eve

Years followed years, and when, upon the Of his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned,

Or by another's sympathy was led,

70

To this bright land, Hope was for him no friend,
Knowledge no help; Imagination shaped
No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats,
Survives for me, and cannot but survive
The tone of voice which wedded borrowed words
To sadness not their own, when, with faint

74

smile Forced by intent to take from speech its edge, He said, "When I am there, although 'tis fair, "Twill be another Yarrow." Prophecy

More than fulfilled, as gay Campania's shores
Soon witnessed, and the city of seven hills,
Her sparkling fountains, and her mouldering

tombs;

80

And more than all, that Eminence which

showed

Her splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood

A few short steps (painful they were) apart From Tasso's Convent-haven, and retired grave.

Peace to their Spirits! why should Poesy 85 Yield to the lure of vain regret, and hover In gloom on wings with confidence outspread To move in sunshine ?-Utter thanks, my Soul! Tempered with awe, and sweetened by compas

sion

For them who in the shades of sorrow dwell, 90
That I-so near the term to human life

Appointed by man's common heritage,
Frail as the frailest, one withal (if that
Deserve a thought) but little known to fame-
Am free to rove where Nature's loveliest looks,

Art's noblest relics, history's rich bequests, 96
Failed to reanimate and but feebly cheered
The whole world's Darling-free to rove at will
O'er high and low, and if requiring rest,
Rest from enjoyment only.

Thanks poured forth 100

For what thus far hath blessed my wanderings,

thanks

105

Fervent but humble as the lips can breathe Where gladness seems a duty-let me guard Those seeds of expectation which the fruit Already gathered in this favoured Land Enfolds within its core. The faith be mine, That He who guides and governs all, approves When gratitude, though disciplined to look Beyond these transient spheres, doth wear a

crown

Of earthly hope put on with trembling hand; 110 Nor is least pleased, we trust, when golden

beams,

Reflected through the mists of age, from hours
Of innocent delight, remote or recent,

Shoot but a little way-'tis all they can-
Into the doubtful future. Who would keep 115
Power must resolve to cleave to it through life,
Else it deserts him, surely as he lives.
Saints would not grieve nor guardian angels
frown

If one

120

—while tossed, as was my lot to be, In a frail bark urged by two slender oars Over waves rough and deep, that, when they

broke,

Dashed their white foam against the palace walls

Of Genoa the superb-should there be led
To meditate upon his own appointed tasks,
However humble in themselves, with thoughts

126

Raised and sustained by memory of Him
Who oftentimes within those narrow bounds
Rocked on the surge, there tried his spirit's

strength

And grasp of purpose, long ere sailed his ship To lay a new world open.

Nor less prized 130 Be those impressions which incline the heart To mild, to lowly, and to seeming weak, Bend that way her desires. The dew, the

storm

135

The dew whose moisture fell in gentle drops
On the small hyssop destined to become,
By Hebrew ordinance devoutly kept,
A purifying instrument--the storm
That shook on Lebanon the cedar's top,
And as it shook, enabling the blind roots
Further to force their way, endowed its trunk
With magnitude and strength fit to uphold 141
The glorious temple-did alike proceed
From the same gracious will, were both an
offspring

Of bounty infinite.

145

Between Powers that aim Higher to lift their lofty heads, impelled By no profane ambition, Powers that thrive By conflict, and their opposites, that trust In lowliness-a mid-way tract there lies Of thoughtful sentiment for every mind Pregnant with good. Young, Middle-aged, and Old,

150

From century on to century, must have known
The emotion-nay, more fitly were it said—
The blest tranquillity that sunk so deep
Into my spirit, when I paced, enclosed
In Pisa's Campo Santo, the smooth floor
Of its Arcades paved with sepulchral slabs,

155

And through each window's open fret-work looked

O'er the blank Area of sacred earth

Fetched from Mount Calvary, or haply delved
In precincts nearer to the Saviour's tomb, 160
By hands of men, humble as brave, who fought
For its deliverance-a capacious field

That to descendants of the dead it holds
And to all living mute memento breathes,
More touching far than aught which on the
walls

165

Is pictured, or their epitaphs can speak,
Of the changed City's long-departed power,
Glory, and wealth, which, perilous as they are,
Here did not kill, but nourished, Piety.

171

And, high above that length of cloistral roof,
Peering in air and backed by azure sky,
To kindred contemplations ministers
The Baptistery's dome, and that which swells
From the Cathedral pile; and with the twain.
Conjoined in prospect mutable or fixed
(As hurry on in eagerness the feet,

Or pause) the summit of the Leaning-tower.
Nor less remuneration waits on him

Who having left the Cemetery stands

175

In the Tower's shadow, of decline and fall 180
Admonished not without some sense of fear,
Fear that soon vanishes before the sight
Of splendour unextinguished, pomp unscathed,
And beauty unimpaired. Grand in itself,
And for itself, the assemblage, grand and fair
To view, and for the mind's consenting eye 186
A type of age in man, upon its front
Bearing the world-acknowledged evidence
Of past exploits, nor fondly after more
Struggling against the stream of destiny,
But with its peaceful majesty content.

190

-Oh what a spectacle at every turn

The Place unfolds, from pavement skinned with

moss,

Or grass-grown spaces, where the heaviest foot Provokes no echoes, but must softly tread; 195 Where Solitude with Silence paired stops short Of Desolation, and to Ruin's scythe

Decay submits not.

But where'er my steps

200

Shall wander, chiefly let me cull with care
Those images of genial beauty, oft
Too lovely to be pensive in themselves
But by reflexion made so, which do best
And fitliest serve to crown with fragrant wreaths
Life's cup when almost filled with years, like

mine.

-How lovely robed in forenoon light and shade, Each ministering to each, didst thou appear 206 Savona, Queen of territory fair

As aught that marvellous coast thro' all its length

Yields to the Stranger's eye. Remembrance holds

As a selected treasure thy one cliff,

210

That, while it wore for melancholy crest
A shattered Convent, yet rose proud to have
Clinging to its steep sides a thousand herbs
And shrubs, whose pleasant looks gave proof
how kind

The breath of air can be where earth had else
Seemed churlish. And behold, both far and

near,

216

Garden and field all decked with orange bloom, And peach and citron, in Spring's mildest breeze Expanding; and, along the smooth shore curved Into a natural port, a tideless sea,

220

To that mild breeze with motion and with voice