 | Poems |  |
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ON LEAVING ITALY.
A long blue stain upon a belt of gold,
A rim of earth against the sinking sun,
A shadow that doth fade, and fade, and fade
Somewhere between white water and red sky
Into a nothing—Italy! farewell!
A rim of earth against the sinking sun,
A shadow that doth fade, and fade, and fade
Somewhere between white water and red sky
Into a nothing—Italy! farewell!
Ay! fare thee well—I never knew before
How the cold comfort of that parting word
Mocks the weak will. I never thought to leave
Thy cities, sweet one, and thy citron hills
With grief that shapes itself into a curse,
And tears, unlike a woman's tears, that come
Hot from the heart; but now I seem to love
The billows for their hollow angry roar;
The sea-birds, for their melancholy scream;
The wind, in that he howleth nothing else
Save “miserere”;—for these winds and waves
That gird thy coral beach and craggy shore;
These birds that from thy tallest Apennines
Fetch food, and tell thine own unebbing sea
What they have seen thee: I, and these, and all
Sing well together in a parting song,
And tell thee with our rugged melody
We love thee all too well to love thee now.
How the cold comfort of that parting word
Mocks the weak will. I never thought to leave
Thy cities, sweet one, and thy citron hills
With grief that shapes itself into a curse,
And tears, unlike a woman's tears, that come
Hot from the heart; but now I seem to love
The billows for their hollow angry roar;
The sea-birds, for their melancholy scream;
The wind, in that he howleth nothing else
Save “miserere”;—for these winds and waves
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These birds that from thy tallest Apennines
Fetch food, and tell thine own unebbing sea
What they have seen thee: I, and these, and all
Sing well together in a parting song,
And tell thee with our rugged melody
We love thee all too well to love thee now.
Once thou wert mother of as true a band
As ever with strong arms and stronger hearts
Led history along:—obedience
From us to thee was but a thing of right,
Since when thy soldier-son, the Lord of Earth,
Wore kingdoms for the jewels of his crown,
And ours the meanest sparkle; but we gave
More than obedience, for we gave thee love,
And made thy glories and thy great of old
Our household words; so when our daughters asked
What deed or thought, what life or death were best?
We told of noble-hearted Portia,
Of chaste Lucrece, and she whose only gems
Were her bold Roman boys:—we taught our sons
Tales of Horatius and the bridge he held
One to a thousand; of young Scævola
Who kept the steady colour of his cheek
While the flames ate his hand; of Regulus,
Fabius and Scipio, (names that even now
Ring like a trumpet,) till the memory bred
Men of our own as apt for memory
In after times: and these, and more than these
Lady of nations! led to love of thee,
Such love, that once to tread thy battle-plains
And once to wander where those sons of thine
Were cradled into sovereignty, became
The hope and end of life—the greenest palm
Of all a pilgrimage.
As ever with strong arms and stronger hearts
Led history along:—obedience
From us to thee was but a thing of right,
Since when thy soldier-son, the Lord of Earth,
Wore kingdoms for the jewels of his crown,
And ours the meanest sparkle; but we gave
More than obedience, for we gave thee love,
And made thy glories and thy great of old
Our household words; so when our daughters asked
What deed or thought, what life or death were best?
We told of noble-hearted Portia,
Of chaste Lucrece, and she whose only gems
Were her bold Roman boys:—we taught our sons
Tales of Horatius and the bridge he held
One to a thousand; of young Scævola
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While the flames ate his hand; of Regulus,
Fabius and Scipio, (names that even now
Ring like a trumpet,) till the memory bred
Men of our own as apt for memory
In after times: and these, and more than these
Lady of nations! led to love of thee,
Such love, that once to tread thy battle-plains
And once to wander where those sons of thine
Were cradled into sovereignty, became
The hope and end of life—the greenest palm
Of all a pilgrimage.
And so I came
Tutored and schooled to love thee;—not alone
But companied by two whose talk should make
A pleasant music in the stranger-lands:—
One whom I knew before I loved—and one
I loved before I knew—true spirits both:
Three were we, born beneath a northern sky,
Three of us loving Italy alike,
And thither journeying.
Tutored and schooled to love thee;—not alone
But companied by two whose talk should make
A pleasant music in the stranger-lands:—
One whom I knew before I loved—and one
I loved before I knew—true spirits both:
Three were we, born beneath a northern sky,
Three of us loving Italy alike,
And thither journeying.
We saw the vines
Purple and green, carpeting all her fields
Under the Lombard Alps:—we left the figs
To ripen on the Apennine, and passed
Through many a league of cork and citron-grove
Onward by trellised trees, and olive-clumps,
By Virgil's cradle and by Juliet's grave
To Venice—to the Lady of the Sea.
Yet found we never her we came to seek.
In town or tower; 'twas very Italy,
For fairer, lovelier land might never be;
But, oh! not the great Italy we knew,
The fair, free land of Livius—the Queen
Who wore the diadem of Eastern gold
Crusted with Western jewels: she whose sword
Conquered the world, and swayed the conquered world
—At once a sword and sceptre.
Purple and green, carpeting all her fields
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To ripen on the Apennine, and passed
Through many a league of cork and citron-grove
Onward by trellised trees, and olive-clumps,
By Virgil's cradle and by Juliet's grave
To Venice—to the Lady of the Sea.
Yet found we never her we came to seek.
In town or tower; 'twas very Italy,
For fairer, lovelier land might never be;
But, oh! not the great Italy we knew,
The fair, free land of Livius—the Queen
Who wore the diadem of Eastern gold
Crusted with Western jewels: she whose sword
Conquered the world, and swayed the conquered world
—At once a sword and sceptre.
So we passed
Sadder and wiser southward; and we saw
A locust-plague upon the land we loved,
Blasting its beauty:—by the Mincius,
And where the water of Catullus' lake
Breaks into blue and silver: farther south,
By Fœsulæ and the Lucanian hills,
Whose caves have echoed Horace: on the beach
Of the Adrian waters, and the upper sea.
From north to south we marked the gleam of spears,
The flash of foreign swords; and heard a tongue
Harsh and unfitted to the tender blue
Of Tuscan skies, challenging at the gates,
Th' Italian gates, each son of Italy:
In Lombard homes and Tuscan towns we saw
The sickly livery of the Austrian
Specked with Italian blood—we saw the hate
On many a noble forehead turn to smiles
Even at a step—from many a courteous lip
We caught the muffled thunder of the curse
Hid in a lowly greeting:—last of all
We trod the Eternal City: even there,
There where to breathe is to be free and proud,
The sabres of a great and noble land,
The warriors of our own “sweet enemy”—
The spears of France, of France the fair and brave
Gleamed on the Vatican, and guarded there,
From the just vengeance of a cheated race,
A foolish, fond old dreamer. Italy!
We knew the brand that scarred thy beauty then,
The brazen chain that bound thee.
Sadder and wiser southward; and we saw
A locust-plague upon the land we loved,
Blasting its beauty:—by the Mincius,
And where the water of Catullus' lake
Breaks into blue and silver: farther south,
By Fœsulæ and the Lucanian hills,
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Of the Adrian waters, and the upper sea.
From north to south we marked the gleam of spears,
The flash of foreign swords; and heard a tongue
Harsh and unfitted to the tender blue
Of Tuscan skies, challenging at the gates,
Th' Italian gates, each son of Italy:
In Lombard homes and Tuscan towns we saw
The sickly livery of the Austrian
Specked with Italian blood—we saw the hate
On many a noble forehead turn to smiles
Even at a step—from many a courteous lip
We caught the muffled thunder of the curse
Hid in a lowly greeting:—last of all
We trod the Eternal City: even there,
There where to breathe is to be free and proud,
The sabres of a great and noble land,
The warriors of our own “sweet enemy”—
The spears of France, of France the fair and brave
Gleamed on the Vatican, and guarded there,
From the just vengeance of a cheated race,
A foolish, fond old dreamer. Italy!
We knew the brand that scarred thy beauty then,
The brazen chain that bound thee.
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Italy!
Beautiful Harlot! wilt thou sell thyself—
Sell thy sweet body longer? rise and tear
Thy tresses from the bloody hands that play
Too boldly with their beauty: teach the slaves
Thou wert an empress of the ancient Earth
And they thine appanage: oh! take thy place—
Thine own proud place—the place thy children won—
Again among the nations! strike a stroke,
One stroke, but one, for the dear memory
Of what they made thee, and the hateful thought
Of what thou art:—then in the Northern Land
A thousand swords shall sparkle in the sun,
And make thy quarrel theirs;—till then, farewell!
Farewell, discrownëd Queen!—sad Italy!
Beautiful Harlot! wilt thou sell thyself—
Sell thy sweet body longer? rise and tear
Thy tresses from the bloody hands that play
Too boldly with their beauty: teach the slaves
Thou wert an empress of the ancient Earth
And they thine appanage: oh! take thy place—
Thine own proud place—the place thy children won—
Again among the nations! strike a stroke,
One stroke, but one, for the dear memory
Of what they made thee, and the hateful thought
Of what thou art:—then in the Northern Land
A thousand swords shall sparkle in the sun,
And make thy quarrel theirs;—till then, farewell!
Farewell, discrownëd Queen!—sad Italy!
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