Could better music hold the ear, to note
Its silver-dropping streams and shadowy dells
Than that wherewith Italia christened it,
Calling it Aqua-Bella, or the Val-Ambrosa, liquid-toned and clear? No ripple,
Methinks, of happier tones or tenderer hues
Could voice its lapsing falls and verdant vales
Than lives within such naming!
Hither came
Long years agone—long years before the years
That gave the legend birth—a prayerful priest,