CLIX.GENOA.
I
I am where snowy mountains round me shine;
But in sweet vision truer than mine eyes
I see pale Genoa's marble crescent rise
Between the water and the Apennine.
II
On the sea-bank she couches like a deer,
A creature giving light with her soft sheen,
While the blue ocean and the mountain green,
Pleased with the wonder, alway gaze on her.
III
And day and night the mild sea-murmur fills
The corridors of her cool palaces,
Taking the freshness from the orange trees,
A fragrant gift into the peaceful hills.
IV
And from the balustrades into the street
From time to time there are voluptuous showers,
Gentle descents, of shaken lemon flowers,
Snapped by the echo of the passing feet.
V
And when the sun his noonday height hath gained
How mute is all that slumberous Apennine,
Upon whose base the streaks of green turf shine
With the black olive-gardens interveined!
VI
How fair it is when, in the purple bay,
Of the soft sea the clear-edged moon is drinking,
Or the dark sky amid the shipmasts winking
With summer lightning over Corsica!
VII
O Genoa! thou art a marvellous birth,
A clasp which joins the mountains and the sea;
And the two powers do homage unto thee
As to a matchless wonder of the earth.
VIII
Can life be common life in spots like these,
Where they breathe breath from orange gardens wafted?
O joy and sorrow surely must be grafted
On stems apart for these bright Genoese.
IX
The place is islanded amid her mirth;
The very girdle of her beauty thrown
About her in men's minds, a virgin zone,
Marks her a spot unmated on the earth.
X
I hear the deep coves of the Apennine
Filled with a gentle trouble of sweet bells;
And the blue tongues of sea that pierce the dells,
As conscious of our Lady's feast-day, shine.
XI
For Genoa the Proud for many an age
Hath been pre-eminent as tributary
Unto the special service of St. Mary,
The sinless Virgin's chosen appanage.
XII
I see the streets with very stacks of flowers
Choked up, a wild and beautiful array,
And in my mind I thread my fragrant way
Once more amid the rich and cumbrous bowers.
XIII
And, unforgotten beauty! by the bay
I see the two boys and the little maiden,
With crimson tulips for the Virgin laden,
Wending along the road from Spezia.
XIV
Sister! thou askest why this evening long
I have in selfish silence been immured,—
This is the vision which I have endured,
Shaped, to win pardon, in a simple song.
XV
It would augment thy happiness and mine,
If thou, dear Ellen! could'st but share with me
This magic vision of the Midland Sea,
And the white city with her Apennine!
