Amalfi in her dotage; as of old
His beams lit up her splendours manifold,
Her quays and palaces that fringed the bay.
His smile makes every barren hill-side blush
In rose and purple for the glories fled,
As early watchers note th’ encroaching flush
From proud Ravello to Atrani spread,
And curse the cruel arm that once did crush
This sea-sprung Niobe, and leave her dead.”
