 | Fra Cipolla, and other poems |  |
69
TO THE RIVER DEE.
By the Elbe and through the Rheinland, I've wandered far and wide,
And by the Save with silver tones, proud Danube's queenly bride;
By Arno's vales, and Tiber's shore, but never did I see
A river I would match with thine, old Druid haunted Dee!
And by the Save with silver tones, proud Danube's queenly bride;
By Arno's vales, and Tiber's shore, but never did I see
A river I would match with thine, old Druid haunted Dee!
I've stood where Sorga gushes forth Valchiusa's marble cave
As bright as when to deathless verse its name Petrarca gave
In fair Verona's palaces—the towers of Avignon
But Adige was not like to thee, nor blue and sunny Rhone.
As bright as when to deathless verse its name Petrarca gave
In fair Verona's palaces—the towers of Avignon
But Adige was not like to thee, nor blue and sunny Rhone.
72
I've heard great Danube roaring far, and sailed upon his breast,
And seen beneath his sea like wave the sun sink down to rest;
And by the Po, which Virgil loved—and by his Mantuan stream,
And Iser hailed of poets now, bright with Art's favourite beam.
And seen beneath his sea like wave the sun sink down to rest;
And by the Po, which Virgil loved—and by his Mantuan stream,
And Iser hailed of poets now, bright with Art's favourite beam.
But though beside thy waters wild no Munich e'er will rise
Far sweeter is their liquid voice, and it hath dearer ties,
And liv'st thou not in song my Dee, when of Milton thou canst claim
A portion of the awful love, and the everlasting name.
Far sweeter is their liquid voice, and it hath dearer ties,
And liv'st thou not in song my Dee, when of Milton thou canst claim
A portion of the awful love, and the everlasting name.
By the Moorish towers of Andernach, beneath a walnut's shade
Thus speed my faithful thoughts to thee, though a little Rhenish maid
Has twined a wreath of water-flowers, round a flask of Wurtzberg wine
And bad me give of streams the palm to their old Fader Rhein.
Thus speed my faithful thoughts to thee, though a little Rhenish maid
Has twined a wreath of water-flowers, round a flask of Wurtzberg wine
And bad me give of streams the palm to their old Fader Rhein.
| Fra Cipolla, and other poems | |