 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
TAORMINA, SICILY.
I lie amid the uplands sweet,
Thick sheltered from the noon-day heat,
'Neath verdurous boughs of grateful shade
By over-arching ilex made,
And breathe the air of Sicily.
Thick sheltered from the noon-day heat,
'Neath verdurous boughs of grateful shade
By over-arching ilex made,
And breathe the air of Sicily.
Above me Taormina's height,
Smit by a shaft of golden light,
Keeps ward o'er plain and sapphire sea,
By all who know it claimed to be
The fairest spot in Sicily.
Smit by a shaft of golden light,
Keeps ward o'er plain and sapphire sea,
By all who know it claimed to be
The fairest spot in Sicily.
3
The sound of trickling waters clear,
Falls like a song upon the ear,
While soaring upward in her flight,
The lark takes captive with delight
The ravish'd heart of Sicily.
Falls like a song upon the ear,
While soaring upward in her flight,
The lark takes captive with delight
The ravish'd heart of Sicily.
Faint scents are borne upon the breeze,
From orange and from citron trees,
From purple hyacinth and rose
And buds that all their sweets disclose,
To breathe their balm o'er Sicily.
From orange and from citron trees,
From purple hyacinth and rose
And buds that all their sweets disclose,
To breathe their balm o'er Sicily.
Lull'd by the murmur of the streams,
I dream my happy waking dreams,
The present is not—faints and dies,—
The past comes up before my eyes,
I live in ancient Sicily.
I dream my happy waking dreams,
The present is not—faints and dies,—
The past comes up before my eyes,
I live in ancient Sicily.
Here in these happy days once more,
Dryads and Nereids tread this shore,
Here Arethusa, fair and sweet,
Chased by Alpheus, bold and fleet,
Flies through the fields of Sicily,
Dryads and Nereids tread this shore,
Here Arethusa, fair and sweet,
Chased by Alpheus, bold and fleet,
Flies through the fields of Sicily,
And calls on Dian, chaste and fair,
Who hears, and turns her, at her prayer,
Into a fountain clear, whose spray,
Bedews with silver mists all day,
The flower-freak'd meads of Sicily.
Who hears, and turns her, at her prayer,
Into a fountain clear, whose spray,
Bedews with silver mists all day,
The flower-freak'd meads of Sicily.
4
Persephone, 'mid rosy hours,
Gathers in Enna vernal flowers,
Till caught in swarthy Pluto's arms,
He bears her, ravish'd with her charms,
To underworlds from Sicily.
Gathers in Enna vernal flowers,
Till caught in swarthy Pluto's arms,
He bears her, ravish'd with her charms,
To underworlds from Sicily.
I hear Theocritus, whose song
The echoes of the hills prolong,
As in his Amabœan lays,
He chants his lovely island's praise,
In strains that charm all Sicily.
The echoes of the hills prolong,
As in his Amabœan lays,
He chants his lovely island's praise,
In strains that charm all Sicily.
From purple wastes of honied flowers
To stainless skies great Etna's towers,
Whose stately spire of virgin white,
Glitters a diamond in the light
That bathes the shores of Sicily.
To stainless skies great Etna's towers,
Whose stately spire of virgin white,
Glitters a diamond in the light
That bathes the shores of Sicily.
Within the mountain's heart of fire,
Enceladus, with fruitless ire,
Would rend his prison walls in twain,
And struggling fiercely 'gainst his chain,
Shakes to its centre, Sicily.
Enceladus, with fruitless ire,
Would rend his prison walls in twain,
And struggling fiercely 'gainst his chain,
Shakes to its centre, Sicily.
What else—what else is this I see?
Who in her beauty comes to me,
As through the meads her white feet move,
Her face aglow with light and love,
The fairest maid in Sicily?
Who in her beauty comes to me,
As through the meads her white feet move,
Her face aglow with light and love,
The fairest maid in Sicily?
5
'Tis Galatea, woodnymph fair,
A fillet round her golden hair,
With Acis, agile as a fawn,
And beauteous as the early dawn,
That breaks o'er sea-wash'd Sicily.
A fillet round her golden hair,
With Acis, agile as a fawn,
And beauteous as the early dawn,
That breaks o'er sea-wash'd Sicily.
And Polyphemus, scorn'd in love,
Telling his woes to hill and grove,
His passion finding ease in song,
Calls Galatea all day long,
To make a heaven of Sicily.
Telling his woes to hill and grove,
His passion finding ease in song,
Calls Galatea all day long,
To make a heaven of Sicily.
For me returns the age of gold,
When with white milk the rivers roll'd,
And trees and flowers shed honey-dew,
And heaven was one broad stretch of blue,
'Neath which smiled happy Sicily.
When with white milk the rivers roll'd,
And trees and flowers shed honey-dew,
And heaven was one broad stretch of blue,
'Neath which smiled happy Sicily.
Visions divine! Oh, past compare!
O fuller life! O ampler air!
Here would I dream the hours away,
Dream dreaming the long summer day
That gilds enchanted Sicily.
O fuller life! O ampler air!
Here would I dream the hours away,
Dream dreaming the long summer day
That gilds enchanted Sicily.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |