Why stream ye thus from yonder arching bowers?73
Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band,
With spears that, thyrsus-like, glance, wreath'd with flowers,
And garland-fetters, linking hand to hand,
And locks, from which drop blossoms on your way,
Like starry buds from the loose crown of May?
Behold how Alp on Alp shuts out the scene74
From all the ruder world that lies afar;
Deep, fathom-deep, the valley which they screen;
Deep, as in chasms of cloud a happy star!
What pass admits the stranger to your land?
Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band?
Ages ago, what time the barbarous horde,75
From whose rough bosoms sprang Imperial Rome,
Drew the slow-widening circle of the sword
Till kingdoms vanish'd in a robber's home,
A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said)
By his dark Cære,[7] from the danger fled:
He left the vines of fruitful Fiesolè,76
Left, with his household gods and chosen clan,
Intent beyond the Ausonian bounds to flee,
And Rome's dark shadow on the world of man.
So came the exiles to the rocky wall
Which, centuries after, frown'd on Hannibal
Here, it so chanced, that down the deep profound77
Of some huge Alp—a stray'd Etrurian fell;
The pious rites ordain'd to explore the ground,
And give the ashes to the funeral cell;
Slowly they gain'd the gulf, to scare away
A vulture ravening on the mangled clay;
Smit by a javelin from the leader's hand,78
The bird crept fluttering down a deep defile,
Through whose far end faint glimpses of a land,
Sunn'd by a softer daylight, sent a smile;
The Augur hail'd an omen in the sight,
And led the wanderers towards the glimmering light.
What seem'd a gorge was but a vista'd cave,79
Long-drawn and hollow'd through primæval stone;
Rude was the path, but as, beyond the grave
Elysium shines, the glorious landscape shone,
Broadening and brightening—till their wonder sees
Bloom through the Alps the lost Hesperides.
There, the sweet sunlight, from the heights debarr'd,80
Gather'd its pomp to lavish on the vale;
A wealth of wild sweets glitter'd on the sward,
Screen'd by the very snow-rocks from the gale;
Murmur'd clear waters, murmur'd joyous birds,
And o'er soft pastures roved the fearless herds.
His rod the Augur waves above the ground,81
And cries, "In Tina's name I bless the soil."[8]
With veilèd brows the exiles circle round;
Along the rod propitious lightnings coil;
The gods approve; rejoicing hands combine,
Swift springs a sylvan city from the pine.
What charm yet fails them in the lovely place?82
Childhood's gay laugh—and woman's tender smile.
A chosen few the venturous steps retrace;
Love lightens toil for those who rest the while;
And, ere the winter stills the sadden'd bird,
The sweeter music of glad homes is heard;