Looking up them, we could guess the green banks where the violets and anemones grew, and the clumps of myrtle that perfumed the sea-breeze. Broad and grand as was this view, it was far surpassed by the coast scenery to come. No sooner had we passed the pharos, and turned eastward along the southern shore of the island, than every sign of life and laborious industry ceased. The central mountain-wall, suddenly broken off as it reached the sea, presented a face of precipice a thousand feet high, not in a smooth escarpment, as on the northern side, but cut into pyramids and pinnacles of ever-changing form. Our necks ached with gazing at the far summits, piercing the keen blue deeps of air. In one place the vast gable of the mountain was hollowed into arches and grottoes, from the eaves of which depended fringes of stalactite; it resembled a Titanic cathedral in ruins. Above the orange and dove-colored facets of the cliff, the jagged topmost crest wore an ashen tint which no longer suggested the texture of rock. It seemed rather a soft, mealy substance, which one might crumble between the fingers. The critics of the realistic school would damn the painter who should represent this effect truly. Under these amazing crags, over a smooth, sunny sea, we sped along towards a point where the boatman said we should find the Green Grotto. It lies inside a short, projecting cape of the perpendicular shore, and our approach to it was denoted by a streak of emerald fire flashing along the shaded water at the base of the rocks. A few more strokes on the oars carried us under an arch twenty feet high, which opened into a rocky cove beyond. The water being shallow, the white bottom shone like silver; and the pure green hue of the waves, filled and flooded with the splendor of the sun, was thrown upon the interior facings of the rocks, making the cavern gleam like transparent glass. The dance of the waves, the reflex of the "netted sunbeams," threw ripples of shifting gold all over this green ground; and the walls and roof of the cavern, so magically illuminated, seemed to fluctuate in unison with the tide. It was a marvelous surprise, making truth of Undine and the Sirens, Proteus and the foam-born Aphrodite. The brightness of the day increased the illusion, and made the incredible beauty of the cavern all the more startling, because devoid of gloom and mystery. It was an idyl of the sea, born of the god-lore of Greece. To the light, lisping whisper of the waves,―the sound nearest to that of a kiss,—there was added a deep, dim, subdued undertone of the swell caught in lower arches beyond; and the commencement of that fine posthumous sonnet of Keats chimed thenceforward in my ears: "It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell After this, although the same enormous piles of rock overhung us, there were no new surprises. The sublimity and the beauty of this southern coast had reached their climax; and we turned from it to lean over the gunwale of the boat, and watch the purple growth of sponges through the heaving crystal, as we drew into the cove of the piccola marina. There Augusto was waiting our arrival, the old fisher was ready with a bench, and we took the upper side of Capri. My pen lingers on the subject, yet it is time to leave. When the day of our departure came, I wished for a tramontana, that we might be detained until the morrow; but no, it was a mild sirocco, setting directly towards Sorrento, and Antonio had come over, although, this time, without any prediction of a fine day. At the last fatal and prosaic moment, when the joys that are over must be paid for, we found Don Michele and Manfred as honest as they had been kind and attentive. Would we not come back some time? asked the Don. Certainly we will. When the sail was set, and our foamy track pointed to the dear isle we were leaving, I, at least, was conscious of a slight heart-ache. So I turned once more and cried out, "Addio Capri!" but the stern Tiberian rocks did not respond, "Ritornate," and so Capri passed into memory. AMERICA. [From the National Ode. Delivered in Independence Square, Philadelphia, 4 July, 1876.] NORESEEN in the vision of sages, FOR Foretold when martyrs bled, By the truth of the noble dead Frets at remembered chains, Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head. The unblenching Puritan will And the strength of the danger-girdled race She took what she gave to Man; Belief, as soul decreed, Free air for aspiration, Free force for independent deed! She takes, but to give again, As the sea returns the rivers in rain; Is planted England's oaken-hearted mood, As e'er went world ward from the island-wall! To one strong race all races here unite: She makes it glory, now, to be a man! THE COMBAT OF LARS AND PER. [Lars. A Pastoral of Norway. 1873.] HE two before her, face to face THE Stared at each other: Brita looked at them! Could only breathe: "I know not how to choose." Is clasped between the breast-bone and the hip. So near the beauty terrible of Death. And two stepped forth, two men with grizzled hair And earnest faces, grasped the hooks of steel In either's belt, and drew them breast to breast, And in the belts made fast each other's hooks. An utter stillness on the people fell While this was done: each face was stern and strange, And Brita, powerless to turn her eyes, Heard herself cry, and started: "Per, O Per!" When those two backward stepped, all saw the flash They reeled and swayed, let go the guarding clutch, Some forward sprang, and loosed, and lifted them OPENING SCENE OF "PRINCE DEUKALION." [Prince Deukalion: a Lyrical Drama. 1878.] SCENE.-A plain, sloping from high mountains towards the sea. At the bases of the mountains lofty vaulted entrances of caverns. A ruined temple, on a rocky height. A SHEPHERD, asleep in the shadow of a clump of laurels: the flock scattered over the plain. SHEPHERD (awaking). AVE I outslept the thunder? Has the storm HA Broken and rolled away? That leaden weight Which pressed mine eyelids to reluctant sleep Falls off I wake; yet see not anything As I beheld it. Yonder hang the clouds, And there, aloft, Demeter's pillared house,- And, see!-this altar to the friendly nymphs Of field and flock, the holy ones who lift A poor man's prayer so high the Gods may hear,- Hark-what strain is that, NYMPHS. We came when you called us, we linked our dainty being SHEPHERD. If blight they threaten, 'tis already here; But while her life, though changed from what it was, VOICES (from underground). We won, through martyrdom, the power to aid; |