Blackwood's Magazine/Volume 1/Issue 1/Italy
ITALY.
Earth's loveliest land I behold in my dreams,
All gay in the summer, and drest in sun-beams—
In the radiance which breaks on the purified sense
Of the thin-bodied ghosts that are flitting from hence.
The blue distant Alps, and the blue distant main,
Bound the far varied harvests of Lombardy's plain:
The rivers are winding in blue gleaming lines
Round the Ruins of Old—round the Hill of the Vines—
Round the grove of the orange—the green myrtle bower—
By Castle and Convent—by Town and by Tower.
Through the bright summer azure the north breezes blow,
That are cooled in their flight over regions of snow,
Or westerly gales, on whose wandering wings
The wave of the ocean its silver dew flings.
Bright, bright is the prospect, and teeming the soil
With the blessings of promise—with corn, wine, and oil,
Where the cypress, and myrtle, and orange combine,
And around the dark olive gay wantons the vine.
Woods leafy and rustling o'ershadow the scene,
With their forest of branches and changes of green;
And glossy their greenness where sunshine is glistening,
And mellow their music where Silence is listening,
And the streamlets glide through them with glassier hue,
And the sky sparkles o'er them with heavenlier blue.
How deep and how rich is the blush of the rose,
That spreading and wild o'er the wilderness grows!
What waftures of incense are filling the air!
For the bloom of a summer unbounded is there.
All gay in the summer, and drest in sun-beams—
In the radiance which breaks on the purified sense
Of the thin-bodied ghosts that are flitting from hence.
The blue distant Alps, and the blue distant main,
Bound the far varied harvests of Lombardy's plain:
The rivers are winding in blue gleaming lines
Round the Ruins of Old—round the Hill of the Vines—
Round the grove of the orange—the green myrtle bower—
By Castle and Convent—by Town and by Tower.
Through the bright summer azure the north breezes blow,
That are cooled in their flight over regions of snow,
Or westerly gales, on whose wandering wings
The wave of the ocean its silver dew flings.
Bright, bright is the prospect, and teeming the soil
With the blessings of promise—with corn, wine, and oil,
Where the cypress, and myrtle, and orange combine,
And around the dark olive gay wantons the vine.
Woods leafy and rustling o'ershadow the scene,
With their forest of branches and changes of green;
And glossy their greenness where sunshine is glistening,
And mellow their music where Silence is listening,
And the streamlets glide through them with glassier hue,
And the sky sparkles o'er them with heavenlier blue.
How deep and how rich is the blush of the rose,
That spreading and wild o'er the wilderness grows!
What waftures of incense are filling the air!
For the bloom of a summer unbounded is there.
The soft and voluptuous Spirit of Love
Rules in earth and in ether, below and above,
In the blue of the sky, in the glow of the beam,
In the sigh of the wind, and the now of the stream!
At his presence the rose takes a ruddier bloom,
And the vine-bud exhales a more wanton perfume;
E'en the hoarse surging billows have softened their roar,
And break with a musical fall on the shore.
Rules in earth and in ether, below and above,
In the blue of the sky, in the glow of the beam,
In the sigh of the wind, and the now of the stream!
At his presence the rose takes a ruddier bloom,
And the vine-bud exhales a more wanton perfume;
E'en the hoarse surging billows have softened their roar,
And break with a musical fall on the shore.
But less in this Eden has young Love his dwelling,
Than in that virgin's bosom, wild throbbing and swelling,
That bounds 'gainst her zone, and will not be represt,
Whilst full of the god that possesses her breast.
Love has kindled her cheek with his deep crimson dye,
And lit with his radiance her eloquent eye,
Ever restless and changing, and darkening, and brightening,
Now melting in dew, and now flashing in lightning.
O, black is her eye, black intensely; and black
Are the ringlets luxuriant that float down her back;
And equally sweet is her lip of the roses,
When it opens in smiles, or in silence reposes.
*****
O sooner the bird shall escape from the snare
Of the fowler, than man from her thraldom—beware!
If you meet but one glance of her magical eye,
From your bosom for ever must liberty fly!
Let there breathe but one thrilling and silvery tone
From the syren—your heart is no longer your own.
Than in that virgin's bosom, wild throbbing and swelling,
That bounds 'gainst her zone, and will not be represt,
Whilst full of the god that possesses her breast.
Love has kindled her cheek with his deep crimson dye,
And lit with his radiance her eloquent eye,
Ever restless and changing, and darkening, and brightening,
Now melting in dew, and now flashing in lightning.
O, black is her eye, black intensely; and black
Are the ringlets luxuriant that float down her back;
And equally sweet is her lip of the roses,
When it opens in smiles, or in silence reposes.
*****
O sooner the bird shall escape from the snare
Of the fowler, than man from her thraldom—beware!
If you meet but one glance of her magical eye,
From your bosom for ever must liberty fly!
Let there breathe but one thrilling and silvery tone
From the syren—your heart is no longer your own.