 | The New Medusa, and other poems |  |
83
ON A TUSCAN ROAD.
A SKETCH.
Now the white bullocks, in need of no goad,
Homeward, at sunset, are coming from tillage;
Blithely the labourer carries his load;
Creaking and swaying, the wain blocks the road
Nearing the village.
Homeward, at sunset, are coming from tillage;
Blithely the labourer carries his load;
Creaking and swaying, the wain blocks the road
Nearing the village.
Slowly the sunset departs from the shrine
Close to the road, but still touches the fountain;
Fewer are those who pass by with a sign;
Dark grow the maize and the hemp and the vine,
Blue is the mountain.
Close to the road, but still touches the fountain;
Fewer are those who pass by with a sign;
Dark grow the maize and the hemp and the vine,
Blue is the mountain.
Foxglove and wallflowers cling to the stone
Over the lamp of the shrine that is crumbling;
Twilight is falling; the landscape is lone;
Save at the grating, where lingers a crone
Piously mumbling.
Over the lamp of the shrine that is crumbling;
Twilight is falling; the landscape is lone;
Save at the grating, where lingers a crone
Piously mumbling.
84
Over the valley there creepeth a chill;
Slowly, far off, dies the bird's song of gladness;
Louder the frogs, with monotonous trill,
Croak in the rivulets, seeming to fill
Nature with sadness.
Slowly, far off, dies the bird's song of gladness;
Louder the frogs, with monotonous trill,
Croak in the rivulets, seeming to fill
Nature with sadness.
Then with the mournful and tremulous croak,
Even as night by degrees is unrolling
Over the lonely plantations her cloak,
Mingles a knell of lugubrious stroke
Distantly tolling.
Even as night by degrees is unrolling
Over the lonely plantations her cloak,
Mingles a knell of lugubrious stroke
Distantly tolling.
Suddenly priest-carried tapers appear,
Faint in the twilight; their business seems holy;
Men who support on their shoulders a bier,
Covered with gold and with velvet, draw near
Through the corn, slowly
Faint in the twilight; their business seems holy;
Men who support on their shoulders a bier,
Covered with gold and with velvet, draw near
Through the corn, slowly
Who is the mortal who, freed from his woes,
Wends with such trappings from out of the present?
Who is the one who so sumptuously goes
Out of the reach of his friends or his foes?
Only a peasant.
Wends with such trappings from out of the present?
Who is the one who so sumptuously goes
Out of the reach of his friends or his foes?
Only a peasant.
85
Only a peasant, whom peasants are now,
After a harvest day, going to render
Back to the earth, tilled with sweat of his brow,
Decking his bier with a little cheap show,
Villager's splendour.
After a harvest day, going to render
Back to the earth, tilled with sweat of his brow,
Decking his bier with a little cheap show,
Villager's splendour.
Slowly the tapers, with flickering light,
Pass, reappear, and are lost in the distance;
While, overhead, in the gathering night
Twinkling, the stars grow more countless and bright,
Taking consistence.
Pass, reappear, and are lost in the distance;
While, overhead, in the gathering night
Twinkling, the stars grow more countless and bright,
Taking consistence.
Still, for a while, tolls the funeral bell,
Breaking the silence of fields that are lonely;
Then the frogs' croak, with its tremulous swell,
Rising again in the place of the knell,
Breaketh it only.
Breaking the silence of fields that are lonely;
Then the frogs' croak, with its tremulous swell,
Rising again in the place of the knell,
Breaketh it only.
| The New Medusa, and other poems | |