 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
431
THE ISLE OF BEAUTY.
Where glitters the Isle where the sunny tract glows,
All baptized by the odours that drop from the rose,
Where in Paradise-breathings the Southern-Wind blows
So rich is the Soul of its sighs!
All baptized by the odours that drop from the rose,
Where in Paradise-breathings the Southern-Wind blows
So rich is the Soul of its sighs!
Where laughs the sweet Isle that is washed by the wave,
O'er whose silvery tremour no storm dares to rave,
The olden Venus' bright haunt! the lost Sun-God's warm grave,
Like some Star fallen away from the Skies!
O'er whose silvery tremour no storm dares to rave,
The olden Venus' bright haunt! the lost Sun-God's warm grave,
Like some Star fallen away from the Skies!
Lit up by the purple Heaven's mightiest of rays—
Yet tender the radiance, and softened the blaze!
Oh! precious its nights are—and beauteous its days!
Love—Love!—'tis a realm meet for thee.
Yet tender the radiance, and softened the blaze!
Oh! precious its nights are—and beauteous its days!
Love—Love!—'tis a realm meet for thee.
432
A glad tumult of murmurs, through copse and flowered shade
Speaks of life and of joy—all undimmed—undecayed—
And, melody-fraught, shakes each leaf of the glade,
Like a faint moaning shell of the Sea.
Speaks of life and of joy—all undimmed—undecayed—
And, melody-fraught, shakes each leaf of the glade,
Like a faint moaning shell of the Sea.
Where the orange-bowers all their fair treasures unfold,
Till the grove hath a Star-light of red burning gold!
Where in beautiful gloom stand the lone fanes of old,
The fanes of the glorious dead!
Till the grove hath a Star-light of red burning gold!
Where in beautiful gloom stand the lone fanes of old,
The fanes of the glorious dead!
Where thrillingly low, sing the echo-voiced doves,
Till music—the awakener!—ruffles the groves—
May blessings fall round ye! sweet Land of the Loves!
May blessings around ye be shed!
Till music—the awakener!—ruffles the groves—
May blessings fall round ye! sweet Land of the Loves!
May blessings around ye be shed!
Yet is nothing but Beauty—and Beauty in bloom,
In that young world of Sunshine and flowers and perfume,
Ah! the Cypress grows there, as awaiting the tomb
In darkness and silence it towers!
In that young world of Sunshine and flowers and perfume,
Ah! the Cypress grows there, as awaiting the tomb
In darkness and silence it towers!
433
Thus, thus whispers of Death pierce Earth's tumults of joy,
All love and all loveliness—strong to destroy!
And our life-cup hath there even its wormwood-alloy
'Mongst those Heaven-breathing exquisite bowers!
All love and all loveliness—strong to destroy!
And our life-cup hath there even its wormwood-alloy
'Mongst those Heaven-breathing exquisite bowers!
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