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VALLOMBROSA.
Must I then leave you, hermit haunts! nor trace
Once more the scenes that, varying on my way,
Made, like a transient dream, the summer day?
No more search out the consecrated place
Where o'er a Milton's harp a seraph rose,
As Autumn thickly strow'd her leaves o'er Vallombrose?
Once more the scenes that, varying on my way,
Made, like a transient dream, the summer day?
No more search out the consecrated place
Where o'er a Milton's harp a seraph rose,
As Autumn thickly strow'd her leaves o'er Vallombrose?
On you that dream still rests: o'er vale and mead,
Onward I pass by Arno's pebbly bed,
And skirt the slope where vines and olives wed.
Hamlet, and farm, and lonely cot recede,
And Arno, dwindled to a scanty rill,
Twines, like a silver thread, between each closing hill.
Onward I pass by Arno's pebbly bed,
And skirt the slope where vines and olives wed.
Hamlet, and farm, and lonely cot recede,
And Arno, dwindled to a scanty rill,
Twines, like a silver thread, between each closing hill.
Deep glens succeed; and now the stony tract,
Where on the ridge the sun's meridian force
Glares, like a spreading flame, athwart my course;
While far beneath, the unseen cataract
Gives to the gale a voice, and seems to say,
“Come, wanderer! in my stream thy fever'd lip allay:
Where on the ridge the sun's meridian force
Glares, like a spreading flame, athwart my course;
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Gives to the gale a voice, and seems to say,
“Come, wanderer! in my stream thy fever'd lip allay:
“Seek these wild woods: there list the lulling “sound,
“The music of the motion of the leaf,
“Unmix'd with murmur of a human grief:
“And dip thy chalice in yon gulf profound,
“Whose water, in its current cool and clear,
“Streams from a fount unmix'd with stain of human tear.”
“The music of the motion of the leaf,
“Unmix'd with murmur of a human grief:
“And dip thy chalice in yon gulf profound,
“Whose water, in its current cool and clear,
“Streams from a fount unmix'd with stain of human tear.”
At once the flame has ceas'd, at once the gale
Blows freshness, as I rest these pines beneath,
And, lingering in their midnight shadow, breathe.
And now I bid th' advancing abbey hail,
That in the centre of the velvet lawn
Comes, welcoming my step from yon dark woods withdrawn.
Blows freshness, as I rest these pines beneath,
And, lingering in their midnight shadow, breathe.
And now I bid th' advancing abbey hail,
That in the centre of the velvet lawn
Comes, welcoming my step from yon dark woods withdrawn.
Beneath th' embowering beech that crowns the glade
Fed by the rills that burst its roots between,
View the bold spread of Nature's woodland scene,
Pine-mantled mountains, shade o'ershadowing shade,
Where, bluer than the ocean's bluest flood,
The sky's deep azure cuts the darkly-verdant wood.
Fed by the rills that burst its roots between,
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Pine-mantled mountains, shade o'ershadowing shade,
Where, bluer than the ocean's bluest flood,
The sky's deep azure cuts the darkly-verdant wood.
So Eve steals on: but not as seen of yore,
The meek companion of the convent bell:
Along the voiceless breeze no vespers swell:
The abbot and his flock here meet no more.
Rude hands have forc'd him from his blest retreat,
And baleful weeds o'erspread his hospitable seat.
The meek companion of the convent bell:
Along the voiceless breeze no vespers swell:
The abbot and his flock here meet no more.
Rude hands have forc'd him from his blest retreat,
And baleful weeds o'erspread his hospitable seat.
Th' unwilling hinds to new possessors bear
The vintage, and the gladness of their field:
But will their garner'd stores like treasures yield,
The widow's portion and the orphan's share?
Will they make poor themselves, the poor to feed,
Nor—save the heart's mute thanks—seek other worldly meed?
The vintage, and the gladness of their field:
But will their garner'd stores like treasures yield,
The widow's portion and the orphan's share?
Will they make poor themselves, the poor to feed,
Nor—save the heart's mute thanks—seek other worldly meed?
Will in their walls the friendless find a friend?
Will helpless Infancy, and hopeless Age,
Look to their roof their misery to assuage?
Will to their home the houseless pilgrim bend?
Will Frailty there his secret soul expose,
And at their porch lay down the burden of his woes?
Will helpless Infancy, and hopeless Age,
Look to their roof their misery to assuage?
Will to their home the houseless pilgrim bend?
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And at their porch lay down the burden of his woes?
Ah! hapless Exile! tho' severe thy lot,
Tho' bow'd by years, in hopelessness of age,
O'er yon strange world thou pass thy pilgrimage:
Not yet has earth thy mercy-deeds forgot.
Where'er thou wander'st, Peace with thee abide!
Thy resting place is heav'n—and God thy guide!
Tho' bow'd by years, in hopelessness of age,
O'er yon strange world thou pass thy pilgrimage:
Not yet has earth thy mercy-deeds forgot.
Where'er thou wander'st, Peace with thee abide!
Thy resting place is heav'n—and God thy guide!
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