 | By Severn Sea and Other Poems |  |
51
EARLY TRAVEL
Swept by the breaths of memory
From those far heights that roll,
What thousand shimmering pictures lie
Glassed in thy depths, O soul!
From those far heights that roll,
What thousand shimmering pictures lie
Glassed in thy depths, O soul!
What cherished scenes from that blithe day
When first by happy chance,
Our careless trio took its way
Beyond the seas to France:
When first by happy chance,
Our careless trio took its way
Beyond the seas to France:
When whirled across a weary land
All day on wheels of fire,
At even how glad we saw them stand,
The peaks of our desire.
All day on wheels of fire,
At even how glad we saw them stand,
The peaks of our desire.
What towering barriers' shadowy sleep
Lulled by the pastoral tune
Of tinkling kine that trampled deep
In the lush fields of June!
Lulled by the pastoral tune
Of tinkling kine that trampled deep
In the lush fields of June!
52
What clustering huts that barred the way,
What modest faces shy,
What simple souls' untrammelled play,
True seed of Arcady!
What modest faces shy,
What simple souls' untrammelled play,
True seed of Arcady!
What scented pine-trees' whispered moan,
What chime of silver rills
'Mid flowerets pure as blow alone
Upon the sacred hills!
What chime of silver rills
'Mid flowerets pure as blow alone
Upon the sacred hills!
To rise, to climb, beneath the night,
And while the day was born,
How flushed and paled till all was bright
Horn after icy horn!
And while the day was born,
How flushed and paled till all was bright
Horn after icy horn!
How watched a silent goddess grand
The mountain of the Rose;
How Cervin ramped twixt land and land,
An obelisk of snows!
The mountain of the Rose;
How Cervin ramped twixt land and land,
An obelisk of snows!
To pause beneath the sombre arch
Cool in its noontide gloom,
And seem to catch the echoing march
Of the stern sons of Rome;
Cool in its noontide gloom,
And seem to catch the echoing march
Of the stern sons of Rome;
53
Or make beneath Italian sky
The dusty defile ring,
Racing the flood that thundered by
Swoln with the spates of spring;
The dusty defile ring,
Racing the flood that thundered by
Swoln with the spates of spring;
Lo, piled upon the mountain side
The towers that Virgil drew,
“Rivers 'neath ancient bulwarks glide,”—
That master-hand how true!
The towers that Virgil drew,
“Rivers 'neath ancient bulwarks glide,”—
That master-hand how true!
And ah, what gentler dear delights
By thy loved lake Lucerne,
Slow sailing under dreaming heights
To watch thy waters burn,
By thy loved lake Lucerne,
Slow sailing under dreaming heights
To watch thy waters burn,
When evening on thy pathways glowed,
And streamed by spire and bridge,
And distant dim Pilatus showed
More soft his traitor's ridge!
And streamed by spire and bridge,
And distant dim Pilatus showed
More soft his traitor's ridge!
| By Severn Sea and Other Poems | |