Hours at Naples, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley |
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QUEEN JOANNA'S RUINED PALACE AT
NAPLES. |
 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
QUEEN JOANNA'S RUINED PALACE AT NAPLES.
Fair walls, in ruins rising o'er the tide,
Dismantled—but with something of the pride
Of other days—ye start from out the wave
That threatens to become your shining grave,
As might some Palace of the Ocean King,
Built by the Sea-Powers—and those shapes that fling
Bright Sea-flower-wreaths upon their locks of green,
So stand'st thou—hanging o'er the Watery Scene.
But then thou art in ruins!—dull Decay
Is sternly mouldering stone by stone away,
And that at once to mind profoundly brings
A heavy thought of fragile Human things,
That tell too plainly the old common tale
Of fleeting works upreared by hands as frail!
Dismantled—but with something of the pride
Of other days—ye start from out the wave
That threatens to become your shining grave,
As might some Palace of the Ocean King,
Built by the Sea-Powers—and those shapes that fling
88
So stand'st thou—hanging o'er the Watery Scene.
But then thou art in ruins!—dull Decay
Is sternly mouldering stone by stone away,
And that at once to mind profoundly brings
A heavy thought of fragile Human things,
That tell too plainly the old common tale
Of fleeting works upreared by hands as frail!
The Sunset streams through the dim fractured frames
O' the ruinous windows like quick-rushing flames,
With all its ruddy showers and kindling lights,
Whose crimsoned glow the sense too keenly smites,
Like Banners of Imperial Victory,
Like mantles of emblazoned Regality,
Those clear and coloured splendours richly stream,
And sparkling break and brighten, beam by beam,
Like glittering, quivering, and resplendent waves,
Forth issuing from the shades of frowning caves,
Like lamps outshining in a solemn tomb,
(By contrast so redoubling its dun gloom,)
Like chrystals in a cavern deep and dark,
Which glisten brightly till we scarce can mark
Their shape—still shifting as a subterfuge—
Like shining lightnings amid cloud-wreaths huge!
Like gilded arrows stored in quivers old,
Like glowing Sunflowers set in dusky mould;
Like radiant jewels shrined in casket dim,
Like bubbles sparkling o'er some dark cup's brim;
Like ambered sheaves in shadowy places piled,
Like sparkling swords in rent sheaths' dust defiled,
They charm and rivet the half dazzled sight,
Like meteors 'mid the Solemn Shades of Night;
Or while they weave their beams in glittering wreath,
Like young fresh smiles upon the face of Death!
O' the ruinous windows like quick-rushing flames,
With all its ruddy showers and kindling lights,
Whose crimsoned glow the sense too keenly smites,
Like Banners of Imperial Victory,
Like mantles of emblazoned Regality,
Those clear and coloured splendours richly stream,
And sparkling break and brighten, beam by beam,
Like glittering, quivering, and resplendent waves,
Forth issuing from the shades of frowning caves,
Like lamps outshining in a solemn tomb,
(By contrast so redoubling its dun gloom,)
89
Which glisten brightly till we scarce can mark
Their shape—still shifting as a subterfuge—
Like shining lightnings amid cloud-wreaths huge!
Like gilded arrows stored in quivers old,
Like glowing Sunflowers set in dusky mould;
Like radiant jewels shrined in casket dim,
Like bubbles sparkling o'er some dark cup's brim;
Like ambered sheaves in shadowy places piled,
Like sparkling swords in rent sheaths' dust defiled,
They charm and rivet the half dazzled sight,
Like meteors 'mid the Solemn Shades of Night;
Or while they weave their beams in glittering wreath,
Like young fresh smiles upon the face of Death!
The ruined Palace still adorns the Scene,
But where is the enthroned and worshipp'd Queen?
These mouldering Walls some show of pride retain,
But where is she—with all her courtly train!
Gone—with her pomps—her passions and her woes—
Gone with the extinguished Star—the withered rose,
The perished rainbow—and the vanished dew,
And the winged breeze that once exulting blew!
Joanna! I have seen thy pictured face,
All bright with beauty and poetic grace.
And I have read thy deep and clouded tale,
And fain o'er both would draw Oblivion's veil;
For the Annals fraught with darkening Mystery,
But little with that lovely face agree;
And that sweet face—by contrast, shadows more
A story that was all too dark before!
But where is the enthroned and worshipp'd Queen?
These mouldering Walls some show of pride retain,
But where is she—with all her courtly train!
Gone—with her pomps—her passions and her woes—
Gone with the extinguished Star—the withered rose,
90
And the winged breeze that once exulting blew!
Joanna! I have seen thy pictured face,
All bright with beauty and poetic grace.
And I have read thy deep and clouded tale,
And fain o'er both would draw Oblivion's veil;
For the Annals fraught with darkening Mystery,
But little with that lovely face agree;
And that sweet face—by contrast, shadows more
A story that was all too dark before!
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |