Graham's Magazine, Vol. XL, No. 4, April 1852Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XL, No. 4, April 1852
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
On such a blue and breezy summer’s day,
The winds seem charmed that wander round this bay.
The waves that murmur on the sunward beach,
Whisper of things beyond the Present’s reach.
Each winged bark that skims along the sea
Seems gliding like a dream of mystery.
Light of far Grecian days comes glimmering through
This pure crystaline sky of cloudless blue.
Here are the rocks where gold-haired syrens sang;
Here Tasso’s harp in later ages rang.
Over the sacred waves the purple isles
Answer the heavens with their serenest smiles:
Round yonder point, steep Capri with her caves;
Beyond, where the sky kisses the far waves,
Those amethystine sisters of the sea,
Prochyta and the blue Inarime.
Along the shore from Baia’s rained towers
To marble Pompeii, half embalmed in flowers,
Stretches the chain of towns along the sea;
And gleaming in the midst, proud Napoli
Sits like a young and pearl-crowned ocean queen
Gazing into her mirror of clear green.
And over all the bodeful genius
Of this fair clime—fire-eyed Vesuvius
Frowns, the sole troubled spirit of the scene—
And even him the distance makes serene.
All this I see from my still summer home,
A bower where nought but peace and beauty come.
Geraniums and roses round me bloom—
From orange-groves, amid whose verdant gloom
Gold fruit and silver flowers together shine,
Come orient odors. A thick blossoming vine
Shadows the terrace where, even as I write,
The wind snows down the olive-blossoms white.
Above, the birds’ sweet and unwearied song;
Beneath, the ocean whispers all day long.
Sometimes, when morning lights the rippling waves
Below the steep rocks and the ocean caves,
The sunshine weaves a net of flickering gleams.
Fit to entrap a Syren in her dreams.
There tangled braids of ever-changing light
In golden mazes glitter up the sand,
And underneath, the rocks and pebbles bright
Glow like rich jewels of the Eastern land.
Well might such sweet, transparent waters hold
Tritons and nymphs with locks of liquid gold;
For nothing were too beautiful to be
Born from the pure depths of this summer sea.
———
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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