But why disturb the silent past?
Why rouse the island's sleeping ghosts?
Or see in forms by ruins cast
The phantoms of those warlike hosts?
For centuries the gentle waves
Have rolled oblivion o'er their graves.
And what will now thy future be,
Thou pristine refuge of the brave,
Which Rome's last heroes fought to free,
And vainly gave their lives to save?
Forget not, thou wast once a gem
That graced a Caesar's diadem!
Wilt thou fulfil my fondest hopes?
I sometimes long to check the stream
Of tourists hurrying by thy slopes,
And tell them of my cherished dream,—
To see upon thy storied height
A palace worthy of the site;
Not meaningless, not merely vast,
Nor crudely modern in design,
But something suited to thy past,—
For highest art a hallowed shrine,
A classic home of long ago,
The Tusculum of Cicero.
Then roses, rich in sweet perfume,
Shall wreathe with bloom each terraced wall,
And, scattered through the leafy gloom
Of olive-groves and laurels tall,
Shall many a marble nymph and faun
Grow lovelier from the flush of dawn.
So let me dream! I may not see
That stately palace crown thy brow,
Those roses may not bloom for me,
But, as thou art, I love thee now,
Content thy future to resign
To abler portraiture than mine.
Sweet Comacina, fare thee well!
Across the water's placid breast
The music of the vesper-bell
Invites me to my port of rest;
Fair jewel of this inland sea,
May all the gods be good to thee!
THE OLD CARRIER
("Old Lucia", who for many years walked back and forth, every day and in all weathers, between Azzano and Menaggio, a distance of six miles, bearing merchandise of all sorts in a basket on her back, fell to the ground exhausted, as she was nearing her poor home on Christmas Eve, 1907. She died next morning at the age of seventy-three. At the time she fell, she was carrying a load of nearly one hundred pounds!)
Patient toiler on the road,
Bending 'neath your heavy load,
Worn and furrowed is your face,
Slow and tremulous your pace,
Yet you still pursue your way,
Bearing burdens day by day,
With the same pathetic smile,
Over many a weary mile,
As you bravely come and go
To and from Menaggio.