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Even as he—in vision, in the dream Of that creation in which all, or less, Or more, exist: that light which sheds its gleam O'er desert hearts all else companionless! Farewell, thou Rome! where better could we bless Thee, than where here thy Alban-Mother grey Watches thy tomb in yon far wilderness! Matron and son alike have passed away, But left their fame entwined for ever—as to-day.
END OF CANTO IV.
Morning over Naples—gradual effects of the growing light on the city
The river Sarno and Pompeii: first appearance—its silence. Forum—
l. It is the morn—the ever-blessed morn! The Fountains of Existence are poured forth, Life's renovating streams for ever borne, Inspiring gladness to the ends of earth; Lo—Naples, she so restless in her mirth, Nor sees nor hears the beauty o'er her shed: She sleeps, as sleeps an infant at its birth! The Elements, her handmaids, softly tread, While ministering round her wave-encircled bod. II.
For, like a blue-eyed Spirit, the Sky above Bends from its throne the blushing earth to meet: And the Air sighs o'er her its breath of love; While the deep Sea makes music at her feet, A song for ever low, for ever sweet: And o'er her brow are hues to Iris given, Caught from yon Sun that steals on her retreat! While gently still his pausing wheels are driven, Watching her sleep beneath the holy vault of heaven!
III. The Bay's encircling arms with fond embrace Guard her while sitting on the enchanted shore: The Sea is mirroring her lovely face: The Ampitheatre of Hills that soar Behind her, looking as if tints they wore Of heaven, mantle vines around her breast, In Bacchanal profusion shadowing o'er! Orange, rose, citron, by the winds caressed, Waft fragrance, as if borne from mansions of the blest.