LOOK, love, to yonder mountain’s brow; | |
| Seest thou that beckoning hand of snow? | |
| Stern Winter dares no further come, | |
| But waves me towards his northern home. | |
| The sun upon this glad earth pours | 5 |
| His blessing, in warm golden showers; | |
| Down the steep path, with busy hum, | |
| The black-eyed sturdy peasants come; | |
| Patches of colors bright and gay | |
| Hang o’er their cheeks of ruddy brown, | 10 |
| Loud laugh and jest make light their way, | |
| From rock-perched hamlets winding down. | |
| The jogging mule goes clattering light, | |
| His wooden tubs to seek their freight; | |
| While others, with their vintage load, | 15 |
| Strain up the steep and stony road, | |
| And, all the sunny paths along, | |
| Snatches of loud monotonous song | |
| Come down from hill and up from glade, | |
| And through the broad-leaved chestnut shade; | 20 |
| From vineyards where a merry band | |
| Pile the ripe treasure of the land, | |
| Amber and amethyst shining through | |
| Soft purple bloom and sparkling dew. | |
| Dark white-veined glittering ivy, wed | 25 |
| To wreaths of vine-leaves touched with red, | |
| Hang from the brown brows of the rocks,— | |
| A garland meet for Bacchus’ locks. | |
| The fields, the woods, the air, the ground, | |
| Smell of the vintage all around, | 30 |
| And from the sunny earth and sea | |
| Rises a shout of jubilee. | |
| |
| From this steep road look down, where grow | |
| The chestnut forests deep below; | |
| Behold how far beneath our feet | 35 |
| The huge wood billows spread and meet,— | |
| A waving sea of noble trees, | |
| Rolling their green crests in the breeze; | |
| Mark the bright vale, the mountain chain, | |
| The distant lines of that great plain, | 40 |
| Where Rome, eternal Empress, sits | |
| Beneath the cloudless light, that fits | |
| The lordliest and the loveliest scene | |
| Time e’er shall see, Time yet hath seen! | |
| O land of glorious memories, | 45 |
| O land as fair as Paradise, | |
| O thou beloved, by whom I stand, | |
| Straining in mine thy kindred hand, | |
| Farewell!—on yonder mountain’s brow | |
| I see a beckoning hand of snow; | 50 |
| Stern Winter dares no nearer come, | |
| But waves me towards his northern home. | |
| |
