Sorrento
I sing of the cliffs that descend to
The bay lying blue at their foot
And see in the waters they bend to
Their gardens all golden with fruit;
Of pines, too, their perfume out-sending
From cloud-covered peaks far away,
Of landscapes where colors are blending
Afresh every hour of the day.
Sorrento, thou beautiful charmer,
Thy musical name I adore,
Like winds in the leafage that murmur
And ripples that lapse on the shore.
All griefs that my forehead would furrow
Must fade when I think upon thee;
No thorn shall afflict me with sorrow
Since thou wert a rose unto me.
How gladly does memory, straying,
Recall thee when clouds were aglow:
A breeze in the branches was playing
Till oranges tumbled below.
I stood in the shade, with the bay-line
Curved wide in a circle beneath:
There Ischia loomed in a gray line,
Yon smoke was Vesuvius' breath.
I took out my poet Saturnian,—
My Horace, the bard of good cheer,
Whose verses of girls and Falernian
Well fitted when vineyards were near.
The cares of my former existence,
How weak now their hold upon me!
Like valley-mist faint in the distance
I saw them grow pallid and flee.
I tasted the rapture of Flaccus,
My spirit took fire at his flame;
So near to his Lydia and Bacchus,
I felt that our joys were the same.
Sorrento, whate'er may befall me,
Thou bindest with triple-wrought band:
Thy maidens, thy vineyards enthrall me,
And still more thy murmuring strand.
How gladly my thoughts would forsake there
Myself and my world by the shore;
I dreamed, as the billows would break there,
Sense-lulled by the monotone roar.
What joy at the sultry day's ending
To stand all prepared for the leap!
How fine, as the sun was descending,
To mimic his plunge in the deep!
The star o'er the fortress was lighted,
When wakened the Cyprian sect.
Each balcony softly invited,
Sorrento, in thy dialect.
How quickly Love helps one to capture
A speech, when the learner is young!
The notes of the nightingale's rapture
He taught to a harsh northern tongue.
Sorrento, beloved of my spirit,
That showered thy roses on me,
Alas! though I hardly can bear it,
I 'm parted forever from thee.
My poor heart will break, being sent to
The snows of this chill northern land.
It yearns for the sun and Sorrento;
Sorrento, it yearns for thy strand.
How oft in this waste I 've lamented,
When, grieving, thy loss I recall:
Oh, would Fortune never had granted
That I should have seen thee at all!
But then, overcome with contrition,
I clasp the sweet visions that throng,
And weave with a fond repetition,
Sorrento, thy name in my song.
The bay lying blue at their foot
And see in the waters they bend to
Their gardens all golden with fruit;
Of pines, too, their perfume out-sending
From cloud-covered peaks far away,
Of landscapes where colors are blending
Afresh every hour of the day.
Sorrento, thou beautiful charmer,
Thy musical name I adore,
Like winds in the leafage that murmur
And ripples that lapse on the shore.
All griefs that my forehead would furrow
Must fade when I think upon thee;
No thorn shall afflict me with sorrow
Since thou wert a rose unto me.
How gladly does memory, straying,
Recall thee when clouds were aglow:
A breeze in the branches was playing
Till oranges tumbled below.
I stood in the shade, with the bay-line
Curved wide in a circle beneath:
There Ischia loomed in a gray line,
Yon smoke was Vesuvius' breath.
I took out my poet Saturnian,—
My Horace, the bard of good cheer,
Whose verses of girls and Falernian
Well fitted when vineyards were near.
The cares of my former existence,
How weak now their hold upon me!
Like valley-mist faint in the distance
I saw them grow pallid and flee.
I tasted the rapture of Flaccus,
My spirit took fire at his flame;
So near to his Lydia and Bacchus,
I felt that our joys were the same.
Sorrento, whate'er may befall me,
Thou bindest with triple-wrought band:
Thy maidens, thy vineyards enthrall me,
And still more thy murmuring strand.
How gladly my thoughts would forsake there
Myself and my world by the shore;
I dreamed, as the billows would break there,
Sense-lulled by the monotone roar.
What joy at the sultry day's ending
To stand all prepared for the leap!
How fine, as the sun was descending,
To mimic his plunge in the deep!
The star o'er the fortress was lighted,
When wakened the Cyprian sect.
Each balcony softly invited,
Sorrento, in thy dialect.
How quickly Love helps one to capture
A speech, when the learner is young!
The notes of the nightingale's rapture
He taught to a harsh northern tongue.
Sorrento, beloved of my spirit,
That showered thy roses on me,
Alas! though I hardly can bear it,
I 'm parted forever from thee.
My poor heart will break, being sent to
The snows of this chill northern land.
It yearns for the sun and Sorrento;
Sorrento, it yearns for thy strand.
How oft in this waste I 've lamented,
When, grieving, thy loss I recall:
Oh, would Fortune never had granted
That I should have seen thee at all!
But then, overcome with contrition,
I clasp the sweet visions that throng,
And weave with a fond repetition,
Sorrento, thy name in my song.
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