Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

There was a valley 'mid the isles of Greece,
Paved with fair flowers, and roofed with tall green trees,
'Twas called, in ancient times, “The Vale of Peace,”
And stood in hearing of the sounding seas:
A vista opened where 'twas ocean-bound,
While the high western steep with shadowy pines was crowned.

II

A winding stream flowed through this verdant valley,
And pleasant music its sweet waters made,
As with some drooping flower it here did dally;

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Or lower down, amid the pebbles played;
Then brawled along through circling mossy ways,
Here lit by straggling beams,—there dark with hanging sprays.

III

Sweet were the sounds which through this green vale flowed;
The gentle lambs bleated all summer long;
The spotted heifer through the umbrage lowed,
The nightingale struck up her starry song;
A mournful coo the blue wood-pigeon made—
Now high, now low, now lost—just as the waters played.

IV

And sunny slopes of green and flowery ground
Lay stretching all along that fair stream's edge,
Seeming to listen to its slumberous sound:
For nought there moved, save when the reedy sedge
Bowed to its shadow in the brook beneath,
Or some light ripple stirred the water-lily's wreath.

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V

A velvet sward, its length rich-rimmed with flowers,
Skirted the stream along a pleasant walk;
Where the thick boughs crossed lattice-wise formed bowers,
And the long leaves did oft together talk,
Now to themselves, then to the brook below,
Just as the fitful winds or fancy list to blow.

VI

Sometimes a cloud, that seemed to have lost its way,
Went sailing o'er the ridge of sombre pines;
Steeping their topmost boughs in silvery gray,
And darting downward on the purple vines,
Till their broad leaves threw back an emerald gleam;
Then hid again in gloom were valley, tree, and stream.

VII

Right pleasant was that place in the olden time,
When peaceful shepherds piped along the plains,—

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When the young world was in its golden prime,
And the green groves rung back their simple strains,
The solemn forest then their only town;
Their streets the flowery glades, their temples mountains brown.

VIII

Even there perchance, as on that slope reclined,—
Their peaceful sheep grazing the while beside,—
They may have heard old Homer, bald and blind,
Tell how brave Hector parted from his bride;
And how fair Helen loved the beardless boy,
Whose passion lit the flames that ravaged ancient Troy.

IX

Some shepherd then, catching the soul of song,
Would shape the marble to that lofty lay,
Chisel the steed amid the embattled throng,
And the uplifted arm in act to slay:

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Making the warrior on his war-horse reel,
Jerked by the prostrate foe, who grasped the glancing steel.

X

Fragments remain there still, that look like life,—
Have looked two thousand years as they do now;
And not an arm is wearied in the strife,
Nor has a wrinkle gathered on the brow:
And what are they? Frail mortal, wouldst thou see?
Roll back the cloud of years to unveil the mystery.

XI

Though they are gone, the scene hath known no change
In that sweet vale through which the waters glide,
For still along its paths fair maidens range,
And shepherds watch, and climb the mountain's side,
Bear just such vessels to the murmuring rill,—
Beside the fountain talk, or loiter on the hill.

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XII

Even now in fallen Greece we still may trace
Such forms as there in ancient times were seen;
Its streams still mirror many a lovely face,
And warlike forms yet tread its valleys green;
What it once was, great Homer lives to tell,—
I in his shoreless sea but dip my scallop-shell.