ページの画像
PDF
ePub

From Venice in its golden sea

To Postum in its purple light,

By sweet Val d'Arno's tinted hills,
In Vallombrosa's convent-gloom,

Mid Terni's vale of singing rills,

In

By deathless lairs in solemn Rome,

gay

Palermo's "Golden Shell,"

At Arethusa's hidden well

We loiter'd like th' impassion'd sun

That slept so lovingly on all,

And made a home of every one

Ruin, and fane, and waterfall

And crown'd the dying day with glory

If we had seen, since morn, but one old haunt of story.

We came with Spring to Tivoli.

My sister lov'd its laughing air

And merry waters, though, for me,

My heart was in another key,

And sometimes I could scarcely bear

The mirth of their eternal play,

And, like a child that longs for home When weary of its holiday,

I sighed for melancholy Rome. Perhaps the fancy haunts me still'Twas but a boding sense of ill.

It was a morn, of such a day

As might have dawn'd on Eden first, Early in the Italian May.

Vine-leaf and flower had newly burst,

And on the burthen of the air

The breath of buds came faint and rare;
And far in the transparent sky

The small, earth-keeping birds were seen
Soaring deliriously high ;

And through the clefts of newer green

Yon waters dash'd their living pearls;

And with a gayer smile and bow

Troop'd on the merry village girls ;

And from the Contadino's brow

The low-slouch'd hat was backward thrown,

With air that scarcely seem'd his own;

And Melanie, with lips apart,

And clasped hands upon my arm,
Flung open her impassion'd heart,

And bless'd life's mere and breathing charm,

And sang old songs, and gather'd flowers, And passionately bless'd once more life's thrilling hours.

In happiness and idleness

We wandered down yon sunny vale

Oh mocking eyes!—a golden tress
Floats back upon this summer gale!

A foot is tripping on the grass!

A laugh rings merry in mine ear!
I see a bounding shadow pass !—

O God! my sister once was here!
Come with me, friend!~We rested yon!

There grew a flower she pluck'd and wore
She sat upon this mossy stone !-

That broken fountain running o'er
With the same ring, like silver bells.

She listen'd to its babbling flow,

And said, "Perhaps the gossip tells

Some fountain-nymph's love-story now!"

And as her laugh rang clear and wild,
A youth-a painter-passed and smiled.

He gave the greeting of the morn
With voice that lingered in mine ear.
I knew him sad and gentle born

By those two words so calm and clear. His frame was slight, his forehead high And swept by threads of raven hair, The fire of thought was in his eye,

And he was pale and marble fair, And Grecian chisel never caught

The soul in those slight features wrought. I watch'd his graceful step of pride,

Till hidden by yon leaning tree,

And lov'd him ere the echo died;

And so, alas! did Melanie!

We sat and watch'd the fount awhile

In silence, but our thoughts were one;

And then arose, and with a smile

Of sympathy, we saunter'd on; And she by sudden fits was gay, And then her laughter died away,

And in this changefulness of mood, Forgotten now those May-day spells, We turn'd where Varro's villa stood And gazing on the Cascatelles,

(Whose hurrying waters wild and white Seem madden'd as they burst to light) I chanced to turn my eyes away, And lo! upon a bank alone,

The youthful painter, sleeping, lay!

His pencils on the grass were thrown,
And by his side a sketch was flung,

And near him as I lightly crept,
To see the picture as he slept,

Upon his feet he lightly sprung;
And gazing with a wild surprise
Upon the face of Melanie,

He said and dropp'd his earnest eyes—

"Forgive me! but I dream'd of thee !"

« 前へ次へ »