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Words by the Wayside

By James Rhoades

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Castello di Urio, Lago di Como
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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79

Castello di Urio, Lago di Como

Here in Love's Temple, high-enthroned,
On Urio's castled seat,
By snowy-snooded Alps enzoned,
Lies stretched beneath my feet
From shore to shore, from end to end,
In heaven's own colours dyed,
The Lake beloved by Trajan's friend,
And hymned by Dante's guide:
I know not when so fair a dream
Drew back my spirits bar,
To loose her from the things that seem,
And lift to things that are.
Now, nearer if one turn to gaze,
Arrests the enraptured eyes
This lesser rock-hewn realm, where sways
A Queen of Paradise—
With terrace upon terrace crowned,
And linked above, below,
With footways winding as they wound
Five hundred years ago.
Hard by, a torrent storms in pride
Adown his bouldered bed,
Or, by the thirst of summer dried,
Drops dwindling to a thread;

80

Upon whose dark and dripping wall
The lolling harts'-tongue hangs;
For winter here doth windless fall,
Nor whets his frosty fangs;
And see! 'neath many an ivied edge
Bright speedwell gleams afar,
Or periwinkle lights the ledge
With star on azure star.
Here Guava blends both fruit and bloom,
And round the Cypress-towers,
All tender-pale against their gloom,
Wisteria winds her flowers,
Or clothes the naked wall, and clings
To ravish scent and sight,
And with Falernian bounty flings
Her clusters of delight;
And e'en ere May's first maiden blush,
While April's yet to run,
Almost you'll hear the roses rush
To riot in the sun!
Behind yon gnarled and knotted root
Peering, you may surprise
Some Satyr straining in pursuit,
Some Faun with startled eyes,
Or pensive, for sweet fancy's sake,
Descend with footing slow
Those stately steps that lipped the lake
Five hundred years ago!

81

Of guarded fount I fain would tell,
And pebble-broidered lawn,
And yon slim tower whose clangorous bell
Beats out the birth of dawn,
Or how sweet Lario's pulses thrill
To meet the amorous air:
But stay, fond muse, thy faltering quill,
And cease thy needless care:
For lo! the greatness and the grace
Of long-forgotten days—
Fair birthright of this princely place—
With all the love and praise
Of what, in nature or in art,
Must needs our worship win,
Shine mirrored in the eyes and heart
Of her who reigns herein.