Which seen from far Colonna's height, Make glad the heart that hails the sight, 10 And lend to loneliness delight. There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek Reflects the tints of many a peak Caught by the laughing tides that lave These Edens of the eastern wave; And if at times a transient breeze Break the blue crystal of the seas, Or sweep one blossom from the trees, How welcome is each gentle air 15 That wakes and wafts the odours there! 20 For there the Rose o'er crag or vale, Sultana of the Nightingale, 2 The maid for whom his melody, His thousand songs are heard on high, Blooms blushing to her lover's tale: His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, And grateful yields that smiling sky And many a summer flower is there, 30 And many a shade that love might share, 35 That holds the pirate for a guest; Is heard, and seen the evening star; 40 45 Then stealing with the muffled oar, Far shaded by the rocky shore, Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, And turn to groans his roundelay. Strange-that where Nature loved to trace, As if for Gods, a dwelling-place, And every charm and grace hath mixed There man, enamoured of distress, Should mar it into wilderness, And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower Nor claims the culture of his hand To bloom along the fairy land, But springs as to preclude his care, And sweetly woos him-but to spare! 55 50 50 Against the seraphs they assailed, And, fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell The freed inheritors of hell; So soft the scene, so formed for joy, So curst the tyrants that destroy! 65 He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers 70 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) And marked the mild angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there, 75 The fixed yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And-but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, And but for that chill changeless brow, 80 Where cold Obstruction's apathy * 4 Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; Yes, but for these and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, The first, last look by death revealed! 5 85 |