Farewell to Italy
I LEAVE thee, beauteous Italy! no more
From the high terraces, at even-tide,
To look supine into thy depths of sky,
Thy golden moon between the cliff and me,
Or thy dark spires of fretted cypresses
Bordering the channel of the milky way.
Fiesole and Valdarno must be dreams
Hereafter, and my own lost Affrico
Murmur to me but in the poet’s song.
I did believe (what have I not believ’d?),
Weary with age, but unoppress’d by pain,
To close in thy soft clime my quiet day
And rest my bones in the mimosa’s shade.
Hope! Hope! few ever cherish’d thee so little;
Few are the heads thou hast so rarely rais’d;
But thou didst promise this, and all was well.
For we are fond of thinking where to lie
When every pulse hath ceas’d, when the lone heart
Can lift no aspiration—reasoning
As if the sight were unimpair’d by death,
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
On the Death of M. D’Ossoli and His Wife Margaret Fuller
OVER his millions Death has lawful power,
But over thee, brave D’Ossoli! none, none.
After a longer struggle, in a fight
Worthy of Italy, to youth restor’d,
Thou, far from home, art sunk beneath the surge
Of the Atlantic; on its shore; in reach
Of help; in trust of refuge; sunk with all
Precious on earth to thee … a child, a wife!
Proud as thou wert of her, America
Is prouder, showing to her sons how high
Swells woman’s courage in a virtuous breast.
She would not leave behind her those she lov’d:
Such solitary safety might become
Others; not her; not her who stood beside
The pallet of the wounded, when the worst
Of France and Perfidy assail’d the walls
Of unsuspicious Rome. Rest, glorious soul,
Renown’d for strength of genius, Margaret!
Rest with the twain too dear! My words are few,
And shortly none will hear my failing voice,
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
On The Descent Into Hell Of Ezzelino Di Napoli
Rejoice, ye nations! one is dead
By whom ten thousand hearts have bled.
Widows and orphans, raise your voice . .
One voice, ye prostrate peoples, raise
To God; to God alone be praise!
All dwellers upon earth, rejoice:
The imprisond soul, the tortured limb,
Are now at last set free by Him.
Each king their fellow king supplied
With thongs to scourge ye: but your wrongs
Reacht highest heaven; Angelic tongues
Shouted when Earth's Flagellant died.
The Demons heard and yell'd below,
Glad that his endless day of woe
(Long after theirs) had dimly dawn'd.
The proudest of them all sate dumb,
Angry that any Prince should come,
Who grudg'd to give the soul he pawn'd.
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
On The Dead
Yes, in this chancel once we sat alone,
O Dorothea! thou wert bright with youth,
Freshness like Morning's dwelt upon thy cheek,
While here and there above the level pews,
Above the housings of the village dames,
The musky fan its groves and zephyrs waved.
I know not why (since we had each our book
And lookt upon it stedfastly) first one
Outran the learned labourer from the desk,
Then tript the other and limpt far behind,
And smiles gave blushes birth, and blushes smiles.
Ah me! where are they flown, my lovely friend!
Two seasons like that season thou hast lain
Cold as the dark-blue stone beneath my feet,
While my heart beats as then, but not with joy.
O my lost friends! why were ye once so dear?
And why were ye not fewer, O ye few?
Must winter, spring, and summer, thus return,
Commemorating some one torn away,
Till half the months at last shall take, with me,
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Alciphron and Leucippe
An ancient chestnut’s blossoms threw
Their heavy odour over two:
Leucippe, it is said, was one;
The other, then, was Alciphron.
‘Come, come! why should we stand beneath?’
This hollow tree’s unwholesome breath?’
Said Alciphron, ‘here’s not a blade
Of grass or moss, and scanty shade.
Come; it is just the hour to rove
In the lone dingle shepherds love;
There, straight and tall, the hazel twig
Divides the crookàed rock-held fig,
O’er the blue pebbles where the rill
In winter runs and may run still.
Come then, while fresh and calm the air,
And while the shepherds are not there.’
Leucippe. But I would rather go when they
Sit round about and sing and play.
Then why so hurry me? for you
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Aeschylos And Sophocles
Sophocles: Thou goest then, and leavest none behind Worthy to rival thee!
Aeschylos: Nay, say not so.
Whose is the hand that now is pressing mine?
A hand I may not ever press again!
What glorious forms hath it brought boldly forth
From Pluto's realm! The blind old Oedipos
Was led on one side by Antigone,
Sophocles propt the other.
Sophocles: Sophocles
Sooth'd not Prometheus chaind upon his rock,
Keeping the vultures and the Gods away;
Sophocles is not greater than the chief
Who conquered Ilion, nor could he revenge
His murder, or stamp everlasting brand
Upon the brow of that adulterous wife.
Aeschylos: Live, and do more.
Thine is the Lemnian ile,
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Corinna, from Athens, to Tanagra
Tanagra! think not I forget
Thy beautifully-storey’d streets;
Be sure my memory bathes yet
In clear Thermodon, and yet greets
The blythe and liberal shepherd boy,
Whose sunny bosom swells with joy
When we accept his matted rushes
Upheaved with sylvan fruit; away he bounds, and blushes.
I promise to bring back with me
What thou with transport wilt receive,
The only proper gift for thee,
Of which no mortal shall bereave
In later times thy mouldering walls,
Until the last old turret falls;
A crown, a crown from Athens won!
A crown no god can wear, beside Latona’s son.
There may be cities who refuse
To their own child the honours due,
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Damaetas And Ida
Damaetas is a boy as rue
As ever broke maid's solitude.
He watcht the little Ida going
Where the wood-raspberries were growing,
And, under a pretence of fear
Lest they might scratch her arms, drew near,
And, plucking up a stiff grey bent,
The fruit (scarce touching it,) he sent
Into both hands: the form they took
Of a boat's keel upon a brook;
So not a raspberry fell down
To splash her foot or stain her gown.
When it was over, for his pains
She let his lips do off the stains
That were upon two fingers; he
At first kist two, and then kist three,
And, to be certain every stain
Had vanisht, kist them o'er again.
At last the boy, quite shameless, said
'See! I have taken out the red!
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Hyperbion
Hyperbion was among the chosen few
Of Phoebus; and men honored him awhile,
Honoring in him the God. But others sang
As loudly; and the boys as loudly cheer'd.
Hyperbion (more than bard should be) was wroth,
And thus he spake to Phoebus: 'Hearest thou,
O Phoebus! the rude rabble from the field,
Who swear that they have known thee ever since
Thou feddest for Admetos his white bull?'
'I hear them,' said the God. 'Seize thou the first
And haul him up above the heads of men,
And thou shalt hear them shout for thee as pleas'd.'
Headstrong and proud Hyperbion was: the crown
Of laurel on it badly cool'd his brow:
So, when he heard them singing at his gate,
While some with flints cut there the rival's name,
Rushing he seiz'd the songster at their head:
The songster kickt and struggled hard; in vain.
Hyperbion claspt him round with arm robust,
And with the left a hempen rope uncoil'd,
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Railroad Eclogue
Father: What brought thee back, lad?
Son: Father! the same feet
As took me brought me back, I warrant ye.
Father: Couldst thou not find the rail?
Son: The deuce himself
Who can find most things, could not find the rail.
Father: Plain as a pike-staff miles and miles it lies.
Son: So they all told me. Pike-staffs in your day
Must have been hugely plainer than just now.
Father: What didst thou ask for?
Son: Ask for? Tewkesbury,
Thro Defford opposite to Breedon-hill.
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!