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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 bed.
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!
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,
Watt fragrance, as if borne from mansions of the blest.
Thou Paradise of exiles! oh, thou Land,
Whose very air oblivion brings to those
Who would forget the past ! thy hills expand
Around, and girdling, from the world enclose :
The very odour wafted from the rose
Gives balm to wounded spirits, and a healing
Softness, and peace, which is itself repose;
From the blue sky above is shed a feeling
Upon the trancèd sense like softest music stealing !
But lo, yon empyrèan spread beneath,
That marvel of the earth, fair Naples' bay!
Those Waters floating like heaven's azure breath ;
And laving shores and towns, where to delay
All occupation, basked in the sun's ray,
While listening to their dreamy melody,
Are life's sole ends—what worthier have they?
Is it not better thus, than vainly sigh
For their Day's sun eclipsed, heart-wakening liberty ?
And azure Capri lies in the deep Sea,
Rent from her parent mountains, all alone ;
Like some bright Image of futurity,
Hued by our fondest fancies, and the throne
Where from the world young hope and love are flown;
So meets the eye that spirit-haunted isle !
Alas, the present only is our own;
Yet the heart still is soothed by its own wile,
And loves its dream of joy, that flatters to beguile.
VII. O thou Parthenopé ! no rainbow Vision : I see thee an embodied Form divine, The haunting Spirit of this land elysian : Lo, 'midst yon mountains thou hast reared thy
shrine; There, leaning 'gainst the oak, thou dost recline, Around thy brows the purple tendrils clung, Pressed in thy hand the rich cup's mantling wine ;
A wilderness of sweets above thee hung; Beneath thy feet the flowers in wild profusion flung.
And oh! that form so delicately moulded,
So flowing, flexile, goddess-like, and fair,
Such as in Sleep are silently unfolded,
When from their mansions star-like forms repair
To realise the shapes we dream of there;
Thy smile-the very birth of light! thine eyes,
Caught from yon heaven their tenderest azure, where
The heart's lost happiness deep buried lies;
Thy brow-beneath whose arch Love ever homeward
Nymph of immortal Beauty ! round thee throwing
A halo, which thy own reflection gives
Soft as the mellowed flood of moonlight, glowing
Through the rich veil of Autumn's cincturing leaves!
The poetry of colours ! such as weaves
Iris, or circle round the Lord of Day,
When Twilight from his presence life receives;
Dost thou not still shed down thine influence, say, On those who seek thy shrine for ever—as to-day?