Songs of A Wayfarer By William Davies |
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| CXX. | CXX. THE FESTA AT GENAZZANO. |
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 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
CXX. THE FESTA AT GENAZZANO.
Stern grey from an ocean of crags, ere the morn
Had breathed from the east or made livid the moon,
Olevano's height, ivy-plumed and forlorn,
Frowned down from its castle: the world lay aswoon.
Had breathed from the east or made livid the moon,
Olevano's height, ivy-plumed and forlorn,
Frowned down from its castle: the world lay aswoon.
We rose: all was hushed as the corpse in his grave:
The stars glimmered out through the fissures of night;
And, ridging the universe, wave after wave,
The crests of the mountains were rolled out of sight.
The stars glimmered out through the fissures of night;
And, ridging the universe, wave after wave,
The crests of the mountains were rolled out of sight.
Through the gloom we fared forth dropping down from the hill,
A Hun and a Frank, an Italian and I:
Not a word: step for step: each echo lay still:
Scarce an audible breath or the hint of a sigh.
A Hun and a Frank, an Italian and I:
Not a word: step for step: each echo lay still:
Scarce an audible breath or the hint of a sigh.
118
We skirted the vineyards; we traversed the vale;
We saw the white road like a river run through,
As the last breath of night wandered by with a wail,
And the bloom of the morning blushed over the blue.
We saw the white road like a river run through,
As the last breath of night wandered by with a wail,
And the bloom of the morning blushed over the blue.
The stars had gone out from the amethyst sky;
The sick moon had sunk from the brim of the world;
And wide, o'er the hills and the valleys, on high
A curtain of feathery gold was unfurled.
The sick moon had sunk from the brim of the world;
And wide, o'er the hills and the valleys, on high
A curtain of feathery gold was unfurled.
One moment the mountains were belted with night:
One moment the earth was asleep and adream:
Then up shot the sun from a fountain of light,
And, poised on a peak, swept the land with his beam:
One moment the earth was asleep and adream:
Then up shot the sun from a fountain of light,
And, poised on a peak, swept the land with his beam:
And, soft as the voice of a breeze-laden pine,
A carol came floating round meadow and height:
Ora pro nobis!—like echoes divine
That, returning to heaven, expire in the flight.
A carol came floating round meadow and height:
Ora pro nobis!—like echoes divine
That, returning to heaven, expire in the flight.
O, brave were the peasants with ribbon and rose:
Bronze faces, fine forms clad in blue and in brown:
Tall maidens and matrons with Hebe-like brows
Burden-crowned through the quaint whitened gateway came down.
Bronze faces, fine forms clad in blue and in brown:
Tall maidens and matrons with Hebe-like brows
Burden-crowned through the quaint whitened gateway came down.
119
But I left for an hour the noise and the fray,
And by an old palace sat down in the shade,
Where, near a long aqueduct crumbled and grey,
Men, women and children laughed, chatted and played.
And by an old palace sat down in the shade,
Where, near a long aqueduct crumbled and grey,
Men, women and children laughed, chatted and played.
At last came the ‘tombola’: round went the wheel:
And, when the prize-numbers were called out aloud,
Drum, trumpet and trombone were sounded with zeal,
Midst the barking of dogs and the shouts of the crowd.
And, when the prize-numbers were called out aloud,
Drum, trumpet and trombone were sounded with zeal,
Midst the barking of dogs and the shouts of the crowd.
And round went the world through the kingdom of light:
Shafts of splendour burst up from the pathway of day:
Rosy-rich the far hills took the earnest of night:
Purple-steeped in broad shadow the mighty plain lay.
Shafts of splendour burst up from the pathway of day:
Rosy-rich the far hills took the earnest of night:
Purple-steeped in broad shadow the mighty plain lay.
But the glow of the evening in deep-bosomed space,
And the cloudlets that floated like fleeces of flame,
Were mixed with the marvel of one haunting face,
And the nightingale sang in his song of the same.
And the cloudlets that floated like fleeces of flame,
Were mixed with the marvel of one haunting face,
And the nightingale sang in his song of the same.
Ah, well: it is gone with the sun and his gold:
The stars glimmer out, and we tramp as at morn:
And yonder I see, through a misty dim fold,
Olevano's height ivy-plumed and forlorn.
The stars glimmer out, and we tramp as at morn:
And yonder I see, through a misty dim fold,
Olevano's height ivy-plumed and forlorn.
September 8, 1865.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |