Stones from The Quarry or, Moods of Mind. By Henry Browne [i.e. Henry Ellison] |
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NEAR A FOUNTAIN IN ITALY. |
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 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
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NEAR A FOUNTAIN IN ITALY.
I hear the water plashing o'er the brinkOf the bright fountain: from the marble-mouths
Of Dolphins flows, to quench the summer-drouths,
The sixfold jet, Hygeia's own pure drink;
Too seldom joined with Bacchus, praised with ink;
To lave and wash, and foster her fair growths;
The maidens fill their jars; while the sweet South's
Soft breath, the plash, the murmurs, make me wink.
Half-dreaming now, with one wave of his wand
Morpheus transforms the scene: I hear the sound
Of that old Grecian tongue, so sweet yet grand;
To Hypereia's fount my way I've found;
The maidens sing around it as they stand,
Or tell Andromache's sad tale renown'd.
| Stones from The Quarry | |