Book 2 — SORRENTO.

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BY C. P. CRANCH.

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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.

———

Four moons have passed—and nights and days have flown

Cloudless—a summer of an orient tone,

Since my unequal pen essayed to tell

Brief passages of what I loved so well.

Above me now, where blossoms fell in spring,

Large purple grapes hang thickly clustering;

The fig-tree near, with ample leaves displayed,

Shelters its sweet, cool fruit beneath their shade.

Still hang the oranges upon their stems,

Whose dark green foliage makes them glow like gems.

The cypresses by yonder convent wall

Shoot up as freshly green, as stately tall,

And there the drowsy vesper-bell ne’er tires

Calling to prayers the brown-robed, bearded friars.

Down on the beach, content with slender gain,

Still drag their nets the red-capped fishermen.

Still glide the days as fair—the nights more cool,

The sea is still as ever beautiful;

And yonder purple mount, towering as proud

Still blends its light smoke with the flying cloud.

And now, ere I these pleasant scenes resign,

I would yet linger o’er and make them mine.

I would remember every odorous breeze

That wafted incense from these orange-trees—

The roses clustering on their leafy stalks,

Dropping their faint leaves in the garden walks—

The sweet geraniums and the passion flowers

Entwined with multifloras—the noon hours

When underneath the oaks I watched the sea

Rippling below me calm and dreamily.

The hueless olives where the full moon came

Kindling behind them with a holy flame,

Touching their pale leaves with mysterious sheen

And shimmering o’er old boughs of silvery green—

Above, the inextinguishable lights

That made all nights in heaven like festal nights,

That seemed too holy for frail men to keep,

And yet too costly to be spent in sleep.

O lovely nights and days! too quickly flown;

Leave me the memory of your sweetest tone.

O ocean! long I’ve lingered on thy shore,

Lulled by thy whisper, wakened by thy roar.

Ere I depart and see no more thy face,

Let me retain some sign of thy embrace—

Not pearls nor painted shells, nor coral rare,

But dreams of Beauty. So the goddess fair,

Who rules all hearts, and fills the Olympian home,

Rose in a sea-shell from thy glittering foam—

Sprang an immortal to the blaze of day,

And wide o’er gods and men extends her sway.

THE CARIBOO; OR AMERICAN REIN-DEER.