Classic Poem

The Fountain of St. Nazaro.

There's a fount at the foot of Pausilipé's hill,
 Spring up on our bay's sunny margin,
And the mariner loveth his vessel to rill
 At this fount, of which I am the guardian.
'Tis the gem of my villa, the neighbourhood's boast,
 And with pleasure and pride I preserve it;
For alone it wells out, while the vine-covered coast
 In the summer lies panting and fervid.

When the plains are all parched, and the rivers run low,
 Then a festival comes I love dearly:
Here, with goblet in hand, my devotion I shew
 To the day of my birth that comes yearly.
'Tis the feast of my patron, N AZARO the Saint;
 Norror aught that fond name would I barter;
To this fount I have fixed that fond name, to acquaint
 All mankind with my love for the martyr.

He's the tutelar genius of me and of mine,
 And to honour the saints is my motto;
Unto him I devoted this well, and a shrine
 Unto him I have built in the grotto.
There his altar devoutly with shells I have deck'd—
 I have deck'd it with crystal and coral;
And have strewed all the pavement with branches select
 Of the myrtie, the pine, and the laurel.

By the brink of this well will I banquet the day,
 Of my birth, on its yearly recurring;
Then at eve, when the bonny breeze wrinkles the bay,
 And the leaves of the citron are stirring,
Beneath my calm dwelling before I repair.
 To the Father of Mercy addressing,
In a spirit of thankfulness, gratitude's praye
 I'll invoke on his creatures a blessing.

And long may the groves of Pansilipe shade
 By this fount, holy martyr, thy client:
Thus long may he bless thee for bountiful aid,
 And remain on thy bounty reliant.
To thy shrine shall the maids of Parthenope bring
 Lighted tapers, in yearly procession;
While the pilgrim hereafter shall visit this spring,
 To partake of the Saint's intercession!