Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Birthplace of Tasso
The Birth-Place of Tasso.
Torquato Tasso, born at Sorrento, 1544; died at Rome, 25th April, 1595. Ho was the author of "Jerusalem Delivered," and one of the most celebrated of the Italian poets.
Beautiful are the waves that flow
Beneath Sorrento's walls;
With rippling swell, and foam of snow,
And murmuring sounds, that come and. go,
Like fitful waterfalls.
Beneath Sorrento's walls;
With rippling swell, and foam of snow,
And murmuring sounds, that come and. go,
Like fitful waterfalls.
Beautiful are those skies that shine
Above that sparkling bay,
Where hang the rich, luxuriant vine,
And thousand plants that climb and twine
With light, fantastic spray.
Above that sparkling bay,
Where hang the rich, luxuriant vine,
And thousand plants that climb and twine
With light, fantastic spray.
Beautiful are those shores, and meet
For poet's charmèd lay,
Who traced the siren's treacherous feet
Upon those sands, and heard them greet
The wanderer on his way.
For poet's charmèd lay,
Who traced the siren's treacherous feet
Upon those sands, and heard them greet
The wanderer on his way.
Beautiful is that Sunbright scene
For poet's cradle framed,
Where scented flowers, and woods of green,
And mountains blue are distant seen,
His songs in childhood claimed.
For poet's cradle framed,
Where scented flowers, and woods of green,
And mountains blue are distant seen,
His songs in childhood claimed.
But why within that verdant spot,
So lovely and so still,
By all the noisy world forgot,
Where even the ocean waves are not
More loud than mountain rill;
So lovely and so still,
By all the noisy world forgot,
Where even the ocean waves are not
More loud than mountain rill;
Why fiercely rose the warrior's crest
Upon his early dream;
Was it that in his youthful breast,
He loved the foam, the tumult, best,
Of some enchanted stream?
Upon his early dream;
Was it that in his youthful breast,
He loved the foam, the tumult, best,
Of some enchanted stream?
And wherefore broke the clash of arms,
The rattling shield and spear,
With all tho battle's wild alarms,
The groan that chills, the shout that warms,
Upon his listening ear?
The rattling shield and spear,
With all tho battle's wild alarms,
The groan that chills, the shout that warms,
Upon his listening ear?
Was it that in his fervent soul
A burning thirst arose
To drink where troubled waters roll,
And fill the intoxicating bowl
With human joys and woes?
A burning thirst arose
To drink where troubled waters roll,
And fill the intoxicating bowl
With human joys and woes?
Yes. Thus he felt and thus he sung,
For genius woke the fire.
A warrior bard he proudly Sprung,
While round his brows her wreaths she flung
And tuned his virgin lyre.
For genius woke the fire.
A warrior bard he proudly Sprung,
While round his brows her wreaths she flung
And tuned his virgin lyre.
But not alone the battle-field,
With skilful touch, he drew;
The waving plume, the glittering shield,
Beauty in gentlest form concealed,
And thus he painted, too.
With skilful touch, he drew;
The waving plume, the glittering shield,
Beauty in gentlest form concealed,
And thus he painted, too.
And not alone the conqueror's cry
Of triumph, wild and strong,
Inspired his numbers bold and high,
But loftier strains he dared to try—
The Christian's faith he sung.
Of triumph, wild and strong,
Inspired his numbers bold and high,
But loftier strains he dared to try—
The Christian's faith he sung.
Wherefore? Ask not. There rolled above
His youthful head that sky,
These glorious heavens, so far above
All earthly change—the type of love
And immortality.
His youthful head that sky,
These glorious heavens, so far above
All earthly change—the type of love
And immortality.