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I. BENEATH the vine-clad slopes of Capri’s Isle, | |
| Which run down to the margin of that sea | |
| Whose waters kiss the sweet Parthenope, | |
| There is a grot whose rugged front the while | |
| Frowns only dark where all is seen to smile. | 5 |
| But enter, and behold! surpassing fair | |
| The magic sight that meets your vision there,— | |
| Not heaven! with all its broad expanse of blue, | |
| Gleams colored with a sheen so rich, so rare, | |
| So changing in its clear, translucent hue; | 10 |
| Glassed in the lustrous wave, the walls and roof | |
| Shine as does silver scattered o’er the woof | |
| Of some rich robe, or bright as stars whose light | |
| Inlays the azure concave of the night. | |
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II. YOU cannot find throughout this world, I ween, | 15 |
| Waters so fair as those within this cave, | |
| Color like that which flashes from the wave, | |
| Or which is steeped in such cerulean sheen | |
| As here gleams forth within this grotto’s screen. | |
| And when the oar the boatman gently takes | 20 |
| And dips it in the flood, a fiery glow, | |
| Ruddy as phosphor, stirs in depths below; | |
| Each ripple into burning splendor breaks, | |
| As though some hidden fires beneath did lie | |
| Waiting a touch to kindle into flame, | 25 |
| And shine in radiance on the dazzled eye, | |
| As sparkling up from wells of light they came, | |
| To make this grot a glory far and nigh. | |
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