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9
SONGS IN THE SOUTH.
28
LUCCIOLE.
(To the author of “Pascarel.”)
Follow where the night-fire leads
Of the wingèd Lucciolá,
Where through waving river weeds
Water mirrors wreathed in reeds
Catch its glimmer from afar;
Of the wingèd Lucciolá,
Where through waving river weeds
Water mirrors wreathed in reeds
Catch its glimmer from afar;
Where the falling water plays,
Up the hillside, higher, higher,
In the pathless forest ways
Every branch is in a blaze,
With its tiny lamps of fire.
Up the hillside, higher, higher,
In the pathless forest ways
Every branch is in a blaze,
With its tiny lamps of fire.
Are they fairies that have flown,
Stealing glamour from a star,
Flitting where wild weeds o'ergrown
Keep the forest all their own?
Tell me of the Lucciolá.
Stealing glamour from a star,
Flitting where wild weeds o'ergrown
Keep the forest all their own?
Tell me of the Lucciolá.
Love they are as we to-night
In the branches tossed above;
Only longing in their flight
That the moon and stars be bright,
And the night be long for love.
In the branches tossed above;
31
That the moon and stars be bright,
And the night be long for love.
Once the Love-God seemed to sorrow
For the tears that he had cost;
—Lending love to those who borrow,
But to lose him on the morrow;—
For the labour he had lost.
For the tears that he had cost;
—Lending love to those who borrow,
But to lose him on the morrow;—
For the labour he had lost.
Fretting more that true love's sighs
Go forgotten with the rest,
Fretting that his best work dies,
All the longing of the eyes,
And the thrill from breast to breast.
Go forgotten with the rest,
Fretting that his best work dies,
All the longing of the eyes,
And the thrill from breast to breast.
He, of all good things the giver,
Love, gave lovers this fair thing;
That their vows should live for ever,
In the lights that glance and quiver,
Through the summer night and spring;
Love, gave lovers this fair thing;
That their vows should live for ever,
In the lights that glance and quiver,
Through the summer night and spring;
So that loves that rest unbroken
Evermore recorded are,
Every word of passion spoken,
Every love-song has its token,
Living in the Lucciolá.
Evermore recorded are,
Every word of passion spoken,
Every love-song has its token,
Living in the Lucciolá.
1879.
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