent kind of inn, + With a peak or two for climbing, and a glacier to explore,-- + Any mountains will content me, though they've all been climbed before-- + Yes! I care not any more 40 + Though they've all been done before, + And the names they keep in bottles may be numbered by the score! + + Though the hand of Time be heavy: though your ancient comrades fail: + Though the mountains you ascended be accessible by rail: 44 + Though your nerve begin to weaken, and you're gouty grown and fat, + And prefer to walk in places which are reasonably flat-- + Though you grow so very fat + That you climb the Gorner Grat + Or perhaps the Little Scheideck,--and are rather proud of that: + Yet I hope that till you die 50 + You will annually sigh + For a vision of the Valais with the coming of July, + For the Oberland or Valais and the higher, purer air, + And the true delight of living, as you taste it only there! + + A. D. GODLEY. + + +ZERMATT CHURCHYARD + + _'C'etait une guerre avec le Matterhorn,' said a Zermatt peasant + of the many attempts to scale this great mountain_ + + They warred with Nature, as of old with gods + The Titans; like the Titans too they fell, + Hurled from the summit of their hopes, and dashed + Sheer down precipitous tremendous crags, + A thousand deaths in one. 'Tis o'er, and we 5 + Who sit at home, and by the peaceful hearth + Read their sad tale, made wise by the event, + May moralize of folly and a thirst + For barren honour, fruitful of no end. + 'Tis well: we were not what we are without 10 + That cautious wisdom, and the sober mind + Of prudence, steering calm 'twixt rock and storm. + Yet, too, methinks, we were not what we are + Without that other fiery element-- + The love, the thirst for venture, and the scorn 15 + That aught should be too great for mortal powers + That yet one peak in all the skyey throng + Should rise unchallenged with unvanquished snows, + Virgin from the beginning of the world. + Such fire was theirs; O not for fame alone-- 20 + That coarser thread in all the finer skein + That draws adventure, oft by vulgar minds + Deemed man's sole aim--but for the high delight + To tread untrodden solitudes, and feel + A sense of power, of fullest freedom, lost 25 + In the loud vale where _Man_ is all in all. + For this they dared too much; nor they alone, + They but the foremost of an Alpine band, + Who in the life of cities pine and pant + For purer air, for peak, and pass, and glen, 30 + With slow majestic glacier, born to-day, + Yet with the trophies of a thousand years + On its scarred bosom, till its icy bonds + It burst, and rush a torrent to the main. + Such sons still hast thou, England; be thou proud + To have them, relics of thy younger age. 36 + Nor murmur if not all at once they take + The care and burden on them. Learn of them! + Youth has its teaching, too, as well as age: + We grow too old too soon; the flaxen head 40 + Of childhood apes experience' hoary crown, + And prudent lisps ungraceful aged saws. + 'Tis so: yet here in Zermatt--here beneath + The fatal peak, beside the heaving mound + That bears the black cross with the golden names 45 + Of men, our friends, upon it--here we fain + Would preach a soberer lesson. Forth they went, + Fearless and gay as to a festival, + One clear, cold morn: they climbed the virgin height; + They stood where still the awestruck gazer's eye 50 + Shudders to follow. There a little while + They spake of home, that centre whose wide arms + Hold us where'er we are, in joy, or woe, + On earth, in air, and far on stormy seas. + Then they turned homeward, yet not to return. 55 + It was a fearful place, and as they crept + Fearfully down the giddy steep, there came + A slip--no more--one little slip, and down + Linked in a living avalanche they fell, + Brothers in hope, in triumph, and in death, 60 + Nor dying were divided. One remained + To tell their story, and to bury them. + + A. G. BUTLER. + + +ZERMATT + +TO THE MATTERHORN + +(_June-July, 1897_) + + Thirty-two years since, up against the sun, + Seven shapes, thin atomies to lower sight, + Labouringly leapt and gained thy gabled height, + And four lives paid for what the seven had won. + + They were the first by whom the deed was done, 5 + And when I look at thee, my mind takes flight + To that day's tragic feat of manly might, + As though, till then, of history thou hadst none. + + Yet ages ere men topped thee, late and soon + Thou didst behold the planets lift and lower; 10 + Saw'st, maybe, Joshua's pausing sun and moon, + And the betokening sky when Caesar's power + Approached its bloody end; yea, even that Noon + When darkness filled the earth till the ninth hour. + + T. HARDY. + + +NATURA MALIGNA + + The Lady of the Hills with crimes untold + Followed my feet, with azure eyes of prey; + By glacier-brink she stood--by cataract-spray-- + When mists were dire, or avalanche-echoes rolled. + At night she glimmered in the death-wind cold, 5 + And if a footprint shone at break of day, + My flesh would quail, but straight my soul would say: + ''Tis hers whose hand God's mightier hand doth hold.' + + I trod her snow-bridge, for the moon was bright, + Her icicle-arch across the sheer crevasse, 10 + When lo, she stood!... God made her let me pass, + Then felled the bridge!... Oh, there in sallow light + There down the chasm, I saw her cruel, white, + And all my wondrous days as in a glass. + + T. WATTS-DUNTON. + + +NATURA BENIGNA + + What power is this? what witchery wins my feet + To peaks so sheer they scorn the cloaking snow, + All silent as the emerald gulfs below, + Down whose ice-walls the wings of twilight beat? + What thrill of earth and heaven--most wild, most sweet-- 5 + What answering pulse that all the senses know, + Comes leaping from the ruddy eastern glow + Where, far away, the skies and mountains meet? + + Mother, 'tis I reborn: I know thee well: + That throb I know and all it prophesies, 10 + O Mother and Queen, beneath the olden spell + Of silence, gazing from thy hills and skies! + Dumb Mother, struggling with the years to tell + The secret at thy heart through helpless eyes! + + T. WATTS-DUNTON. + + +THE SIMPLON PASS + + ----Brook and road + Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, + And with them did we journey several hours + At a slow step. The immeasurable height + Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, 5 + The stationary blasts of waterfalls, + And in the narrow rent, at every turn, + Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn, + The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, + The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, 10 + Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside + As if a voice were in them, the sick sight + And giddy prospect of the raving stream, + The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens, + Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light-- 15 + Were all like workings of one mind, the features + Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree, + Characters of the great Apocalypse, + The types and symbols of Eternity, + Of first, and last, and midst, and without end. 20 + + W. WORDSWORTH. + + +OBERMANN + +I + + In front the awful Alpine track + Crawls up its rocky stair; + The autumn storm-winds drive the rack + Close o'er it, in the air. + + Behind are the abandoned baths 5 + Mute in their meadows lone; + The leaves are on the valley paths; + The mists are on the Rhone-- + + The white mists rolling like a sea. + I hear the torrents roar. 10 + --Yes, Obermann, all speaks of thee! + I feel thee near once more. + + How often, where the slopes are green + On Jaman, hast thou sate + By some high chalet door, and seen 15 + The summer day grow late, + + And darkness steal o'er the wet grass + With the pale crocus starred, + And reach that glimmering sheet of glass + Beneath the piny sward, 20 + + Lake Leman's waters, far below: + And watched the rosy light + Fade from the distant peaks of snow: + And on the air of night + + Heard accents of the eternal tongue 25 + Through the pine branches play: + Listened, and felt thyself grow young: + Listened, and wept----Away! + + Away the dreams that but deceive! + And thou, sad Guide, adieu! 30 + I go; Fate drives me: but I leave + Half of my life with you. + + +II + + Glion?----Ah, twenty years, it cuts + All meaning from a name! + White houses prank where once were huts! + Glion, but not the same, + + And yet I know not. All unchanged 5 + The turf, the pines, the sky! + The hills in their old order ranged. + The lake, with Chillon by! + + And 'neath those chestnut-trees, where stiff + And stony mounts the way, 10 + Their crackling husk-heaps burn, as if + I left them yesterday. + + Across the valley, on that slope, + The huts of Avant shine-- + Its pines under their branches ope 15 + Ways for the tinkling kine. + + Full-foaming milk-pails, Alpine fare, + Sweet heaps of fresh-cut grass, + Invite to rest the traveller there + Before he climb the pass-- 20 + + The gentian-flowered pass, its crown + With yellow spires aflame, + Whence drops the path to Alliere down + And walls where Byron came. + + Still in my soul the voice I heard 25 + Of Obermann--away + I turned; by some vague impulse stirred, + Along the rocks of Naye + + And Sonchaud's piny flanks I gaze + And the blanched summit bare 30 + Of Malatrait, to where in haze + The Valais opens fair, + + And the domed Velan with his snows + Behind the upcrowding hills + Doth all the heavenly opening close 35 + Which the Rhone's murmur fills-- + + And glorious there, without a sound, + Across the glimmering lake, + High in the Valais depth profound, + I saw the morning break. 40 + + M. ARNOLD. + + +THE TERRACE AT BERNE + + Ten years!--and to my waking eye + Once more the roofs of Berne appear; + The rocky banks, the terrace high, + The stream--and do I linger here? + + The clouds are on the Oberland, 5 + The Jungfrau snows look faint and far; + But bright are those green fields at hand, + And through those fields comes down the Aar, + + And from the blue twin lakes it comes, + Flows by the town, the church-yard fair, 10 + And 'neath the garden-walk it hums, + The house--and is my Marguerite there? + + M. ARNOLD. + + +NEVER, OH NEVER MORE + + Never, oh never more shall I behold + A sunrise on the glacier:--stars of morn + Paling in primrose round the crystal horn; + Soft curves of crimson mellowing into gold 4 + O'er sapphire chasm, and silvery snow-field cold; + Fire that o'er-floods the horizon; beacons borne + From wind-worn peak to storm-swept peak forlorn; + Clear hallelujahs through heaven's arches rolled. + + Never, oh never more these feet shall feel + The firm elastic tissue of upland turf, 10 + Or the crisp edge of the high rocks; or cling + Where the embattled cliffs beneath them reel + Through cloud-wreaths eddying like the Atlantic surf, + Far, far above the wheeling eagle's wing. + + J. A. SYMONDS. + + +HAPPY IS ENGLAND + + Happy is England! I could be content + To see no other verdure than its own; + To feel no other breezes than are blown + Through its tall woods with high romances blent: + Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment 5 + For skies Italian, and an inward groan + To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, + And half forget what world or worldling meant. + Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; + Enough their simple loveliness for me, 10 + Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging: + Yet do I often warmly burn to see + Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, + And float with them about the summer waters. + + J. KEATS. + + +THE DAISY + +WRITTEN AT EDINBURGH + + O love, what hours were thine and mine, + In lands of palm and southern pine; + In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, + Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine. + + What Roman strength Turbia showed 5 + In ruin, by the mountain road; + How like a gem, beneath, the city + Of little Monaco, basking, glowed. + + How richly down the rocky dell + The torrent vineyard streaming fell 10 + To meet the sun and sunny waters, + That only heaved with a summer swell. + + What slender campanili grew + By bays, the peacock's neck in hue; + Where, here and there, on sandy beaches 15 + A milky-belled amaryllis blew. + + How young Columbus seemed to rove, + Yet present in his natal grove, + Now watching high on mountain cornice, + And steering, now, from a purple cove, 20 + + Now pacing mute by ocean's rim; + Till, in a narrow street and dim, + I stayed the wheels at Cogoletto, + And drank, and loyally drank to him. + + Nor knew we well what pleased us most, 25 + Not the clipt palm of which they boast; + But distant colour, happy hamlet, + A mouldered citadel on the coast, + + Or tower, or high hill-convent, seen + A light amid its olives green; 30 + Or olive-hoary cape in ocean; + Or rosy blossom in hot ravine, + + Where oleanders flushed the bed + Of silent torrents, gravel-spread; + And, crossing, oft we saw the glisten 35 + Of ice, far up on a mountain head. + + We loved that hall, tho' white and cold, + Those niched shapes of noble mould, + A princely people's awful princes, + The grave, severe Genovese of old. 40 + + At Florence too what golden hours, + In those long galleries, were ours; + What drives about the fresh Cascine, + Or walks in Boboli's ducal bowers. + + In bright vignettes, and each complete, 45 + Of tower or duomo, sunny-sweet, + Or palace, how the city glittered, + Thro' cypress avenues, at our feet. + + But when we crost the Lombard plain + Remember what a plague of rain; 50 + Of rain at Reggio, rain at Parma; + At Lodi, rain, Piacenza, rain. + + And stern and sad (so rare the smiles + Of sunlight) looked the Lombard piles; + Porch-pillars on the lion resting, 55 + And sombre, old, colonnaded aisles. + + O Milan, O the chanting quires, + The giant windows' blazoned fires, + The height, the space, the gloom, the glory! + A mount of marble, a hundred spires! 60 + + I climbed the roofs at break of day; + Sun-smitten Alps before me lay. + I stood among the silent statues, + And statued pinnacles, mute as they. + + How faintly-flushed, how phantom-fair, 65 + Was Monte Rosa, hanging there + A thousand shadowy-pencilled valleys + And snowy dells in a golden air. + + Remember how we came at last + To Como; shower and storm and blast 70 + Had blown the lake beyond his limit, + And all was flooded; and how we past + + From Como, when the light was grey, + And in my head, for half the day, + The rich Virgilian rustic measure 75 + Of Lari Maxume, all the way, + + Like ballad-burthen music, kept, + As on The Lariano crept + To that fair port below the castle + Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept; 80 + + Or hardly slept, but watched awake + A cypress in the moonlight shake, + The moonlight touching o'er a terrace + One tall Agave above the lake. + + What more? we took our last adieu, 85 + And up the snowy Splugen drew, + But ere we reached the highest summit + I plucked a daisy, I gave it you. + + It told of England then to me, + And now it tells of Italy. 90 + O love, we two shall go no longer + To lands of summer across the sea; + + So dear a life your arms enfold + Whose crying is a cry for gold: + Yet here to-night in this dark city, 95 + When ill and weary, alone and cold, + + I found, though crushed to hard and dry, + This nurseling of another sky + Still in the little book you lent me, + And where you tenderly laid it by: 100 + + And I forgot the clouded Forth, + The gloom that saddens Heaven and Earth, + The bitter east, the misty summer + And grey metropolis of the North. + + Perchance, to lull the throbs of pain, 105 + Perchance, to charm a vacant brain, + Perchance, to dream you still beside me, + My fancy fled to the South again. + + LORD TENNYSON. + + +CADENABBIA + +LAKE OF COMO + + No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks + The silence of the summer day, + As by the loveliest of all lakes + I while the idle hours away. + + I pace the leafy colonnade 5 + Where level branches of the plane + Above me weave a roof of shade + Impervious to the sun and rain. + + At times a sudden rush of air + Flutters the lazy leaves o'erhead, 10 + And gleams of sunshine toss and flare + Like torches down the path I tread. + + By Somariva's garden gate + I make the marble stairs my seat, + And hear the water, as I wait, 15 + Lapping the steps beneath my feet. + + The undulation sinks and swells + Along the stony parapets, + And far away the floating bells + Tinkle upon the fisher's nets. 20 + + Silent and slow, by tower and town + The freighted barges come and go, + Their pendent shadows gliding down + By town and tower submerged below. + + The hills sweep upward from the shore, 25 + With villas scattered one by one + Upon their wooded spurs, and lower + Bellagio blazing in the sun. + + And dimly seen, a tangled mass + Of walls and woods, of light and shade, 30 + Stands beckoning up the Stelvio Pass + Varenna with its white cascade. + + I ask myself, Is this a dream? + Will it all vanish into air? + Is there a land of such supreme 35 + And perfect beauty anywhere? + + Sweet vision! Do not fade away; + Linger until my heart shall take + Into itself the summer day, + And all the beauty of the lake. 40 + + Linger until upon my brain + Is stamped an image of the scene, + Then fade into the air again, + And be as if thou hadst not been. + + H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + +TO VERONA + + Verona! thy tall gardens stand erect + Beckoning me upward. Let me rest awhile + Where the birds whistle hidden in the boughs, + Or fly away when idlers take their place, + Mated as well, concealed as willingly; 5 + Idlers whose nest must not swing there, but rise + Beneath a gleaming canopy of gold, + Amid the flight of Cupids, and the smiles + Of Venus ever radiant o'er their couch. + Here would I stay, here wander, slumber here, 10 + Nor pass into that theatre below + Crowded with their faint memories, shades of joy. + But ancient song arouses me: I hear + Coelius and Aufilena; I behold + Lesbia, and Lesbia's linnet at her lip 15 + Pecking the fruit that ripens and swells out + For him whose song the Graces loved the most, + Whatever land, east, west, they visited. + Even he must not detain me: one there is + Greater than he, of broader wing, of swoop 20 + Sublimer. Open now that humid arch + Where Juliet sleeps the quiet sleep of death, + And Romeo sinks aside her. + Fare ye well, + Lovers! Ye have not loved in vain: the hearts + Of millions throb around ye. This lone tomb, 25 + One greater than yon walls have ever seen, + Greater than Manto's prophet-eye foresaw + In her own child or Rome's, hath hallowed; + And the last sod or stone a pilgrim knee 29 + Shall press (Love swears it, and swears true) is here. + + W. S. LANDOR. + + +THE APENNINE + + Once more upon the woody Apennine, + The infant Alps, which--had I not before + Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine + Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar + The thundering lauwine--might be worshipped more; 5 + But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear + Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar + Glaciers of bleak Mont Blanc both far and near, + And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, + + Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name; 10 + And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly + Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame, + For still they soared unutterably high: + I've looked on Ida with a Trojan's eye; + Athos, Olympus, Aetna, Atlas, made 15 + These hills seem things of lesser dignity, + All, save the lone Soracte's height, displayed + Not _now_ in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid + + For our remembrance, and from out the plain + Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, + And on the curl hangs pausing. 21 + + LORD BYRON. + + +WHERE UPON APENNINE SLOPE + + Where, upon Apennine slope, with the chestnut the oak-trees immingle, + Where amid odorous copse bridle-paths wander and wind, + Where under mulberry-branches the diligent rivulet sparkles, + Or amid cotton and maize peasants their water-works ply, + Where, over fig-tree and orange in tier upon tier still repeated, 5 + Garden on garden upreared, balconies step to the sky,-- + Ah, that I were far away from the crowd and the streets of the city, + Under the vine-trellis laid, O my beloved, with thee! + + A. H. CLOUGH. + + +'DE GUSTIBUS----' + +I + + Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, + (If our loves remain) + In an English lane, + By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. + Hark, those two in the hazel coppice-- 5 + A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, + Making love, say,-- + The happier they! + Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, + And let them pass, as they will too soon, 10 + With the beanflowers' boon, + And the blackbird's tune, + And May, and June! + + +II + + What I love best in all the world, + Is, a castle, precipice-encurled, 15 + In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. + Or look for me, old fellow of mine, + (If I get my head from out the mouth + O' the grave, and loose my spirit's bands, + And come again to the land of lands)-- 20 + In a sea-side house to the farther south, + Where the baked cicalas die of drouth, + And one sharp tree--'tis a cypress--stands, + By the many hundred years red-rusted, + Rough iron-spiked, ripe fruit-o'ercrusted, 25 + My sentinel to guard the sands + To the water's edge. For, what expands + Before the house, but the great opaque + Blue breadth of sea without a break? + While, in the house, for ever crumbles 30 + Some fragment of the frescoed walls, + From blisters where a scorpion sprawls. + A girl bare-footed brings, and tumbles + Down on the pavement, green-flesh melons, + And says there's news to-day--the king 35 + Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing, + Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling: + --She hopes they have not caught the felons. + Italy, my Italy! + Queen Mary's saying serves for me-- 40 + (When fortune's malice + Lost her, Calais) + + Open my heart and you will see + Graved inside of it, 'Italy,' + Such lovers old are I and she; 45 + So it always was, so shall ever be! + + R. BROWNING. + + +VENICE + + There is a glorious City in the sea. + The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, + Ebbing and flowing; and the salt sea-weed + Clings to the marble of her palaces. + No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, 5 + Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the sea, + Invisible; and from the land we went, + As to a floating city--steering in, + And gliding up her streets as in a dream, + So smoothly, silently--by many a dome, 10 + Mosque-like, and many a stately portico, + The statues ranged along an azure sky; + By many a pile in more than eastern pride, + Of old the residence of merchant-kings; + The fronts of some, though Time had shattered them, + Still glowing with the richest hues of art, 16 + As though the wealth within them had run o'er. + + S. ROGERS. + + +OCEAN'S NURSLING + + Underneath Day's azure eyes + Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, + A peopled labyrinth of walls, + Amphitrite's destined halls, + Which her hoary sire now paves 5 + With his blue and beaming waves. + Lo! the sun upsprings behind, + Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined + On the level quivering line + Of the waters crystalline; 10 + And before that chasm of light, + As within a furnace bright, + Column, tower, and dome, and spire, + Shine like obelisks of fire, + Pointing with inconstant motion 15 + From the altar of dark ocean + To the sapphire-tinted skies; + As the flames of sacrifice + From the marble shrines did rise, + As to pierce the dome of gold 20 + Where Apollo spoke of old. + Sun-girt City! thou hast been + Ocean's child, and then his queen; + Now is come a darker day, + And thou soon must be his prey, 25 + If the power that raised thee here + Hallow so thy watery bier. + + P. B. SHELLEY. + + +VENICE + + I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; + A palace and a prison on each hand: + I saw from out the wave her structures rise + As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: + A thousand years their cloudy wings expand 5 + Around me, and a dying Glory smiles + O'er the far times, when many a subject land + Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, + Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles! + + She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, 10 + Rising with her tiara of proud towers + At airy distance, with majestic motion, + A ruler of the waters and their powers: + And such she was;--her daughters had their dowers + From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 15 + Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. + In purple was she robed, and of her feast + Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased. + + In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, + And silent rows the songless gondolier; 20 + Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, + And music meets not always now the ear: + Those days are gone--but Beauty still is here. + States fall, arts fade--but Nature doth not die, + Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, 25 + The pleasant place of all festivity, + The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy! + + But unto us she hath a spell beyond + Her name in story, and her long array + Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond 30 + Above the dogeless city's vanished sway; + Ours is a trophy which will not decay + With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor, + And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away-- + The keystones of the arch! though all were o'er, 35 + For us repeopled were the solitary shore. + + The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord; + And, annual marriage now no more renewed, + The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, + Neglected garment of her widowhood! 40 + St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood + Stand, but in mockery of his withered power, + Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued, + And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour + When Venice was a queen with an unequalled dower. 45 + + Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, + Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; + But is not Doria's menace come to pass? + Are they not _bridled_?--Venice, lost and won, + Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done, 50 + Sinks, like a seaweed, into whence she rose! + Better be whelmed beneath the waves, and shun, + Even in destruction's death, her foreign foes, + From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. + + LORD BYRON. + + +AT VENICE + + _On the Lido_ + + On her still lake the city sits + While bark and boat beside her flits, + Nor hears, her soft siesta taking, + The Adriatic billows breaking. + + _In the Piazza at night_ + + O beautiful beneath the magic moon 5 + To walk the watery way of palaces; + O beautiful, o'er-vaulted with gemmed blue + This spacious court; with colour and with gold, + With cupolas, and pinnacles, and points, + And crosses multiplex, and tips, and balls, 10 + (Wherewith the bright stars unreproving mix, + Nor scorn by hasty eyes to be confused;) + Fantastically perfect this lone pile + Of oriental glory; these long ranges + Of classic chiselling; this gay flickering crowd, 15 + And the calm Campanile.--Beautiful! + O beautiful! + + A. H. CLOUGH. + + +FLORENCE + + Arno wins us to the fair white walls, + Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps + A softer feeling for her fairy halls. + Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps + Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps 5 + To laughing life, with her redundant horn. + Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps + Was modern Luxury of Commerce born, + And buried Learning rose, redeemed to a new morn. + + There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills 10 + The air around with beauty; we inhale + The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils + Part of its immortality; the veil + Of heaven is half undrawn; within the pale + We stand, and in that form and face behold 15 + What Mind can make, when Nature's self would fail; + And to the fond idolaters of old + Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould. + + LORD BYRON. + + +AN INVITATION TO ROME + + Oh, come to Rome, it is a pleasant place, + Your London sun is here seen shining brightly; + The Briton, too, puts on a cheery face, + And Mrs. Bull is suave and even sprightly. + The Romans are a kind and cordial race, 5 + The women charming, if one takes them rightly; + I see them at their doors, as day is closing, + More proud than duchesses,--and more imposing. + + A _far niente_ life promotes the graces; + They pass from dreamy bliss to wakeful glee, 10 + And in their bearing and their speech one traces + A breadth of grace and depth of courtesy + That are not found in more inclement places; + Their clime and tongue seem much in harmony: + The Cockney met in Middlesex, or Surrey, 15 + Is often cold--and always in a hurry. + + Though _far niente_ is their passion, they + Seem here most eloquent in things most slight; + No matter what it is they have to say, + The manner always sets the matter right: 20 + And when they've plagued or pleased you all the day, + They sweetly wish you 'a most happy night'. + Then, if they fib, and if their stories tease you, + 'Tis always something that they've wished to please you! + + Oh, come to Rome, nor be content to read 25 + Alone of stately palaces and streets + Whose fountains ever run with joyful speed, + And never-ceasing murmur. Here one meets + Great Memnon's monoliths, or, gay with weed, + Rich capitals, as corner-stones, or seats, 30 + The sites of vanished temples, where now moulder + Old ruins, hiding ruin even older. + + Ay, come, and see the pictures, statues, churches, + Although the last are commonplace, or florid.-- + Some say 'tis here that superstition perches, 35 + Myself I'm glad the marbles have been quarried. + The sombre streets are worthy your researches: + The ways are foul, the lava pavement's horrid, + But pleasant sights, that squeamishness disparages, + Are missed by all who roll about in carriages. 40 + + About one fane I deprecate all sneering, + For during Christmas-time I went there daily, + Amused, or edified, or both, by hearing + The little preachers of the _Ara Coeli_. + Conceive a four-year-old _bambina_ rearing 45 + Her small form on a rostrum,--tricked out gaily, + And lisping, what for doctrine may be frightful, + With action quite dramatic and delightful. + + Oh come! We'll charter such a pair of nags! + The country's better seen when one is riding: 50 + We'll roam where yellow Tiber speeds or lags + At will. The aqueducts are yet bestriding + With giant march (now whole, now broken crags + With flowers plumed) the swelling and subsiding + Campagna, girt by purple hills, afar,-- 55 + That melt in light beneath the evening star. + + A drive to Palestrina will be pleasant; + The wild fig grows where erst her turrets stood; + There oft, in goat-skins clad, a sunburnt peasant + Like Pan comes frisking from his ilex wood, 60 + And seems to wake the past time in the present. + Fair _contadina_, mark his mirthful mood, + No antique satyr he. The nimble fellow + Can join with jollity your _salterello_. + + Old sylvan peace and liberty! The breath 65 + Of life to unsophisticated man. + Here Mirth may pipe, here Love may weave his wreath, + _Per dar' al mio bene._ When you can, + Come share their leafy solitudes. Grim Death + And Time are grudging of Life's little span: 70 + Wan Time speeds lightly o'er the waving corn, + Death grins from yonder cynical old thorn. + + I dare not speak of Michael Angelo-- + Such theme were all too splendid for my pen: + And if I breathe the name of Sanzio 75 + (The brightest of Italian gentlemen), + It is that love casts out my fear, and so + I claim with him a kindredship. Ah, when + We love, the name is on our hearts engraven, + As is thy name, my own dear Bard of Avon! 80 + + Nor is the Coliseum theme of mine, + 'Twas built for poet of a larger daring; + The world goes there with torches, I decline + Thus to affront the moonbeams with their flaring. + Some day in May our forces we'll combine 85 + (Just you and I), and try a midnight airing, + And then I'll quote this rhyme to you--and then + You'll muse upon the vanity of men! + + Oh, come! I send a leaf of tender fern, + 'Twas plucked where Beauty lingers round decay: 90 + The ashes buried in a sculptured urn + Are not more dead than Rome--so dead to-day! + That better time, for which the patriots yearn, + Enchants the gaze, again to fade away. + They wait and pine for what is long denied, 95 + And thus I wait till thou art by my side. + + Thou'rt far away! Yet, while I write, I still + Seem gently, Sweet, to press thy hand in mine; + I cannot bring myself to drop the quill, + I cannot yet thy little hand resign! 100 + The plain is fading into darkness chill, + The Sabine peaks are flushed with light divine, + I watch alone, my fond thought wings to thee; + Oh, come to Rome--oh come, oh come to me! + + F. LOCKER-LAMPSON. + + +THE COLISEUM + + I do remember me, that in my youth, + When I was wandering,--upon such a night + I stood within the Coliseum's wall, + 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; + The trees which grew along the broken arches 5 + Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars + Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar + The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and + More near from out the Caesar's palace came + The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, 10 + Of distant sentinels the fitful song + Begun and died upon the gentle wind. + Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach + Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood + Within a bowshot. Where the Caesars dwelt, 15 + And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst + A grove which springs through levelled battlements, + And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, + Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth; + But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, 20 + A noble wreck in ruinous perfection, + While Caesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, + Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. + And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon + All this, and cast a wide and tender light, 25 + Which softened down the hoar austerity + Of rugged desolation, and filled up, + As 't were anew, the gaps of centuries; + Leaving that beautiful which still was so, + And making that which was not, till the place 30 + Became religion, and the heart ran o'er + With silent worship of the great of old,-- + The dead but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule + Our spirits from their urns. + + LORD BYRON. + + +AT ROME + + Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill? + Yon petty Steep in truth the fearful Rock, + Tarpeian named of yore, and keeping still + That name, a local Phantom proud to mock + The Traveller's expectation?--Could our Will 5 + Destroy the ideal Power within, 'twere done + Thro' what men see and touch,--slaves wandering on, + Impelled by thirst of all but Heaven-taught skill. + Full oft, our wish obtained, deeply we sigh; + Yet not unrecompensed are they who learn, 10 + From that depression raised, to mount on high + With stronger wing, more clearly to discern + Eternal things; and, if need be, defy + Change, with a brow not insolent, though stern. + + W. WORDSWORTH. + + +ROME + +AT THE PYRAMID OF CESTIUS NEAR THE GRAVES OF SHELLEY AND KEATS + + Who, then, was Cestius, + And what is he to me?-- + Amid thick thoughts and memories multitudinous + One thought alone brings he. + + I can recall no word 5 + Of anything he did; + For me he is a man who died and was interred + To leave a pyramid + + Whose purpose was exprest + Not with its first design, 10 + Nor till, far down in Time, beside it found their rest + Two countrymen of mine. + + Cestius in life, maybe, + Slew, breathed out threatening; + I know not. This I know: in death all silently + He does a rarer thing, 16 + + In beckoning pilgrim feet + With marble finger high + To where, by shadowy wall and history-haunted street, + Those matchless singers lie.... 20 + + --Say, then, he lived and died + That stones which bear his name + Should mark, through Time, where two immortal Shades abide; + It is an ample fame. + + T. HARDY. + + +THE VALLEY AND VILLA OF HORACE + + Tibur is beautiful, too, and the orchard slopes, and the Anio + Falling, falling yet, to the ancient lyrical cadence; + Tibur and Anio's tide; and cool from Lucretilis ever, + With the Digentian stream, and with the Bandusian fountain, + Folded in Sabine recesses, the valley and villa of Horace:-- 5 + So not seeing I sung; so seeing and listening say I, + Here as I sit by the stream, as I gaze at the cell of the Sibyl, + Here with Albunea's home and the grove of Tiburnus beside me; + Tibur beautiful is, and musical, O Teverone, + Dashing from mountain to plain, thy parted impetuous waters! 10 + Tivoli's waters and rocks; and fair unto Monte Gennaro, + (Haunt even yet, I must think, as I wander and gaze, of the shadows, + Faded and pale, yet immortal, of Faunus, the Nymphs, and the Graces,) + Fair in itself, and yet fairer with human completing creations, + Folded in Sabine recesses the valley and villa of Horace. 15 + + A. H. CLOUGH. + + +VALLOMBROSA + + Vallombrosa! I longed in thy shadiest wood + To slumber, reclined on the moss-covered floor, + To listen to Anio's precipitous flood, + When the stillness of evening hath deepened its roar; + To range through the Temples of Paestum, to muse + In Pompeii preserved by her burial in earth; 6 + On pictures to gaze where they drank in their hues; + And murmur sweet songs on the ground of their birth! + The beauty of Florence, the grandeur of Rome, + Could I leave them unseen, and not yield to regret? + With a hope (and no more) for a season to come, 11 + Which ne'er may discharge the magnificent debt? + Thou fortunate Region! whose Greatness inurned + Awoke to new life from its ashes and dust; + Twice-glorified fields! if in sadness I turned 15 + From your infinite marvels, the sadness was just. + + Vallombrosa! of thee I first heard in the page + Of that holiest of Bards, and the name for my mind + Had a musical charm, which the winter of age + And the changes it brings had no power to unbind. + And now, ye Miltonian shades! under you 21 + I repose, nor am forced from sweet fancy to part, + While your leaves I behold and the works they will strew, + And the realized vision is clasped to my heart. + + W. WORDSWORTH. + + +PAESTUM + + They stand between the mountains and the sea; + Awful memorials, but of whom we know not! + The seaman, passing, gazes from the deck; + The buffalo-driver, in his shaggy cloak, + Points to the work of magic, and moves on. 5 + Time was they stood along the crowded street, + Temples of Gods, and on their ample steps + What various habits, various tongues beset + The brazen gates for prayer and sacrifice! + Time was perhaps the third was sought for justice; 10 + And here the accuser stood, and there the accused, + And here the judges sat, and heard, and judged. + All silent now, as in the ages past, + Trodden under foot and mingled, dust with dust. + How many centuries did the sun go round 15 + From Mount Alburnus to the Tyrrhene sea, + While, by some spell rendered invisible, + Or, if approached, approached by him alone + Who saw as though he saw not, they remained + As in the darkness of a sepulchre, 20 + Waiting the appointed time! All, all within + Proclaims that Nature had resumed her right, + And taken to herself what man renounced; + No cornice, triglyph, or worn abacus, + But with thick ivy hung, or branching fern, 25 + Their iron-brown o'erspread with brightest verdure! + From my youth upward have I longed to tread + This classic ground; and am I here at last? + Wandering at will through the long porticoes, + And catching, as through some majestic grove, 30 + Now the blue ocean, and now, chaos-like, + Mountains and mountain-gulfs, and, half-way up, + Towns like the living rock from which they grew? + A cloudy region, black and desolate, + Where once a slave withstood a world in arms. 35 + The air is sweet with violets, running wild + 'Mid broken friezes and fallen capitals; + Sweet as when Tully, writing down his thoughts, + Those thoughts so precious and so lately lost-- + Turning to thee, divine philosophy, 40 + Ever at hand to calm his troubled soul-- + Sailed slowly by, two thousand years ago, + For Athens; when a ship, if north-east winds + Blew from the Paestan gardens, slacked her course. + On as he moved along the level shore, 45 + These temples, in their splendour eminent + 'Mid arcs and obelisks, and domes and towers, + Reflecting back the radiance of the west, + Well might he dream of glory! Now, coiled up, + The serpent sleeps within them; the she-wolf 50 + Suckles her young; and as alone I stand + In this, the nobler pile, the elements + Of earth and air its only floor and covering, + How solemn is the stillness! Nothing stirs + Save the shrill-voiced cicala flitting round 55 + On the rough pediment to sit and sing; + Or the green lizard rushing through the grass, + And up the fluted shaft with short quick spring, + To vanish in the chinks that time has made. + In such an hour as this, the sun's broad disk 60 + Seen at his setting, and a flood of light + Filling the courts of these old sanctuaries-- + Gigantic shadows, broken and confused, + Athwart the innumerable columns flung-- + In such an hour he came, who saw and told, 65 + Led by the mighty genius of the place. + Walls of some capital city first appeared, + Half razed, half sunk, or scattered as in scorn; + --And what within them? What but in the midst + These three in more than their original grandeur, + And, round about, no stone upon another? 71 + As if the spoiler had fallen back in fear, + And, turning, left them to the elements. + + S. ROGERS. + + +VESUVIUS + +AS SEEN FROM CAPRI + + A wreath of light blue vapour, pure and rare, + Mounts, scarcely seen against the bluer sky, + In quiet adoration, silently-- + Till the faint currents of the upper air + Dislimn it, and it forms, dissolving there, 5 + The dome, as of a palace, hung on high + Over the mountain; underneath it lie + Vineyards and bays and cities white and fair. + Might we not think this beauty would engage + All living things unto one pure delight? 10 + Oh vain belief! for here, our records tell, + Rome's understanding tyrant from men's sight + Hid, as within a guilty citadel, + The shame of his dishonourable age. + + R. C. TRENCH. + + +AMALFI + + Sweet the memory is to me + Of a land beyond the sea, + Where the waves and mountains meet, + Where, amid her mulberry-trees, + Sits Amalfi in the heat, 5 + Bathing ever her white feet + In the tideless summer seas. + In the middle of the town, + From its fountains in the hills, + Tumbling through the narrow gorge, 10 + The Canneto rushes down, + Turns the great wheels of the mills, + Lifts the hammers of the forge. + + 'Tis a stairway, not a street, + That ascends the deep ravine, 15 + Where the torrent leaps between + Rocky walls that almost meet. + Toiling up from stair to stair + Peasant girls their burdens bear; + Sunburnt daughters of the soil, 20 + Stately figures tall and straight, + What inexorable fate + Dooms them to this life of toil? + + Lord of vineyards and of lands, + Far above the convent stands. 25 + On its terraced walk aloof + Leans a monk with folded hands, + Placid, satisfied, serene, + Looking down upon the scene + Over wall and red-tiled roof; 30 + Wondering unto what good end + All this toil and traffic tend, + And why all men cannot be + Free from care and free from pain, + And the sordid love of gain, 35 + And as indolent as he. + + Where are now the freighted barks + From the marts of east and west? + Where the knights in iron sarks + Journeying to the Holy Land, 40 + Glove of steel upon the hand, + Cross of crimson on the breast? + Where the pomp of camp and court? + Where the pilgrims with their prayers? + Where the merchants with their wares, 45 + And their gallant brigantines + Sailing safely into port + Chased by corsair Algerines? + + Vanished like a fleet of cloud, + Like a passing trumpet-blast, 50 + Are those splendours of the past, + And the commerce and the crowd! + Fathoms deep beneath the seas + Lie the ancient wharves and quays + Swallowed by the engulfing waves; 55 + Silent streets and vacant halls, + Ruined roofs and towers and walls; + Hidden from all mortal eyes + Deep the sunken city lies: + Even cities have their graves! 60 + + This is an enchanted land! + Round the headlands far away + Sweeps the blue Salernian bay + With its sickle of white sand: + Further still and furthermost 65 + On the dim-discovered coast + Paestum with its ruins lies, + And its roses all in bloom + Seem to tinge the fatal skies + Of that lonely land of doom. 70 + + On his terrace, high in air, + Nothing doth the good monk care + For such worldly themes as these. + From the garden just below + Little puffs of perfume blow, 75 + And a sound is in his ears + Of the murmur of the bees + In the shining chestnut-trees; + Nothing else he heeds or hears. + All the landscape seems to swoon 80 + In the happy afternoon; + Slowly o'er his senses creep + The encroaching waves of sleep, + And he sinks as sank the town, + Unresisting, fathoms down, 85 + Into caverns cool and deep! + + Walled about with drifts of snow, + Hearing the fierce north wind blow, + Seeing all the landscape white, + And the river cased in ice, 90 + Comes this memory of delight, + Comes this vision unto me + Of a long-lost Paradise + In the land beyond the sea. + + H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + +VIATOR + + Nowhere I sojourn but I thence depart, + Leaving a little portion of my heart; + Then day-dreams make the heart's division good + With many a loved Italian solitude. 4 + As sons the whole year scattered here and there + Gather at Christmas round their father's chair, + Prodigal memories tenderly come home-- + Suns Neapolitan, white noons at Rome; + Watches that from the wreck'd Arena wall + Saw Alps and Plain deny the Sun in his fall, 10 + And rosy gold upon Verona tarry. + O Cloister-Castle that the high winds harry, + Butting Saint Benet's tower and doubling short + To whisper with the rosebush in the Court! 14 + How sweet the frogs by reedy Mantuan marges + Cried in the broken moonlight round the barges, + Where, glib decline of glass, the Mincio's march + Flaws in a riot at the Causeway arch! + How Cava from grey wall and silence green + Echoes the humming voice of the ravine, 20 + The while a second spell the brain composes, + Fresh elder mixt with sun-dishevelled roses! + How that first sunbeam on Assisi fell + To wake Saint-Mary-of-the-Angels' bell, + Before the tides of noonday washed the pale 25 + Mist-bloom from off the purple Umbrian vale! + Multitudinous colonies of my love! + But there's a single village dear above + Cities and scenes, a township of kind hearts, + The quick Boite laughs to and departs 30 + Burying his snowy leaps in pools of green. + My tower that climbs to see what can be seen + Towards Three Crosses or the high Giau daisies, + Or where the great white highway southward blazes! + My sloping barley plots, my hayfield lawn 35 + Breathing heavy and sweet, before the dawn + Shows up her pillared bulwarks one by one-- + Cortina, open-hearted to the Sun! + Oft as the pilgrim spirit, most erect, + Dares the poor dole of _Here_ and _Now_ reject, 40 + The lust of larger things invades and fills-- + The heart's homesickness for the hills, the hills! + + J. S. PHILLIMORE. + + +FAREWELL TO ITALY + + I leave thee, beauteous Italy! no more + From the high terraces, at even-tide, + To look supine into thy depths of sky, + Thy golden moon between the cliff and me, + Or thy dark spires of fretted cypresses 5 + Bordering the channel of the milky-way. + Fiesole and Valdarno must be dreams + Hereafter, and my own lost Affrico + Murmur to me but in the poet's song. + I did believe (what have I not believed?), 10 + Weary with age, but unopprest by pain, + To close in thy soft clime my quiet day + And rest my bones in the Mimosa's shade. + Hope! Hope! few ever cherisht thee so little; + Few are the heads thou hast so rarely raised; 15 + But thou didst promise this, and all was well. + For we are fond of thinking where to lie + When every pulse hath ceast, when the lone heart + Can lift no aspiration ... reasoning + As if the sight were unimpaired by death, 20 + Were unobstructed by the coffin-lid, + And the sun cheered corruption! Over all + The smiles of Nature shed a potent charm, + And light us to our chamber at the grave. + + W. S. LANDOR. + + +MESSINA + + 'Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto.' + + Why, wedded to the Lord, still yearns my heart + Towards these scenes of ancient heathen fame? + Yet legend hoar, and voice of bard that came + Fixing my restless youth with its sweet art, + And shades of power, and those who bore a part 5 + In the mad deeds that set the world in flame, + So fret my memory here,--ah! is it blame?-- + That from my eyes the tear is fain to start. + Nay, from no fount impure these drops arise; + 'Tis but that sympathy with Adam's race 10 + Which in each brother's history reads its own. + So let the cliffs and seas of this fair place + Be named man's tomb and splendid record stone, + High hope, pride-stained, the course without the prize. + + J. H. NEWMAN. + + +TAORMINA + + 'And Jacob went on his way; and the angels of God met him.' + + Say, hast thou tracked a traveller's round, + Nor visions met thee there, + Thou couldst but marvel to have found + This blighted world so fair? + + And feel an awe within thee rise, 5 + That sinful man should see + Glories far worthier Seraph's eyes + Than to be shared by thee? + + Store them in heart! thou shalt not faint + 'Mid coming pains and fears, 10 + As the third heaven once nerved a Saint + For fourteen trial-years. + + J. H. NEWMAN. + + +HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA + + Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away; + Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; + Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; + In the dimmest North-east distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and grey; + 'Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?'--say, 5 + Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, + While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. + + R. BROWNING. + + +GIBRALTAR + + England, we love thee better than we know.-- + And this I learned when, after wanderings long + 'Mid people of another stock and tongue, + I heard again thy martial music blow, + And saw thy gallant children to and fro 5 + Pace, keeping ward at one of those huge gates, + Which like twin giants watch the Herculean Straits. + When first I came in sight of that brave show, + It made the very heart within me dance, + To think that thou thy proud foot shouldst advance + Forward so far into the mighty sea. 11 + Joy was it and exultation to behold + Thine ancient standard's rich emblazonry, + A glorious picture by the wind unrolled. + + R. C. TRENCH. + + +GIBRALTAR + + Seven weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm + Upon the huge Atlantic, and once more + We ride into still water and the calm + Of a sweet evening, screened by either shore + Of Spain and Barbary. Our toils are o'er, 5 + Our exile is accomplished. Once again + We look on Europe, mistress as of yore + Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men. + Ay, this is the famed rock which Hercules + And Goth and Moor bequeathed us. At this door + England stands sentry. God! to hear the shrill 11 + Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze, + And at the summons of the rock gun's roar + To see her red coats marching from the hill! + + W. S. BLUNT. + + +FROM 'THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY' + + Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles! + --As some grave Tyrian trader, from the sea, + Descried at sunrise an emerging prow + Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily, + The fringes of a southward-facing brow 5 + Among the Aegean isles; + And saw the merry Grecian coaster come, + Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine, + Green bursting figs, and tunnies steeped in brine-- 9 + And knew the intruders on his ancient home, + + The young light-hearted masters of the waves-- + And snatched his rudder, and shook out more sail; + And day and night held on indignantly + O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale, + Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily, 15 + To where the Atlantic raves + Outside the western straits; and unbent sails + There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam, + Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come; + And on the beach undid his corded bales. 20 + + M. ARNOLD. + + +FAREWELL TO MALTA + + Adieu, ye joys of La Valette! + Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat! + Adieu, thou palace rarely entered! + Adieu, ye mansions where--I've ventured! + Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs! 5 + (How surely he who mounts you swears!) + Adieu, ye merchants often failing! + Adieu, thou mob for ever railing! + Adieu, ye packets--without letters! + Adieu, ye fools--who ape your betters! 10 + Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine, + That gave me fever, and the spleen! + Adieu, that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs, + Adieu, his Excellency's dancers! + Adieu to Peter--whom no fault's in, 15 + But could not teach a colonel waltzing; + Adieu, ye females fraught with graces! + Adieu, red coats, and redder faces! + Adieu, the supercilious air + Of all that strut 'en militaire!' 20 + I go--but God knows when, or why, + To smoky towns and cloudy sky, + To things (the honest truth to say) + As bad--but in a different way. + Farewell to these, but not adieu, 25 + Triumphant sons of truest blue! + While either Adriatic shore, + And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more, + And nightly smiles, and daily dinners, + Proclaim you war and woman's winners. 30 + Pardon my muse, who apt to prate is, + And take my rhyme--because 'tis 'gratis'. + + And now, O Malta! since thou'st got us, + Thou little military hothouse! + I'll not offend with words uncivil, 35 + And wish thee rudely at the Devil, + But only stare from out my casement, + And ask, for what is such a place meant? + Then, in my solitary nook, + Return to scribbling, or a book, 40 + Or take my physic while I'm able + (Two spoonfuls hourly by the label), + Prefer my nightcap to my beaver, + And bless the gods I've got a fever. + + LORD BYRON. + + +TO E[DWARD] L[EAR], ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE + + Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls + Of water, sheets of summer glass, + The long divine Peneian pass, + The vast Akrokeraunian walls, + + Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair, 5 + With such a pencil, such a pen, + You shadow forth to distant men, + I read and felt that I was there: + + And trust me while I turned the page, + And tracked you still on classic ground, 10 + I grew in gladness till I found + My spirits in the golden age. + + For me the torrent ever poured + And glistened--here and there alone + The broad-limbed Gods at random thrown 15 + By fountain-urns;--and Naiads oared + + A glimmering shoulder under gloom + Of cavern pillars; on the swell + The silver lily heaved and fell; + And many a slope was rich in bloom 20 + + From him that on the mountain lea + By dancing rivulets fed his flocks, + To him who sat upon the rocks, + And fluted to the morning sea. + + LORD TENNYSON. + + +HELLAS + + It is not only that the sun + Loves best these southern lands, + It is not for the trophies won + Of old by hero hands, + That nature wreathed in softer smiles 5 + Was here the bride of art; + A closer kinship claims these isles, + The love-land of the heart. + It is because the poet's dream + Still haunts each happy vale, 10 + That peopled every grove and stream + To fit his fairy tale. + + There may be greener vales and hills + Less bare to shelter man; + But still they want the naiad rills, 15 + And miss the pipe of Pan. + There may be other isles as fair + And summer seas as blue, + But then Odysseus touched not there + Nor Argo beached her crew. 20 + The Nereid-haunted river shore, + The Faun-frequented dell, + Possess me with their magic more + Than sites where Caesars fell: + And where the blooms of Zante blow 25 + Their incense to the waves; + Where Ithaca's dark headlands show + The legendary caves; + Where in the deep of olive groves + The summer hardly dies; 30 + Where fair Phaeacia's sun-brown maids + Still keep their siren eyes; + Where Chalcis strains with loving lips + Towards the little bay, + The strand that held the thousand ships, 35 + The Aulis of delay; + Where Oeta's ridge of granite bars + The gate Thermopylae, + Where huge Orion crowned with stars + Looks down on Rhodope; 40 + Where once Apollo tended flocks + On Phera's lofty plain, + Where Peneus cleaves the stubborn rocks + To find the outer main; + Where Argos and Mycenae sleep 45 + With all the buried wrong, + And where Arcadian uplands keep + The antique shepherd song, + There is a spirit haunts the place + All other lands must lack, 50 + A speaking voice, a living grace, + That beckons fancy back. + + Dear isles and sea-indented shore, + Till songs be no more sung, + The singers that have gone before 55 + Will keep your lovers young: + And men will hymn your haunted skies, + And seek your holy streams, + Until the soul of music dies, + And earth has done with dreams. 60 + + SIR RENNELL RODD. + + +THE VIOLET CROWN + + 'Wherefore the "city of the violet crown"?' + One asked me, as the April sun went down + Behind the shadows of the Persian's mound, + The fretted crags of Salamis. + 'Look round, + And see the question answered!' + For we were + Upon the summit of that battled square, 6 + The rock of ruin, in whose fallen shrine + The world still worships what man made divine, + The maiden fane, that yet may boast the birth + Of half the immortalities of earth. 10 + + The last rays light the portal, a gold wave + Runs up the columns to the architrave, + Lingers about the gable and is gone:-- + Parnes, Hymettus, and Pentelicon + Show shadowy violet in the after-rose, 15 + Cithaeron's ridge and all the islands close + The mountain ring, like sapphires o'er the sea, + And from this circle's heart aetherially + Springs the white altar of the land's renown, + A marble lily in a violet crown. 20 + + And fairer crown had never queen than this + That girds thee round, far-famed Acropolis! + So of these isles, these mountains, and this sea, + I wove a crown of song to dedicate to thee. + + SIR RENNELL RODD. + + +ATHENS + + The nodding promontories and blue isles, + And cloud-like mountains, and dividuous waves + Of Greece, basked glorious in the open smiles + Of favouring heaven: from their enchanted caves + Prophetic echoes flung dim melody 5 + On the unapprehensive wild. + The vine, the corn, the olive wild, + Grew, savage yet, to human use unreconciled; + And like unfolded flowers beneath the sea, + Like the man's thought dark in the infant's brain, 10 + Like aught that is which wraps what is to be, + Art's deathless dreams lay veiled by many a vein + Of Parian stone; and yet a speechless child, + Verse murmured, and Philosophy did strain + Her lidless eyes for thee; when o'er the Aegean main 15 + Athens arose: a city such as vision + Builds from the purple crags and silver towers + Of battlemented cloud, as in derision + Of kingliest masonry: the ocean-floors + Pave it; the evening sky pavilions it; 20 + Its portals are inhabited + By thunder-zoned winds, each head + Within its cloudy wings with sun-fire garlanded,-- + A divine work! Athens, diviner yet, + Gleamed with its crest of columns, on the will + Of man, as on a mount of diamond, set; 26 + For thou wert, and thine all-creative skill + Peopled, with forms that mock the eternal dead + In marble immortality, that hill + Which was thine earliest throne and latest oracle. + Within the surface of Time's fleeting river 31 + Its wrinkled image lies, as then it lay + Immovably unquiet, and for ever + It trembles, but it cannot pass away! + + P. B. SHELLEY. + + +PARNASSUS + + Oh, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey, + Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye, + Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, + But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, + In the wild pomp of mountain majesty! 5 + What marvel if I thus essay to sing? + The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by + Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, + Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing. + Oft have I dreamed of Thee! whose glorious name + Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: 11 + And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame + That I in feeblest accents must adore. + When I recount thy worshippers of yore + I tremble, and can only bend the knee; 15 + Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, + But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy + In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee! + + LORD BYRON. + + +CORINTH + + Many a vanished year and age, + And tempest's breath, and battle's rage, + Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands, + A fortress formed to Freedom's hands. + The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock, 5 + Have left untouched her hoary rock, + The keystone of a land, which still, + Though fallen, looks proudly on that hill, + The landmark to the double tide + That purpling rolls on either side, 10 + As if their waters chafed to meet, + Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet. + But could the blood before her shed, + Since first Timoleon's brother bled, + Or baffled Persia's despot fled, 15 + Arise from out the earth which drank + The stream of slaughter as it sank, + That sanguine ocean would o'erflow + Her isthmus idly spread below: + Or could the bones of all the slain, 20 + Who perished there, be piled again, + That rival pyramid would rise + More mountain-like, through those clear skies, + Than yon tower-capped Acropolis, + Which seems the very clouds to kiss. 25 + + LORD BYRON. + + +CORINNA TO TANAGRA + +FROM ATHENS + + Tanagra! think not I forget + Thy beautifully-storied streets; + Be sure my memory bathes yet + In clear Thermodon, and yet greets + The blithe and liberal shepherd-boy, 5 + Whose sunny bosom swells with joy + When we accept his matted rushes + Upheaved with sylvan fruit; away he bounds and blushes. + + A gift I promise: one I see + Which thou with transport wilt receive, 10 + The only proper gift for thee, + Of which no mortal shall bereave + In later times thy mouldering walls, + Until the last old turret falls; + A crown, a crown from Athens won, 15 + A crown no God can wear, beside Latona's son. + + There may be cities who refuse + To their own child the honours due, + And look ungently on the Muse; + But ever shall those cities rue 20 + The dry, unyielding, niggard breast, + Offering no nourishment, no rest, + To that young head which soon shall rise + Disdainfully, in might and glory, to the skies. + + Sweetly where caverned Dirce flows 25 + Do white-armed maidens chant my lay, + Flapping the while with laurel-rose + The honey-gathering tribes away; + And sweetly, sweetly Attic tongues + Lisp your Corinna's early songs; 30 + To her with feet more graceful come + The verses that have dwelt in kindred breasts at home. + + O let thy children lean aslant + Against the tender mother's knee, + And gaze into her face, and want 35 + To know what magic there can be + In words that urge some eyes to dance, + While others as in holy trance + Look up to heaven: be such my praise! + Why linger? I must haste, or lose the Delphic bays. + + W. S. LANDOR. + + +WARING + + What's become of Waring + Since he gave us all the slip, + Chose land-travel or seafaring, + Boots and chest or staff and scrip, + Rather than pace up and down 5 + Any longer London-town? + + Ichabod, Ichabod, + The glory is departed! + Travels Waring East away? + Who, of knowledge, by hearsay, 10 + Reports a man upstarted + Somewhere as a God, + Hordes grown European-hearted, + Millions of the wild made tame + On a sudden at his fame? 15 + In Vishnu-land what Avatar? + Or who, in Moscow, toward the Czar, + With the demurest of footfalls + Over the Kremlin's pavement, bright + With serpentine and syenite, 20 + Steps, with five other Generals + That simultaneously take snuff, + For each to have pretext enough + To kerchiefwise unfold his sash + Which, softness' self, is yet the stuff 25 + To hold fast where a steel chain snaps, + And leave the grand white neck no gash? + Waring, in Moscow, to those rough + Cold northern natures borne, perhaps, + Like the lambwhite maiden dear 30 + From the circle of mute kings + Unable to repress the tear, + Each as his sceptre down he flings, + To Dian's fane at Taurica, + Where now a captive priestess, she alway 35 + Mingles her tender grave Hellenic speech + With theirs, tuned to the hailstone-beaten beach, + As pours some pigeon, from the myrrhy lands + Rapt by the whirlblast to fierce Scythian strands + Where breed the swallows, her melodious cry 40 + Amid their barbarous twitter? + In Russia? Never! Spain were fitter! + Ay, most likely 'tis in Spain + That we and Waring meet again + Now, while he turns down that cool narrow lane + Into the blackness, out of grave Madrid 45 + All fire and shine, abrupt as when there's slid + Its stiff gold blazing pall + From some black coffin-lid. + + 'When I last saw Waring....' 50 + (How all turned to him who spoke-- + You saw Waring? Truth or joke? + In land-travel, or sea-faring?) + 'We were sailing by Triest, + Where a day or two we harboured: 55 + A sunset was in the West, + When, looking over the vessel's side, + One of our company espied + A sudden speck to larboard. + And, as a sea-duck flies and swims 60 + At once, so came the light craft up, + With its sole lateen sail that trims + And turns (the water round its rims + Dancing, as round a sinking cup) + And by us like a fish it curled, 65 + And drew itself up close beside, + Its great sail on the instant furled, + And o'er its planks, a shrill voice cried + (A neck as bronzed as a Lascar's), + "Buy wine of us, you English brig? 70 + Or fruit, tobacco and cigars? + A pilot for you to Triest? + Without one, look you ne'er so big, + They'll never let you up the bay! + We natives should know best." 75 + I turned, and "Just those fellows' way", + Our captain said, "The 'long-shore thieves + Are laughing at us in their sleeves." + + 'In truth, the boy leaned laughing back; + And one, half-hidden by his side 80 + Under the furled sail, soon I spied, + With great grass hat and kerchief black, + Who looked up with his kingly throat, + Said somewhat, while the other shook + His hair back from his eyes to look 85 + Their longest at us; then the boat, + I know not how, turned sharply round, + Laying her whole side on the sea + As a leaping fish does; from the lee, + Into the weather, cut somehow 90 + Her sparkling path beneath our bow; + And so went off, as with a bound, + Into the rosy and golden half + Of the sky, to overtake the sun + And reach the shore, like the sea-calf 95 + Its singing cave; yet I caught one + Glance ere away the boat quite passed, + And neither time nor toil could mar + Those features: so I saw the last + Of Waring!'--You? Oh, never star 100 + Was lost here, but it rose afar! + Look East, where whole new thousands are! + In Vishnu-land what Avatar? + + R. BROWNING. + + +ON THE RHINE + + Vain is the effort to forget. + Some day I shall be cold, I know, + As is the eternal moon-lit snow + Of the high Alps, to which I go + But ah, not yet! not yet! 5 + + Vain is the agony of grief. + 'Tis true, indeed, an iron knot + Ties straitly up from mine thy lot, + And were it snapt--thou lov'st me not! + But is despair relief? 10 + + Awhile let me with thought have done; + And as this brimmed unwrinkled Rhine + And that far purple mountain line + Lie sweetly in the look divine + Of the slow-sinking sun; 15 + + So let me lie, and calm as they + Let beam upon my inward view + Those eyes of deep, soft, lucent hue-- + Eyes too expressive to be blue, + Too lovely to be grey. 20 + + Ah Quiet, all things feel thy balm! + Those blue hills too, this river's flow, + Were restless once, but long ago. + Tamed is their turbulent youthful glow: + Their joy is in their calm. 25 + + M. ARNOLD. + + +THE CASTLED CRAG OF DRACHENFELS + + The castled crag of Drachenfels + Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, + Whose breast of waters broadly swells + Between the banks which bear the vine, + And hills all rich with blossomed trees, 5 + And fields which promise corn and wine, + And scattered cities crowning these, + Whose far white walls along them shine, + Have strewed a scene, which I should see + With double joy wert _thou_ with me. 10 + + And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes + And hands which offer early flowers, + Walk smiling o'er this paradise; + Above, the frequent feudal towers + Through green leaves lift their walls of grey; 15 + And many a rock which steeply lowers, + And noble arch in proud decay, + Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; + But one thing want these banks of Rhine,-- + Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! 20 + + I send the lilies given to me; + Though long before thy hand they touch, + I know that they must withered be, + But yet reject them not as such; + For I have cherished them as dear, 25 + Because they yet may meet thine eye, + And guide thy soul to mine even here, + When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, + And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, + And offered from my heart to thine! 30 + + The river nobly foams and flows, + The charm of this enchanted ground, + And all its thousand turns disclose + Some fresher beauty varying round: + The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 35 + Through life to dwell delighted here: + Nor could on earth a spot be found + To nature and to me so dear, + Could thy dear eyes in following mine + Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! 40 + + LORD BYRON. + + +'UP THE RHINE' + + Why, Tourist, why + With Passport have to do? + Pr'ythee stay at home and pass + The Port and Sherry too. + + Why, Tourist, why 5 + Embark for Rotterdam? + Pr'ythee stay at home and take + Thy Hollands in a dram. + + Why, Tourist, why + To foreign climes repair? 10 + Pr'ythee take thy German Flute, + And breathe a German air. + + Why, Tourist, why + The Seven Mountains view? + Any one at home can tint 15 + A hill with Prussian Blue. + + Why, Tourist, why + To old Colonia's walls? + Sure, to see a _Wrenish_ Dome, + One needn't leave St. Paul's. 20 + + T. HOOD. + + +COLOGNE + + In Koehln, a town of monks and bones, + And pavements fanged with murderous stones, + And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches; + I counted two and seventy stenches, + All well defined, and several stinks! 5 + Ye Nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, + The river Rhine, it is well known, + Doth wash your city of Cologne; + But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine + Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine? 10 + + S. T. COLERIDGE. + + +THE PURSUIT OF LETTERS + + The Germans for Learning enjoy great repute; + But the English make _Letters_ still more a pursuit; + For a Cockney will go from the banks of the Thames + To Cologne for an _O_ and to Nassau for M's. + + T. HOOD. + + +FROM 'DOVER TO MUNICH' + + Farewell, farewell! Before our prow + Leaps in white foam the noisy channel; + A tourist's cap is on my brow, + My legs are cased in tourist's flannel: + + Around me gasp the invalids-- 5 + (The quantity to-night is fearful) + I take a brace or so of weeds, + And feel (as yet) extremely cheerful. + + The night wears on:--my thirst I quench + With one imperial pint of porter; 10 + Then drop upon a casual bench-- + (The bench is short, but I am shorter)-- + + Place 'neath my head the _havre-sac_ + Which I have stored my little all in, + And sleep, though moist about the back, 15 + Serenely in an old tarpaulin. + + Bed at Ostend at 5 a.m. + Breakfast at 6, and train 6.30, + Tickets to Koenigswinter (mem. + The seats objectionably dirty). 20 + + And onward through those dreary flats + We move, with scanty space to sit on, + Flanked by stout girls with steeple hats, + And waists that paralyse a Briton;-- + + By many a tidy little town, 25 + Where tidy little Fraus sit knitting, + (The men's pursuits are, lying down, + Smoking perennial pipes, and spitting;) + + And doze, and execrate the heat, + And wonder how far off Cologne is, 30 + And if we shall get aught to eat, + Till we get there, save raw polonies; + + Until at last the 'grey old pile' + Is seen, is past, and three hours later + We're ordering steaks, and talking vile 35 + Mock-German to an Austrian waiter. + + * * * * * + + On, on the vessel steals; + Round go the paddle wheels, + And now the tourist feels + As he should; 40 + For king-like rolls the Rhine, + And the scenery's divine, + And the victuals and the wine + Rather good. + + From every crag we pass 'll 45 + Rise up some hoar old castle; + The hanging fir-groves tassel + Every slope; + And the vine her lithe arm stretches + O'er peasants singing catches-- 50 + And you'll make no end of sketches, + I should hope. + + We've a nun here (called Therese), + Two couriers out of place, + One Yankee with a face 55 + Like a ferret's: + And three youths in scarlet caps + Drinking chocolate and schnapps-- + A diet which perhaps + Has its merits. 60 + + And day again declines: + In shadow sleep the vines, + And the last ray through the pines + Feebly glows, + Then sinks behind yon ridge; 65 + And the usual evening midge + Is settling on the bridge + Of my nose. + + And keen's the air and cold, + And the sheep are in the fold, 70 + And Night walks sable-stoled + Through the trees; + And on the silent river + The floating starbeams quiver;-- + And now, the saints deliver 75 + Us from fleas. + + * * * * * + + Avenues of broad white houses, + Basking in the noontide glare;-- + Streets, which foot of traveller shrinks from, + As on hot plates shrinks the bear;-- 80 + + Elsewhere lawns, and vistaed gardens, + Statues white, and cool arcades, + Where at eve the German warrior + Winks upon the German maids;-- + + Such is Munich:--broad and stately, 85 + Rich of hue, and fair of form; + But, towards the end of August, + Unequivocally _warm_. + + C. S. CALVERLEY. + + +NUREMBERG + + In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands + Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands. + + Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, + Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng: + + Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, 5 + Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old; + + And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, + That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. + + In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band, + Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde's hand; 10 + + On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days + Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. + + Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art: + Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart; + + And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone, 15 + By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own. + + In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust, + And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust; + + In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare, + Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air. 20 + + Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart, + Lived and laboured Albrecht Duerer, the Evangelist of Art; + + Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand, + Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land. + + _Emigravit_ is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies; 25 + Dead he is not, but departed,--for the artist never dies. + + Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair, + That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air! + + Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and + dismal lanes, + Walked of yore the Master-singers, chanting rude poetic strains. 30 + + From remote and sunless suburbs came they to the friendly guild, + Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in spouts the swallows build. + + As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme, + And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime; + + Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom + In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom. 36 + + Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft, + Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed. + + But his house is now an ale-house, with a nicely sanded floor, + And a garland in the window, and his face above the door; 40 + + Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman's song, + As the old man grey and dove-like, with his great beard white and long. + + And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark and care, + Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the master's antique chair. + + Vanished is the ancient splendour, and before my dreamy eye 45 + Wave these mingled shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry. + + Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's regard; + But thy painter, Albrecht Duerer, and Hans Sachs thy cobbler-bard. + + Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away, + As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay: + + Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a floweret of the soil, 51 + The nobility of labour,--the long pedigree of toil. + + H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + +AGED CITIES + + I have known cities with the strong-armed Rhine + Clasping their mouldered quays in lordly sweep; + And lingered where the Maine's low waters shine + Through Tyrian Frankfort; and been fain to weep + 'Mid the green cliffs where pale Mosella laves 5 + That Roman sepulchre, imperial Treves. + Ghent boasts her street, and Bruges her moonlight square; + And holy Mechlin, Rome of Flanders, stands, + Like a queen-mother, on her spacious lands; + And Antwerp shoots her glowing spire in air. 10 + Yet have I seen no place, by inland brook, + Hill-top, or plain, or trim arcaded bowers, + That carries age so nobly in its look, + As Oxford with the sun upon her towers. + + F. W. FABER. + + +BRUGES + + The Spirit of Antiquity--enshrined + In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song, + In picture, speaking with heroic tongue, + And with devout solemnities entwined-- + Mounts to the seat of grace within the mind: 5 + Hence Forms that glide with swan-like ease along, + Hence motions, even amid the vulgar throng, + To an harmonious decency confined: + As if the streets were consecrated ground, + The city one vast temple, dedicate 10 + To mutual respect in thought and deed; + To leisure, to forbearances sedate; + To social cares from jarring passions freed; + A deeper peace than that in deserts found! + + W. WORDSWORTH. + + +THE BELFRY OF BRUGES + + In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown; + Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town. + + As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, + And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood. 4 + + Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapours gray, + Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. + + At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, + Wreaths of snow-white smoke ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air. + + Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, + But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. 10 + + From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high; + And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky. + + Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times, + With their strange unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes, + + Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir; + And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. 16 + + Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain; + They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again; + + All the Foresters of Flanders,--mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, + Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre. 20 + + I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old; + Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece + of Gold. + + Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies; + Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease. + + I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground; 25 + I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound; + + And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen, + And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between. + + I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold, + Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold; 30 + + Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west, + Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest. + + And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote; + And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat; + + Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand, 35 + 'I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!' + + Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar + Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more. + + Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware, + Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. 40 + + H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + +THE CARILLON + +ANTWERP AND BRUGES + + At Antwerp, there is a low wall + Binding the city, and a moat + Beneath, that the wind keeps afloat. + You pass the gates in a slow drawl + Of wheels. If it is warm at all 5 + The Carillon will give you thought. + + I climbed the stair in Antwerp church, + What time the urgent weight of sound + At sunset seems to heave it round. + Far up, the Carillon did search 10 + The wind; and the birds came to perch + Far under, where the gables wound. + + In Antwerp harbour on the Scheldt + I stood along, a certain space + Of night. The mist was near my face: 15 + Deep on, the flow was heard and felt. + The Carillon kept pause, and dwelt + In music through the silent place. + + At Bruges, when you leave the train, + --A singing numbness in your ears,-- 20 + The Carillon's first sound appears + Only the inner moil. Again + A little minute though--your brain + Takes quiet, and the whole sense hears. + + John Memmeling and John Van Eyck 25 + Hold state at Bruges. In sore shame + I scanned the works that keep their name. + The Carillon, which then did strike + Mine ears, was heard of theirs alike; + It set me closer unto them. 30 + + I climbed at Bruges all the flight + The Belfry has of ancient stone. + For leagues I saw the east wind blown: + The earth was grey, the sky was white. + I stood so near upon the height 35 + That my flesh left the Carillon. + + D. G. ROSSETTI. + + +HOLLAND + + Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land, + As but the off-scouring of the British sand; + And so much earth as was contributed + By English pilots when they heaved the lead; + Or what by the ocean's slow alluvion fell, 5 + Of shipwrecked cockle and the mussel-shell; + This indigested vomit of the sea + Fell to the Dutch by just propriety. + Glad then, as miners who have found the ore, + They, with mad labour, fished the land to shore: + And dived as desperately for each piece 11 + Of earth, as if 't had been of ambergris; + Collecting anxiously small loads of clay, + Less than what building swallows bear away; + Or than those pills which sordid beetles roll 15 + Transfusing into them their dunghill soul! + How did they rivet, with gigantic piles, + Thorough the centre their new-catched miles; + And to the stake a struggling country bound, + Where barking waves still bait the forced ground; + Building their watery Babel far more high 21 + To reach the sea, than those to scale the sky. + Yet still his claim the injured ocean laid, + And oft at leap-frog o'er their steeples played; + As if on purpose it on land had come 25 + To shew them what's their _mare liberum_, + A daily deluge over them does boil; + The earth and water play at level-coil. + The fish oft-times the burgher dispossessed, + And sat, not as a meat, but as a guest; 30 + And oft the Tritons, and the sea-nymphs, saw + Whole shoals of Dutch served up for Cabillau; + Or, as they over the new level ranged, + For pickled herring, pickled heeren changed. + + ANDREW MARVELL. + + +THE HAGUE + + While with labour assiduous due pleasure I mix, + And in one day atone for the business of six, + In a little Dutch chaise, on a Saturday night, + On my left hand my Horace, a nymph on my right; + No memoirs to compose, and no post-boy to move, + That on Sunday may hinder the softness of love. 6 + For her neither visits nor parties at tea, + Nor the long-winded cant of a dull refugee. + This night and the next shall be hers, shall be mine, + To good or ill fortune the third we resign. 10 + Thus scorning the world, and superior to fate, + I drive in my car in professional state. + So with Phia through Athens Pisistratus rode; + Men thought her Minerva, and him a new god. + But why should I stories of Athens rehearse 15 + Where people knew love, and were partial to verse, + Since none can with justice my pleasures oppose + In Holland half-drowned in interest and prose? + By Greece and past ages what need I be tried + When The Hague and the present are both on my side; 20 + And is it enough for the joys of the day + To think what Anacreon or Sappho would say? + When good Vandergoes and his provident vrow, + As they gaze on my triumph do freely allow, + That, search all the province, you'll find no man dar is 25 + So blest as the Englishen Heer Secretar' is. + + M. PRIOR. + _The Hague, 1696._ + + +ROTTERDAM + + I gaze upon a city, + A city new and strange; + Down many a watery vista + My fancy takes a range; + From side to side I saunter, 5 + And wonder where I am;-- + And can _you_ be in England, + And I at Rotterdam! + + Before me lie dark waters, + In broad canals and deep, 10 + Whereon the silver moonbeams + Sleep, restless in their sleep; + A sort of vulgar Venice + Reminds me where I am,-- + Yes, yes, you are in England, 15 + And I'm at Rotterdam. + + Tall houses with quaint gables, + Where frequent windows shine, + And quays that lead to bridges, + And trees in formal line, 20 + And masts of spicy vessels, + From distant Surinam, + All tell me you're in England, + And I'm in Rotterdam. + + Those sailors,--how outlandish 25 + The face and garb of each! + They deal in foreign gestures, + And use a foreign speech; + A tongue not learned near Isis, + Or studied by the Cam, 30 + Declares that you're in England, + But I'm at Rotterdam. + + And now across a market + My doubtful way I trace, + Where stands a solemn statue, 35 + The Genius of the place; + And to the great Erasmus + I offer my salaam,-- + Who tells me you're in England, + And I'm at Rotterdam. 40 + + The coffee-room is open, + I mingle in its crowd; + The dominoes are rattling, + The hookahs raise a cloud; + A flavour, none of Fearon's, 45 + That mingles with my dram, + Reminds me you're in England, + But I'm in Rotterdam, + + Then here it goes, a bumper,-- + The toast it shall be mine. 50 + In Schiedam, or in Sherry, + Tokay, or Hock of Rhine,-- + It well deserves the brightest + Where sunbeam ever swam,-- + 'The girl I love in England,' 55 + I drink at Rotterdam! + + T. HOOD. + + +THE PROGRESS OF ERROR + + No plainer truth appears, + Our most important are our earliest years; + The mind, impressible and soft, with ease + Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, + And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clue 5 + That education gives her, false or true. + Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong; + Man's coltish disposition asks the thong; + And, without discipline, the favourite child, + Like a neglected forester, runs wild. 10 + But we, as if good qualities would grow + Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow; + We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek; + Teach him to fence and figure twice a week; + And, having done, we think, the best we can, 15 + Praise his proficiency, and dub him man. + From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home; + And thence, with all convenient speed, to Rome, + With reverend tutor, clad in habit lay, + To tease for cash, and quarrel with, all day; 20 + With memorandum-book for every town, + And every post, and where the chaise broke down; + His stock, a few French phrases got by heart; + With much to learn, but nothing to impart, + The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, 25 + Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands. + Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair, + With awkward gait, stretched neck, and silly stare, + Discover huge cathedrals, built with stone, + And steeples towering high, much like our own; 30 + But show peculiar light by many a grin + At popish practices observed within. + Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abbe, + Remarks two loiterers that have lost their way; + And, being always primed with _politesse_ 35 + For men of their appearance and address, + With much compassion undertakes the task + To tell them--more than they have wit to ask: + Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread, + Such as, when legible, were never read, 40 + But, being cankered now, and half worn out, + Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt; + Some headless hero, or some Caesar shows-- + Defective only in his Roman nose; + Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans, 45 + Models of Herculanean pots and pans; + And sells them medals, which, if neither rare + Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care. + Strange the recital! from whatever cause + His great improvement and new lights he draws, 50 + The squire, once bashful, is shame-faced no more, + But teems with powers he never felt before; + Whether increased momentum, and the force + With which from clime to clime he sped his course, + (As axles sometimes kindle as they go) 55 + Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a glow; + Or whether clearer skies and softer air, + That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair, + Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran, + Unfolded genially, and spread the man; 60 + Returning, he proclaims, by many a grace, + By shrugs, and strange contortions of his face, + How much a dunce that has been sent to roam + Excels a dunce that has been kept at home. + + W. COWPER. + + +ADVICE AGAINST TRAVEL + + Traverse not the globe for lore! The sternest + But the surest teacher is the heart; + Studying that and that alone, thou learnest + Best and soonest whence and what thou _art_. + + _Time_, not travel, 'tis which gives us ready 5 + Speech, experience, prudence, tact, and wit. + Far more light the lamp that bideth steady + Than the wandering lantern doth _emit_. + + _Moor_, Chinese, Egyptian, Russian, Roman, + Tread one common down-hill path of doom; 10 + Everywhere the names are Man and Woman, + Everywhere the old sad sins find _room_. + + _Evil_ angels tempt us in all places. + What but sands or snows hath earth to give? + Dream not, friend, of deserts and oases, 15 + But look inwards, and begin to _live_! + + J. C. MANGAN. + + +HAD CAIN BEEN SCOT + + Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom,-- + Not forced him wander, but confined him home. + + J. CLEVELAND. + + +A SONG OF THE ROAD + + The gauger walked with willing foot, + And aye the gauger played the flute; + And what should Master Gauger play + But _Over the hills and far away_? + + Whene'er I buckle on my pack 5 + And foot it gaily in the track, + O pleasant gauger, long since dead, + I hear you fluting on ahead. + + You go with me the self-same way-- + The self-same air for me you play; 10 + For I do think and so do you, + It is the tune to travel to. + + For who would gravely set his face + To go to this or t'other place? + There's nothing under Heav'n so blue 15 + That's fairly worth the travelling to. + + On every hand the roads begin, + And people walk with zeal therein; + But whereso'er the highways tend, + Be sure there's nothing at the end. 20 + + Then follow you, wherever hie + The travelling mountains of the sky. + Or let the streams in civil mode + Direct your choice upon a road; + + For one and all, or high or low, 25 + Will lead you where you wish to go; + And one and all go night and day + _Over the hills and far away_! + + R. L. STEVENSON. + + + + +NOTES + + +The difficulty has been to select from a wealth of poems with which +volumes could have been filled. Indeed three collections dealing +exclusively with Greece, with Italy, and with Switzerland have already +been published by the Oxford University Press. In this volume the +traveller is not confined to one country, and he is not asked to drag +a lengthening chain beyond the limits of Europe. Here are some poems +about travel generally, and then country by country a grand tour is +traced. My obligation to the authors or owners of copyright poems is +duly acknowledged with grateful thanks. + + P. 7. _Clough._--The opening lines of _Amours de Voyage_. + + P. 7. _Tennyson._--A few lines only from _Ulysses_. + + P. 8. _Goldsmith._--From _The Traveller_. + + P. 11. _Bridges._--By kind permission of the Poet Laureate and + Messrs. Smith, Elder. + + Pp. 12 and 13. _Arnold._--From _Stanzas composed at Carnac_ and + _Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse_. + + Pp. 20 and 21. _Tennyson._--The passage from _Oenone_ and the idyll + from _The Princess_ are given here because their imagery was + inspired by the Pyrenees, which the poet repeatedly visited, first + of all in 1830 with Hallam, intending to aid in the Spanish revolt + against Ferdinand VII. Tennyson also spent some time in the Pyrenees + with Clough in 1861. It is Hallam who is referred to in _In the + Valley of Cauteretz_, a poem which Tennyson selected to write in + Queen Victoria's album. Swinburne has praised 'the solemn sweetness' + of these 'majestic verses'. + + P. 25. _Byron._--From _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, canto i, 18 and + 19. + + P. 26. _Godley._--By permission of the author and Messrs. Methuen. + + P. 29. _Butler._--By permission of Mrs. A. G. Butler. The poem + originally appeared in _The Times_ shortly after the Matterhorn + accident in 1865. + + P. 31. _Hardy._--By permission of the author and Messrs. Macmillan. + + Pp. 32 and 33. _Watts-Dunton._--By kind permission of the author, + given shortly before his death. + + P. 35. _Arnold._--The first portion is from _Stanzas in Memory of + the Author of 'Obermann'_ (Etienne Pivert de Senancour); the second + from _Obermann once More_, composed many years afterwards. + + P. 38. _Symonds._--By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder. + + P. 47. _Byron._--From _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, canto iv, 73, + 74, and 75. + + P. 48. _Clough._--The concluding lines of the introduction to canto + iii of _Amours de Voyage_. + + P. 51. _Rogers._--From _Italy_. + + P. 52._ Shelley._--From _Lines written among the Euganean Hills_. + + P. 53. _Byron._--From _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, canto iv, 1, 2, + 3, 4, 11, and 13. + + P. 56. _Byron._--From _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, canto iv, + stanzas 48, 49. + + P. 60. _Byron._--From _Manfred_, act III, sc. iv. + + P. 62. _Hardy._--From _Wessex Poems, etc._ By permission of the + author and Messrs. Macmillan. + + P. 64. _Clough._--From _Amours de Voyage_, canto iii. There is a + note to line 8: + + ... domus Albuneae resonantis, + Et praeceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda + Mobilibus pomaria rivis. + + P. 65. _Wordsworth._--The first two stanzas 'Composed in the Simplon + Pass', 1820. The concluding eight lines are from _At Vallombrosa_, + written when the poet's 'fond wish' to visit this spot had been + realized in 1837. Wordsworth is at pains to defend Milton from the + charge of having blundered in _Paradise Lost_, by suggesting that + the trees are 'deciduous whereas they are, in fact, pines'. 'The + fault-finders', Wordsworth says, 'are themselves mistaken; the + _natural_ woods of the region of Vallombrosa _are_ deciduous.' + + P. 66. _Rogers._--From _Italy_. + + P. 73. _Phillimore._--By permission of the author. + + P. 78. _Blunt._--By permission of the author. + + P. 81. _Tennyson._--Lear was not only the inventor or popularizer of + 'Limericks', but also a highly-esteemed artist. + + Pp. 83 and 85. _Rodd._--By permission of the author, who wrote the + introduction to the Oxford anthology, _The Englishman in Greece_. + + P. 86. _Shelley._--Stanzas 4 and 5 of the _Ode to Liberty_. + + P. 87. _Byron._--From _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, canto i, 60 and + 61. + + P. 91. _Browning._--This poem is not complete. + + P. 96. _Byron._--From _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_, canto iii, 55. + + P. 99. _Calverley._--This is a portion only of the poem. + + P. 118. _Cowper._--An extract from the long poem of the same title. + + P. 121. _Stevenson._--By permission of Messrs. Chatto & Windus (and + Messrs. Scribner's Sons in regard to the American rights). + + + + +INDEX OF FIRST LINES + + Page + A wreath of light blue vapour, pure and rare, 68 + Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!, 80 + All along the valley, stream that flashest white, 22 + Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 56 + At Antwerp, there is a low wall, 112 + + Brook and road, 34 + + Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height, 21 + + England, we love thee better than we know, 77 + + Far on its rocky knoll descried, 12 + Farewell, farewell! Before our prow, 99 + + Glion?---- Ah, twenty years, it cuts, 36 + + Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom, 121 + Happy is England! I could be content, 39 + Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star, 14 + Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land, 113 + + I cannot rest from travel: I will drink, 7 + I do remember me, that in my youth, 60 + I gaze upon a city, 116 + I have known cities with the strong-armed Rhine, 107 + I leave thee, beauteous Italy! no more, 74 + I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, 53 + I travelled among unknown men, 9 + Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls, 81 + In front the awful Alpine track, 35 + In Koehln, a town of monks and bones, 98 + In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown, 108 + In the steamy, stuffy Midlands, 'neath an English summer sky, 26 + In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands, 103 + Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill?, 62 + It is not only that the sun, 83 + Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes, 25 + + Many a vanished year and age, 88 + + Never, oh never more shall I behold, 38 + No plainer truth appears, 118 + No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks, 44 + Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away, 77 + Nowhere I sojourn but I thence depart, 73 + + O beautiful beneath the magic moon, 55 + O love, what hours were thine and mine, 40 + Oh, come to Rome, it is a pleasant place, 56 + Oh, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey, 87 + On her still lake the city sits, 55 + Once more upon the woody Apennine, 47 + Over the great windy waters, and over the clear-crested summits, 7 + + Quick, painter, quick, the moment seize, 23 + + Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 8 + + Say, hast thou tracked a traveller's round, 76 + Seven weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm, 78 + Sweet the memory is to me, 69 + + Tanagra! think not I forget, 89 + Ten years!--and to my waking eye, 38 + The castled crag of Drachenfels, 96 + The ceaseless rain is falling fast, 5 + The gauger walked with willing foot, 121 + The Germans for Learning enjoy great repute, 99 + The Lady of the Hills with crimes untold, 32 + The nodding promontories and blue isles, 86 + The skies have sunk, and hid the upper snow, 18 + The Spirit of Antiquity--enshrined, 108 + Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles!, 79 + There is a glorious City in the sea, 51 + There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier, 20 + They stand between the mountains and the sea, 66 + They warred with Nature, as of old with gods, 29 + Thirty-two years since, up against the sun, 31 + Through Alpine meadows, soft-suffused, 13 + Tibur is beautiful, too, and the orchard slopes, and the Anio, 64 + Traverse not the globe for lore! The sternest, 120 + + Underneath Day's azure eyes, 52 + + Vain is the effort to forget, 95 + Vallombrosa! I longed in thy shadiest wood, 65 + Vallombrosa! of thee I first heard in the page, 65 + Verona! thy tall gardens stand erect, 46 + + What power is this? what witchery wins my feet, 33 + What's become of Waring, 91 + Where lies the land to which yon ship must go?, 10 + Where, upon Apennine slope, with the chestnut the + oak-trees immingle, 48 + 'Wherefore the "city of the violet crown"?', 85 + While with labour assiduous due pleasure I mix, 114 + Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, 11 + Who, then, was Cestius, 62 + Why, Tourist, why, 97 + Why, wedded to the Lord, still yearns my heart, 75 + + Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, 49 + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems on Travel, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ON TRAVEL *** + +***** This file should be named 39496.txt or 39496.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/4/9/39496/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau, Diane Monico, 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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