 | [The peasant girl of Frascati, in] The American gallery of art |  |
87
THE PEASANT GIRL OF FRASCATI.
Mute is the tambourine,
Hushed is the lay;—
Hark—how the sweet echo
Wanders away!
With the wild melody,
Far, far it floats,
To itself,—softly
Repeating the notes;
And her soul—after it—
That too has flown,
Off in a sunny dream,
Joyous and lone.
Hushed is the lay;—
Hark—how the sweet echo
Wanders away!
With the wild melody,
Far, far it floats,
To itself,—softly
Repeating the notes;
And her soul—after it—
That too has flown,
Off in a sunny dream,
Joyous and lone.
Lightly the frolic hand
Rests from its play,
Mute is the tambourine,
Silent the lay!
Child of the glowing south,
In thy dark eyes,
All thine own Italy
Eloquent lies!
In the soft changes,
That glow o'er thy face,
Passion and purity
Blended, I trace!
Like the spray-sparkle,
That wild waters show,
Joyance like thine, only
Deep natures know.
Rests from its play,
Mute is the tambourine,
Silent the lay!
Child of the glowing south,
In thy dark eyes,
All thine own Italy
Eloquent lies!
In the soft changes,
That glow o'er thy face,
Passion and purity
Blended, I trace!
Like the spray-sparkle,
That wild waters show,
Joyance like thine, only
Deep natures know.
88
Strike thou the tambourine!
Rewake the lay!
Weave the wild dance again,
Gracefully gay!
Toss the bright ribands,
That float o'er thy hair!
Dark as the Arno's,
Its waves gather there;
Coiled o'er thy calm brow,
Its raven braids gleam;—
Glad Contadina,
Awake from thy dream!
Call back thy soul,
From thy lover afar;—
Rightly he named thee,
Frascati's proud star!
Rewake the lay!
Weave the wild dance again,
Gracefully gay!
Toss the bright ribands,
That float o'er thy hair!
Dark as the Arno's,
Its waves gather there;
Coiled o'er thy calm brow,
Its raven braids gleam;—
Glad Contadina,
Awake from thy dream!
Call back thy soul,
From thy lover afar;—
Rightly he named thee,
Frascati's proud star!
Clash the light tambourine!
Wake the wild lay!
In thy hand's tuneful touch,
Let thy soul play!
Chant Roma's glory,
And Tusculum's pride,
How the star of her story,
Her Cicero died!
Lo!—the campagna,
Where haughty and bold,
Crowned like a god,
Came the hero of old!
Lo—the dim ruins
Of statues and fanes,
Where but the shadow
Of genius remains.
Nay—for thy tambourine,
Love be the lay,—
Child of the sunshine,
Joy to thy way!
Wake the wild lay!
In thy hand's tuneful touch,
Let thy soul play!
Chant Roma's glory,
And Tusculum's pride,
How the star of her story,
Her Cicero died!
Lo!—the campagna,
Where haughty and bold,
Crowned like a god,
Came the hero of old!
Lo—the dim ruins
Of statues and fanes,
Where but the shadow
Of genius remains.
Nay—for thy tambourine,
Love be the lay,—
Child of the sunshine,
Joy to thy way!
| [The peasant girl of Frascati, in] The American gallery of art | |