A GENOA. H! what avails it, Genoa, now to thee That Doria, feared by monarchs, once was thine ? Univied ruin! in thy sad decline From virtuous greatness, what avails that he Survive. All else are sentenced. Wisest were That builder who should plan with strictest care (Ere yet the wood was felled or hewn the stone) The aspect only of his pile in ruin! Aubrey de Vere. IN GENOA. NIGHT AT THE PARADISO. TOW sweet the stars are, trembling in the sky, HOW As I look up across the shadowy trees, Whose branches softly melt in heaven's seas, Of clouds that winds to God, upheld in palms Cora Kennedy Aitkin. GENOA. YENTLY, as roses die, the day declines; GE On the charmed air there is a hush the while; The moon is up; and o'er the warm wave shines William Gibson. Ischia, the Island. ISCHIA. ERE in this narrow island glen HEL Between the dark hill and the sea, I bend above thy broidery frame; I smell thy flowers; thy voice I hear: Of Italy thou speak'st; that name Woke long thy wish, - at last thy tear ! Hadst thou but watched that azure deep; But seen that crag's embattled crest, An eagle widowed in her nest, Heart strong and faithful to thine own! This was not in thy fates. Thy life Love blessed thy home, its trees, its earth, Which linked the region of thy birth From the loud river's rocky beach To that clear lake the woodlands shade, Love stretched his arms. In sight of each The place of thy repose is made. Aubrey de Vere. INARIMÉ. VITTORIA COLONNA, after the death of her husband, the Marchese di Pescara, retired to her castle at Ischia (Inarimé), and there wrote the ode upon his death which gained her the title of Divine. NCE more, once more, Inarimé, ONCE S I see thy purple hills! I hear the billows of the bay once more Wash the white pebbles on thy shore. High o'er the sea-surge and the sands, Upon its terrace-walk I see A phantom gliding to and fro; Who lived and loved so long ago. Pescara's beautiful young wife, The type of perfect womanhood, That time and change and death withstood. For death, that breaks the marriage band The wedding-ring upon her hand And closer locked and barred her breast. She knew the life-long martyrdom, The shadows of the chestnut-trees, The respiration of the sea, The soft caresses of the air, Till the o'erburdened heart, so long Then as the sun, though hidden from sight, Her life was interfused with light, Inarimé ! Inarimé ! Thy castle on the crags above Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. |