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I. ON such a blue and breezy summer’s day | |
| The winds seem charmed that wander round this Bay. | |
| The murmuring waves upon the sunward beach | |
| Whisper of things beyond the present’s reach. | |
| Each wingéd bark that skims along the sea | 5 |
| Seems gliding in a haze of mystery. | |
| Light of far Grecian days comes glimmering through | |
| This pure crystalline sky of cloudless blue. | |
| Here are the rocks where gold-haired sirens sang. | |
| Here Tasso’s harp in later ages rang. | 10 |
| Over the sacred waves the purple isles | |
| Answer the heavens with their serenest smiles; | |
| Round yonder point steep Capri with her caves; | |
| Beyond, where the sky kisses the far waves, | |
| Those amethystine sisters of the sea, | 15 |
| Prochyta, and the blue Inarimé. | |
| Gemming the shore from Baiæ’s ruined towers | |
| To marble Pompeii, half embalmed in flowers, | |
| Stretches the chain of towns along the sea; | |
| While gleaming in the midst Parthenope | 20 |
| Sits crowned with palaces, an ocean queen | |
| Gazing into her mirror of clear green. | |
| And over all, the bodeful genius | |
| Of this fair clime, fire-eyed Vesuvius | |
| Frowns, the sole troubled spirit of the scene, | 25 |
| Yet even him the distance makes serene. | |
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| All this I see from my still summer home, | |
| A bower where naught but peace and beauty come. | |
| Geraniums and roses round me bloom, | |
| From orange groves, amid whose verdant gloom | 30 |
| Gold fruit and silver flowers together shine, | |
| Come tropic odors. A thick blossoming vine | |
| Shadows the terrace, where, e’en as I write, | |
| The wind snows down the olive blossoms white. | |
| Above, the birds sing their unwearied song, | 35 |
| Beneath, the ocean whispers all day long. | |
| Sometimes when morning lights the rippling waves | |
| Below the steep rocks and the ocean caves, | |
| The sunshine weaves a net of flickering gleams | |
| Fit to entrap a siren in her dreams. | 40 |
| There tangled braids of ever-changing light | |
| In golden mazes glitter up the sands; | |
| And underneath the rocks and pebbles bright | |
| Are jewelled with the wealth of Eastern lands. | |
| Well might such sweet transparent waters hold | 45 |
| Tritons and nymphs with locks of dripping gold, | |
| For nothing were too wonderful to be | |
| Born from the pure depths of this summer sea. | |
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II. Four moons have passed, and days and nights have flown | |
| Cloudless,—a summer of an orient tone, | 50 |
| Since my unequal pen essayed to tell | |
| Brief passages of what I loved so well. | |
| Above me now, where blossoms fell in spring, | |
| Large purple grapes hang thickly clustering. | |
| The fig-tree near with ample leaves displayed | 55 |
| Shelters its sweet cool fruit beneath their shade. | |
| Still hang the oranges upon their stems | |
| Whose dark green foliage makes them glow like gems. | |
| The cypresses by yonder convent wall | |
| Shoot up as freshly green, as stately tall; | 60 |
| And there the drowsy vesper-bell ne’er tires | |
| Calling to prayers the brown-robed, bearded friars. | |
| Down on the beach, content with slender gain, | |
| Still drag their nets the red-capped fishermen. | |
| Still glide the days as fair, the nights more cool; | 65 |
| The sea is still as ever beautiful. | |
| And yonder purple mountain towering proud | |
| Still blends his light smoke with the flying cloud. | |
| And now, ere I these pleasant scenes resign, | |
| I would repaint each hue, retouch each line. | 70 |
| I would remember every odorous breeze | |
| That sighed in the deep shade of citron-trees, | |
| The roses clustering on their leafy stalks, | |
| Dropping their faint leaves in the garden walks; | |
| The sweet geraniums and the passion-flowers | 75 |
| Twining through countless roses; the noon hours | |
| When underneath the oaks I watched the sea | |
| Rippling below me calm and dreamily; | |
| The hueless olives when the full moon came | |
| Kindling behind them with a holy flame, | 80 |
| Touching their pale leaves with mysterious sheen, | |
| And shimmering o’er old trunks of silvery green. | |
| Above, the inextinguishable lights | |
| That made all nights in heaven like festal nights, | |
| That seemed too sacred for frail men to keep, | 85 |
| And yet too costly to be spent in sleep. | |
| O lovely days and nights! too quickly flown,— | |
| Leave me the memory of your sweetest tone. | |
| O ocean! long I ’ve lingered on thy shore, | |
| Lulled by thy whisper, wakened by thy roar. | 90 |
| Ere I depart and see no more thy face, | |
| Let me retain some sign of thy embrace; | |
| Not pearls, nor painted shells, nor coral rare, | |
| But dreams of beauty from the goddess fair | |
| Who in a sea-shell rose from out thy foam, | 95 |
| And rules all hearts, and fills the Olympian home. | |
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