XVIII A DREAM IN SUMMER
In the midst of thy song, O Homer, with battles ever resounding,
the midsummer heat overcame me; my head fell asleep
there on Scamander's bank; but my heart fled at once,
as soon as set free, back again to the shore of Tyrrhenia.
I dreamed—dreamed pleasant things of the new years coming to me,
of books no more! My chamber, stifled with the heat of the July sun,
and noisy with the endless rolling of carriages in the streets,
opened wide. I dreamed myself among my hills,—
the dear forest hills which an April-time youth was reflowering.
A stream gushed down the hillside, widening into a brook
with murmuring cool, and along the brook wandered my mother,
still in the flower of her youth, and leading a child by the hand.
On his bare white shoulder lay shining his golden curls.
He walked with a childish step, but stately, too,
proud of the mother's love, and thrilled to the heart
with the great gladness of that Festival
which everywhere sweet Nature was intoning.
For high up in yon tower the bells were telling
that on the morrow Christ would rise again!
And over the hills and vales, through air and boughs and streams,
flowed everywhere the great Hymn of the Spring.
The apple-trees and the peach-trees were blossoming white and red,
underneath laughed the meadow with yellow flowers and blue;
the red trefoil was clambering up to cover the sloping fields,
and beyond the hills lay veiled in the glow of the golden broom.
From the sea below came up an odorous breeze;
on its waters four white sails rocked slowly to and fro in the sun,
whose dazzling rays were quivering over sea and land and sky.
I watched the happy mother walking in the sunlight;
I watched the mother: thoughtful I watched my brother,
him who now lies at rest on the flowering banks of the Arno,
while she is sleeping alone in the solemn shade of Certosa.
Thoughtful I gazed, and wondered if still they live,
and, mindful of my grief, come back from where
their happy years glide on 'mid forms well known.
So passed the vision blessed; quick with my nap it went—
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Lauretta's joyous song was ringing through all the chambers,
and Bice, bending over her frame, followed silent the work of the needle.
Odi Barbare.